Chapter 1

Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Ma/Ma, Mult, Consensual, NonConsensual, Reluctant, Rape, Coercion, Blackmail, Slavery, Gay, Lesbian, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Cheating, Slut Wife, Wife Watching, BDSM, DomSub, MaleDom, FemaleDom, Rough, Humiliation, Sadistic, Torture, Gang Bang, Group Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Fisting, Water Sports, Cream Pie, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Caution, Violent, .

Desc: BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 1 - While his wife is away on business, a man's mysterious neighbors make an unexpected offer of hospitality. It turns out that different cultures have different ideas about hospitality. Starts off slow, and gets rough fairly quickly. If you don't like stories of sexual violence, stay away from this one.

Tom rarely saw the neighbors since they moved in several weeks ago. Then one day, about an hour after he returned from dropping off his wife at the airport for a week-long business trip to California, the doorbell rang, and it was the man next door.

"Hello," he said in a flat voice. The man looked like a priest of some sort, black turtleneck, black pants, shiny black shoes. "I would like to invite you to dinner."

"Tonight?" Tom was taken aback. The man hadn't even introduced himself.

"Yes. Your wife isn't home. So I would like to offer you the hospitalities of my home. I will have my wife prepare for your visit. 8:00 pm. Please dress nicely."

Tom had a thousand questions, but by the time that he could formulate the first one, the man was halfway down the walk.

He closed the door, talking out loud to himself. "How did he know Mary was gone? I don't think I'll go. Was looking forward to a night of pornos and pizza."

7:30 arrived and Tom found himself preparing for dinner. He had showered and shaved, and found a turtleneck shirt of his own, though it was dark blue, not black. He paired it with slacks and loafers and a few minutes before 8:00 he was standing outside the entrance to his neighbor's property, peering through the wrought iron bars of the gate and pressing the intercom button.

Without hearing any answer, he heard the latch of the gate buzz. He pushed it open and walked through, following the winding path through carefully maintained shrubberies to the front door.

Before he could raise his hand to knock, the door opened, and behind it stood a remarkably beautiful black haired woman in her late twenties, simply dressed in a white cotton peasant blouse, tied at the neck with a long black ribbon but loose enough to display the ample cleavage of her pale white breasts.

Her flowing black skirt ended just below her knees, revealing opaque white stockings. On her feet she wore black Mary Jane shoes with a practical low heel. She had a black lace choker around her neck, with a simple silver heart dangling from a silver ring.

She didn't appear to be wearing makeup, and didn't need any with an elfish face, perfect pale skin and dark sultry eyes; she was alluring and sexy in an exotic way. Her long hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, her eyes sparkled. She didn't speak, simply gestured into the spacious living room.

There were few pieces of Scandinavian style furniture, spare and more for looks than for comfort. The walls were bright white and the floors light birch.

Without asking the smiling woman poured Tom a fine twenty-five year old Scotch, motioning him to sit down on a leather and chrome armchair.

He perched on the edge of the chair. "Do you work for the owners? Housekeeper?" She smiled broadly and shook her head. Tom thought she might not speak English; she didn't react the way someone would if they understood the question. She seemed Eastern European. Maybe she was here illegally and his hosts didn't want people to know.

He sipped his Scotch, the finest he had ever tasted. She stepped out of the room and left him staring at the stark white walls. There was soft jazz music wafting through the air, but Tom didn't see any speakers.

In a few minutes she was back, still smiling her beautiful broad smile. "Is everything alright?" Tom asked her. He wondered if something had happened and his hosts couldn't keep the dinner date. She just nodded and led him out of the living room into the dining room.

Ten modern black lacquered high back dining chairs were arrayed around the long table covered with a pristine white linen tablecloth. But only two places were set: one at the head of the table and the other at its side.

"There are only two places." Tom said, though he was still sure the servant couldn't understand him. He remembered that the host had said his wife would be joining them when he issued the invitation.

"My wife doesn't dine with our guests. We maintain our own customs ... really in many ways more Eastern than Western manners." The sudden interjection by the host startled Tom. He hadn't even known the man had entered the room.

The servant pulled out the chair at the head of the table for the host, and he took his seat without even glancing at her, keeping his eyes on his guest in a blank, emotionless gaze, as though he was looking through, not at, the man he had invited to dinner.

