Chapter 10: Monica, My Husband's Slave

Note: Over a year ago, Mark gave Monica the command to do whatever filthy things her husband wants. Thanks to b0b for beta reading this.

Saturday, June 7th, 2014 – Monica Jephson – Tacoma, WA

I woke up bound, the sunlight streaming through the window. My bladder was full, urgent.

My husband, and master, snored next to me. I turned my head, trying to ignore the sun and my bladder. It was still early; Jonathon wouldn't want to be woken up before eight, and he would be most displeased if I disturbed him.

I focused on his face as I tried to relax into sleep. The shadow of brown whiskers clung to his strong jawline, his bold nose, and powerful lips. He was a sexy man. For the last year I had been his slave, and I loved every minute of being dominated by him. Saturdays were our special day to play. We indulged in bondage throughout the week, often hiring Jessie Smith to play dominatrix with me while Kylie, our lover, entertained Jonathon. Sometimes, I would get to tie Kylie up and play her Mistress while Jonathon watched.

But Saturday, I let my husband keep me tied up all day long.

It actually started Friday night. Before bed, he would bind me with a rope, using complicated knots looped about my breasts, biting into my big, round tits, then he'd loop the rope through my crotch, pulling it tight so it dug into my pussy and asscheeks. Every time I moved, the rough fibers rasped against my labia and clit. My legs were bound at he knees and ankles and my wrist tied behind my back.

The ritual of our Saturdays started shortly after that wonderful evening when I became my husband's sex slave. Back then, we both worked weekdays: he worked at his office job and I was a bank teller. Last August, we both quit our jobs and devoted ourselves to missionary work, spreading the Living God's messages.

Rose and Daisy Cunningham ordained us themselves, anointing us with their pussy juices and presenting us with a pair of charms—small, bronze medallions set with rubies and inscribed with Hebrew letters—that were crafted by the Holy Vizier herself. "People will view you with less hostility," Daisy had explained. "These make people more receptive to our Gods' message."

With a generous donation from the main church, we leased a small office space in a strip mall on 72nd Avenue and Golden Given near our house. Our flock grew, and within two months we moved to a former Christian Church down the street on Portland Avenue. It was rewarding work and we were constructing our permanent church, a large monument to our Gods' glory, up the street.

I tried to go back to sleep, to ignore the mounting pressure in my bladder. But I couldn't. Today was a special Saturday, and my excitement for tonight's ceremony gave me a nervous energy that left me fidgeting in my restraints.

After what may have been either an hour or five minutes, I wasn't sure, Jonathon's eyes opened and he sat up, glancing at the cloak. He groaned, and my hopes were dashed that he was going to get up early as his head plopped back onto his pillow. His arms reached out, pulling me against his chest and he went quickly back to snoring.

I was feeling a little indignant. He could at least be as excited as I was. Today should be special for him too. His cock was half hard, probably because he had to pee, pressing against my bound stomach and the ropes that crisscrossed my pale flesh. Sighing, I tried to go back to sleep.

One hour or five minutes later, Jonathon again woke up. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Can't sleep either, cutiepie?" he asked me. I shook my head. "I'm too excited, Master."

He gave me a kiss on the lips. "How are your limbs?"

"Everything's fine. I have sensation and movement."

Jonathon nodded. He always checked to make sure the ropes weren't causing me real harm. "I bet you have to pee because I know I have to."

"Yes," I moaned as I squirmed.

Jonathon sat up, stretching, then brought his cock to my lips. I quickly opened my mouth and let him stick his dick in. He sighed and his piss splashed acrid into my mouth. I savored the strong flavor—his piss was always bitter in the morning—and swallowed as fast as I could. I felt so close to my husband as I drank his piss. We shared this most intimate moment together.

His piss kept coming, jetting into my mouth and splashing against the back of my throat. I happily gurgled as the urine sloshed around my mouth. The stream weakened until there was only a few squirts, one or two last dribbles, and then it was over.

"Thank you, slave-wife," he groaned, gripping my head, and he fucked his now fully hard cock in and out of my mouth.

