Edited by Master Ken
Monday, June 10th, 2013 – Jonathon Jephson
I hate Mondays. They are the worst, just dragging on and on, reminding you that the weekend is over. I was supposed to be writing this TPS report, but I just couldn't focus on my work; I didn't want the weekend to be over, and writing the report would be admitting that the workweek had officially started. Luckily, there were a number of ways to procrastinate: my favorite, frequent trips to the water cooler. Frequent water breaks naturally led to frequent bathroom breaks; another great way to waste time.
"How's that report coming, Jon?" my boss asked me on what must have been my twentieth water cooler trip; it wasn't even noon yet.
I gritted my teeth. He always called me Jon, no matter how many times I told him my name is Jonathon. I hated being called Jon. I liked my name; I saw no reason to shorten it. Instead of having the brass to correct him, I lied and said the report was coming along just fine. When I reached my cubical, I took a deep breath, and forced myself to start working on it. My fingers began to type—the weekend was over.
I didn't get far when my cell rang. I fished it out of my pocket, and saw that it was my wife, Monica, calling. I smiled; she must be having a slow day, too. She was a teller at the Bank of America branch in Parkland, and always had the best stories about some of her customers. Well, this is a great excuse to procrastinate; I could pretend the workweek hadn't actually started.
"Hey, cutiepie," I answered.
"This is Mark," a man, with a commanding voice, said. There was something about his voice – maybe it was the rich timbre of it, or the absolute confidence – that was just so compelling, like he was reaching down into my soul. Why didn't my wife answer? "I'm with your wife. I've been counseling her." There were a few bumps, like the phone was being jostled. "Say hi to your husband," Mark said, his voice sounding strange, hollow, as if he was on speaker phone.
"Hi, sweetie," Monica greeted. There was something in her voice, like she was straining or exerting herself, making her voice a little higher pitched than normal.
"What kind of counseling," I asked in concern. There was a noise in the background, a kind of rhythmic, slapping noise. Maybe it was construction?
"Your wife tells me she has problems doing certain things in the bedroom," Mark continued. "But I've helped your wife understand that it's her duty to do whatever perverted things her husbands wants. Right, Monica?"
"Yeah, Jonathon," Monica panted in excitement. "I'm going to let you fuck my ass, or I'll give you blowjobs."
"Really?" I couldn't hide the excitement in my voice.
I loved Monica, but she was a little frigid in the bedroom. Well, to be honest, she was very frigid, and usually we just made love in the missionary position. Only once in a while could I get her to give me a blowjob, and she never lets me fuck her in the ass. "That's filthy, Jonathon," she would say with disgust whenever I would bring up anal sex. I had never even worked up the courage to tell her my greatest desire, not if she thought anal sex was disgusting.
"Y-yeah, sweetie!" Monica gasped. What was she doing to get her so out of breath? I didn't care, my cock was hard just thinking about Monica sucking it, and letting me stick it up her ass.
"Man, Mark, how can I repay you?"
"Your wife's already covered the payment."
This Monday was turning into the greatest day ever. "I love you, cutiepie."
"Oh, I love you too, Jonathon," Monica answered with a whisper. I thought I heard her moan, and then the phone went dead.
I don't know what came over my wife, but this Mark guy must be a miracle worker if he could unthaw her. The rest of the day passed in a blur as I quickly finished my work; I've never written a TPS report so fast, and the moment five o'clock hit, I was out the door, into my car, and rushing home. There was an accident on I-5, and my twenty minute commute stretched out into a long, frustrating hour of screaming out the window, and pounding my steering wheel.
When I finally got home, Monica's car was parked in the driveway. She always beat me home; we lived in the Eastside neighborhood of Tacoma, a mere ten minute, traffic-free drive from her bank. I grabbed my satchel, and rushed to the door, eager to put the new Monica to the test, while fearing this was some sort of elaborate prank. Maybe Monica signed us up for some sort of cruel reality show, like 'How to Frustrate Your Husband'.
It wasn't; she was waiting for me naked and posing like a pin-up model. My wife was gorgeous; she had hair the color of light honey, that fell about her shoulders in curly waves. An eager smile graced her lush, red lips. One hand was in her hair, the other on her hip, and her large breasts were thrust forward, topped by fat nipples. My eyes followed the curve of her side down to her hips, to the brown hair that adorned her pussy, and peaking through the mat of hair were the thick lips of her pussy, engorged with passion.