He continued, "You've met my wife, Evgeniya." He gestured with a dismissive wave of the hand toward the woman that Tom had imagined was the maid. "You may call her Jenya, since her name is difficult to pronounce for one who is not familiar with foreign names."

She was holding the guest's chair and Tom thanked her as he sat.

"She speaks very little English, as you may have already guessed."

"So she won't be joining us?" The hostess had left the two men alone as she returned to what Tom guessed was the kitchen.

"As I said, she will not be dining with us as women do in your culture. She has prepared the meal, and she will be serving us as the hostess, but she has already eaten her meal so that her full attention can be to our satisfaction."

"That's too bad," Tom replied. "It would be nice if she could sit and eat with us."

Tom's host replied sharply, "Are you criticizing my family's cultural practices? Would you appreciate it if I had dinner at your house and told you that I didn't think it was appropriate for your wife to dine with us, that she should serve the men after she dined alone?"

There was a painful silence as Tom struggled to find an appropriate response to his host's sudden, angry defensiveness. Finally he stammered out, "I only meant that she seems to be a charming woman, and it would be pleasant to have her join us. I meant no disrespect."

But his host pressed on, ignoring the squirming discomfort he was causing in his guest. "A charming woman? And how would you know? Have you conversed with her in her native language?"

"Well, no..."

"Of course not! What you mean to say in your own arrogant American way is that you find my wife beautiful, and you wish to look at her as you eat."

"No, well yes she is beautiful, but it's not like that."

"Not like what? Do you not find her sexually alluring? Her large, round breasts, her feminine hips, her sultry face?"

"I do. But I wasn't saying..."

"You are saying that you don't fantasize about seeing her naked, about touching her, about tasting her pouting lips and putting your hard manhood deep inside her. You would insult me by telling me that my wife is not worthy of your masculine desire?"

"Well no, I mean, yes, of course ... I should probably leave." Tom stood to go.

"Evgeniya!" the host called out sharply. His wife ran into the room with surprising speed, a look of dismay on her face at the tone of her husband's call.

A few phrases in some Eastern European dialect were traded in hushed, urgent whispers between the two. Jenya looked over her shoulder at one point, sadness on her face. Tom tried to mutely apologize. She turned back to her husband and they whispered more urgently still. Finally she turned to hurry back into the kitchen. Tom thought he saw tears welling in her eyes.

"Now you must stay. You must allow her to redeem herself or she will be forever wounded by your callous rejection." Tom's host waved toward the chair. He started to object, to beg his leave so that the couple could talk and realize he had meant no harm. But now he was afraid that his ignorance of their culture would hurt his hosts even further. He sheepishly took his seat.

"Good," the man said, his voice returning to the even, careful tone he had used before the whole ugly incident started. "Now when Jenya returns, I want you to be properly appreciative of whatever she brings you. It may not be customary fare in your country, and you may not eat such things in your home, but even a hint of reluctance will be interpreted by her as disgust, and will hurt her even more deeply. Do you understand? Do we have an agreement?"

Tom simply nodded. There was banging and crashing in the kitchen. He steeled himself for whatever might be coming. He tried to think of the most disgusting dish possible. It was probably a plate of sheep's brains, he thought, served directly from the skull of a freshly killed animal. Or live squid, swimming in a bowl of fetid brine.

He closed his eyes to concentrate, and prepare himself for whatever disgusting Eastern European dish might be served. "That's good," his host said. "Keep your eyes closed until all the preparations have been made, and then she will know your reaction is true."

He closed his eyes more tightly as he heard his hostess emerge from the kitchen. He heard the plates in front of him being moved, then more fervent whispering, and then more shuffling. He felt the warm scent of the native dish waft toward him. Unusual, he thought as he savored the aroma, spicy and sharp. His mouth started to water.

"Please show your appreciation for my wife's hospitality, sir. Open your eyes and eat."

He opened his eyes and there was the beautiful, naked Jenya. Her pussy, spread and open, lips pulsing and wet, spread out before him on the crisp white tablecloth. Her tiny feet were propped on either side of his head, against the back of his tall chair. She leaned up on one hand, cascading black locks over her shoulders, holding her large breast. Her gaze steamed of sexuality, and she waited for his reaction.

His lips gently parted, and he lowered his mouth to her sex, tasting her deeply, devouring her femininity with passion and lust. She smiled broadly as he reached up to cup her heaving bosom. A tear of happiness trailed down her cheek as she reached out for her husband's hand and shuddered in crashing orgasm.

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