Chapter 2

My dear husband was indeed an older version of my college lover, Philip. The magazines he'd chosen to reveal were graphic in the extreme, and he squirmed a bit as I leafed through them. The pictures were many, all variations on a theme-women being used thoroughly. Blondes on their knees, hands tied behind their backs. Brunettes spread-eagled, their pussies spread open by probing fingers. Redheads bent over at the waist, hands tied to ankles, being deeply drilled in the ass. And there were an assortment of toys in use-whips, paddles, blindfolds, dildos, plugs, vibrators. Several of his magazines were completely devoted to gangbangs, and gang "rapes," though I new the latter were probably staged. And there was much mention of the "slut wife." So this was what made my spouse's manhood really stand to attention. I had never been so relieved.

Drake was watching me closely to see how I was taking it, and I was once again glad of the woman's advantage in being able to keep her arousal to herself. My pussy was warming rapidly, and I could actually feel the moisture begin to flow.

When I'd finished my review of the literature, I leaned back on the couch. "So this is what you'd like, Drake? A slut wife?"

"Well, not exactly like that. I mean those are just stories, and it isn't as if I've ever wanted to mistreat you."

"For some women, this would be mistreatment. But after what I've told you, do you think that's how I see it?"

"But that was one guy who was like that, a long time ago. You've changed since then."

"Have I?"

"Well, I thought since..."

"Listen to me. Obviously you're not quite convinced. Phillip was the first, but he wasn't the last. And don't get all huffy about it. I didn't date a lot of men, and I quickly eliminated the ones who acted as if I'd slap them if they tried to feel me up. And I didn't start haunting dive bars and fucking strangers. There wouldn't have been any point to it. The key for me was always that a man was making me be a slut, making me accept my own darkest desires, if that's what you want to call them. I didn't want to hang out somewhere and play the nympho. It was about submitting."

"You found other men like Phillip?"

"On occasion, but rarely with the intellect and perception to grasp my needs and exploit them for his own pleasure, and incidentally my own. It wasn't until my last year in college, that I ran into a professor, an old friend of my father's who offered me a research assistantship. I knew almost from the first day of working there that his interest me was not professional. The only research he was doing was how far I'd go. I was only with him a few months until I graduated, but within a couple of weeks he had me doing his every bidding, and the fact that he'd known me since I was a child added something even better to the experience. I often wondered if he'd lusted after me when I was an adolescent. He even joked about what my father would think if he could see his little girl begging to be fucked.

"I'd kneel in front of his chair and suck his cock while he talked on the phone, sometimes even mentioning to someone, though I didn't know who, that he had his dick in this really cute slut's mouth just because she wanted a good grade in his class. Said if I swallowed every inch, he'd think about giving the bitch an 'A' for the course."

"But didn't that embarrass you?" Drake asked.

"Of course, but the shiver went all the way through me. The blush just heated me up inside. And I'd suck him harder."

We were both silent for a moment. Then Drake asked, "It was hard to find the right kind of man, then?"

"I suppose so. I answered a personal ad once, but the guy turned out to be pretty much just a sadist. Told me what he wanted, said we'd use code words if the pain got too intense, but I knew right away that's all he was about-beating up on women. No subtlety, no psychology, no balance of giving and receiving. So I gave that a pass, and gave up on looking."

"So it's been a long time since you've felt... the way you'd like to feel?"

"Yes, it has."

Drake picked up the magazines and riffled through them, but he wasn't really looking, just thinking. I waited. This was a turning point in our relationship and I had no idea which way it would go. Then he picked up the bag and dumped out the last few films and sorted through them. He stopped at one, considered it, then handed it to me. The cover was a collage of photographs portraying a woman naked in four different rooms-a kitchen, bathroom, living room, and bedroom--a garage, and a backyard. In each case she was either sucking a cock, or being fucked. The title of the film was Slut Wife III, and the subtitle: Always open for business. The blurb was brief but to the point. "He takes her whenever he wants, and wherever he wants... and however he wants."

Drake stood up, and I was eye level with the bulge in his pants. "That's a good place to be looking," he said, in a very different voice than I was used to hearing. "From now on, you'll pay attention to my cock. What it wants, it gets. Is that clear?"

I felt that old tremor run through my body. Inside I was almost giddy with anticipation. If only Drake could carry it through, really be the master. "Yes, sir," I answered tentatively.

"Good. Now I know how much a slut like you wants this dick in her mouth, but not yet. First some ground rules, and there will be more as we go along. For now, you strip when I tell you. In this house, you'll go naked, or dress in whatever I want you to wear. I'll touch you any way I like, any time. And I want to find your pussy wet. So if that means you have to rub your pussy and imagine being fucked every hour on the hour, then you'll do it." He moved closer to me, so his crotch was only inches from my face. I could tell he was warming to role very rapidly. I think he'd been imagining this for a long time.