"Welcome home, honey," she purred like a kitten.
I whistled; my cock became iron. "You look amazing, cutiepie!"
Her smile turned pleased. I dropped my satchel, and caught my wife in an embrace. She kissed me passionately, rubbing her naked body against me. Her tongue was eager as she wiggled it into my lips, fluttering it around and exploring every inch of my mouth. I slipped a hand down and cupped her ass, and pulled her tight against me, letting her feel the bulge forming in my pants.
She knelt before me when she broke the kiss. "I'm so sorry for being such a bad wife. From now on, I'll be the best wife ever." She rubbed at my crotch, squeezing my cock through my slacks. "I meant what I said; I'll do anything you want."
"Anything?" My deepest, darkest fantasy was to have my wife be my sex slave. For her to be the perfect, submissive slut. Only in the bedroom, of course.
"Anything!" Her smile was all promise.
I swallowed; would she really do it? I threw caution to the wind, and commanded, "I want you to be my sex slave!"
"Yes, Master," she answered, sounding unsure. "That's what I would call you, right?"
"Yeah," I smiled. "My loving, little slave-wife."
She gave a throaty laugh. "I'm yours, Master. Your naughty slave-wife."
My wife unzipped my pants and pulled out my cock. She gave me a few strokes, then her lips were warm and wet as she engulfed me. I groaned, closing my eyes. I really needed to thank this Mark fellow; this was the best thing that's ever happened to me. Monica swirled her tongue around my cock, her hands gently cupping my balls.
"Suck me, slut!" I groaned. "You filthy whore! Pleasure me with your mouth!"
I glanced down, and saw my wife's eyes shining with lust as she sucked harder; my very own slave-wife. This Mark was a fucking saint! Feeling bolder, I grasped her head and started fucking her face. She didn't fight me. The few times Monica ever sucked me off, she never let me face fuck her; she had to be in control. Well, never again.
"I'm going to fuck your dirty mouth, slut! When I flood your lips with my cum, you will swallow it all, whore!"
She nodded around my cock. Her hands still massaged my balls as the head of my cock brushed the back of her throat. I've never deep-throated a girl before. So I held her head tighter, and shoved my cock down her throat. She resisted for a moment, and then she relaxed, and I was buried all the way into her mouth—it felt stupendous! Tight, warm, constricting as she swallowed.
Too amazing; my balls erupted instantly, and I pulled back until only the tip was still between her lips, my cum flooding her mouth with three huge blasts. Panting, I pulled out of my wife's mouth, a trail of spit and cum connected my cock to her lips for a moment, before snapping. She smiled, and opened wide, showing me the white cum filling her mouth. Then she swallowed. Once more she opened wide; all my cum was gone.
"That was amazing, Monica," I panted.
"You're welcome, Master."
"I love you, cutiepie."
She blushed. "I love you, too, Master. I have a surprise for you, upstairs."
"You'll see." Her smile was all promise, and I watched her naked ass as she headed up the stairs. "Are you coming, Master?"
When we reached our bedroom door she told me to close my eyes. Smiling foolishly, I let my wife lead me into the bedroom. She positioned me on the foot of the bed. "Just keep them closed," she admonished. I heard the bedsprings creak. "Okay, open them."
I just about had a heart-attack when I opened my eyes. My wife was cuddled up to a gorgeous redhead named Kylie – Monica's friend and co-worker – who was just as naked as my wife. Monica had a grip on one of Kylie's full breasts, giving the orb a squeeze. Smiling like a wanton whore, Kylie parted her sleek thighs to reveal her shaved pussy, drenched in juices.
"I was so bad today, Master," Monica confessed, an arched smile on her lips. "Kylie and I went to a motel room and fucked each other silly."
My cock was rock hard, picturing my wife and Kylie fucking each other. I growled, "You have been bad. A good slave fucks her girlfriends in front of her Master, not alone in a motel. You'll need to be punished, Monica."
"Oh yes, punish me, Master."
"Master?" Kylie asked.
"She's my slave-wife now."
Kylie gave Monica an appraising look, and my wife explained, "I'm going to be a good wife from now on, and give Jonathon whatever he wants."
.... There is more of this story ...