I sucked as he face-fucked me, completely helpless to stop him even if I wanted to. I didn't. I loved every minute of feeling helpless. The rope rubbed painfully against my clit, getting soaked by my juices as I writhed on the bed, an orgasm brewing inside me.

"Fucking slut!" Jonathon groaned. "Take all my cock, filthy slave!"

His degrading words added to the brew inside me, his cock brushing the back of my throat. He thrust hard, violently shoving his cock down my throat. I screamed as my orgasm ripped through me, vibrating his dick.

"Naughty slave!" he moaned. "You're such a whore! Cumming like a dirty slut!"

His cum flooded my throat, salty and wonderful. I drank it down even more eagerly than his piss. I loved my husband's cum. Whether straight from his dick or out of Kylie's cunt. I wished she was here today, she often came over for Saturdays and helped Jonathon degrade me.

But a bride shouldn't be seen on her wedding day.

"Thank you, Master," I smiled as he pulled his cock out.

He kissed me on the lips. "I love you, Monica."

I blushed; he wasn't supposed to talk like that on Saturday. Well, today was special. "I love you Jonathon," I answered.

"I bet my lovely slave wants to pee so bad?"

"I do! May your unworthy slave-wife please be allowed to pee, Master?"

He scooped me up, throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of grain. I was motivated to keep my slim figure just so I could enjoy being tossed around like this. He carried me to our bathroom and gently set me down on the floor. He opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out one of the magical Viagra the Holy Vizier created. I had to spend an hour getting fucked by Sam's cock for that bottle. Being with a hermaphrodite was definitely an interesting experience.

My bladder felt like it would explode, and I squirmed on the floor. "Please, Master!" I begged. I strained, struggling to hold it in.

He hefted me up into a kneeling position, my cheek pressed against the tile of our bathroom floor, staring beneath the lip of the bathroom counter. There was dust; I would need to clean under there tomorrow.

I almost laughed; I wouldn't be home tomorrow. We were off to the Caribbean tonight for a two-week-long orgy of love and passion in the Virgin Islands. Two weeks, just the three of us. It was going to be a magical trip.

He shoved the rope digging into my pussy to the side and stabbed his cock into my sheath. "Oh yes!" I gasped, squeezing my cunt down on him. "Thank you, Master!"

I relaxed my bladder and pissed on Jonathon's groin as he fucked me, the urine loudly splashing and dripping onto the tiled floor. He smacked my ass hard. "What a dirty bitch!" he grunted. "A dirty, disgusting bitch that pisses on the floor!"

"I am!" I moaned. "Your dirty, filthy bitch! Fuck me hard, Master!"

His balls slapped into my clit hard as he pounded me. No slow, gentle strokes. We weren't making love, we were rutting like animals. I was his bitch, and he owned my cunt. He didn't care about my pleasure, only about cumming as deep inside me as he could.

I loved it.

"Oh, yes!" I gasped, quickly climaxing. My body shuddered and my pussy spasmed about his dick. "Fuck me! Harder! I can take it! Fill me with your cum, Master!" The pleasure burned through me.

"You dirty slut!" His hand smacked on my ass. "How dare you cum before me!"

"I'm such a naughty bitch! Punish me!" He gripped my hips, pistoning rapidly in and out of me. "Yes, yes! Oh Gods yes!" Another cum shot through me, my cheek rubbing against the tiled floor as I humped my hips back into his thrusts. I reveled in the delicious, degrading sex. "Please, Master! Use me for your pleasure! Dump your cum in my filthy cunt!"

Smack! I yelped as his hand spanked me.

"Filthy fucking bitch!" he moaned. "I don't think your cunt is good enough for my cum!"

"Oh, it is! Cum in me! Please!" I begged, loving this new game. "My cunt is tight and juicy!" I squeezed my muscles on his cock. "Feel how warm and velvety I am. Your bitch has Grade A cunt!"

"You think this is Grade A cunt?" he sneered.

I thrust my hips wildly. "See how well I fuck! Feel my pussy clamping down on you! It's a wonderful pussy! Worthy of your cum, Master!"

"Fine," he grunted. "I'll cum in you this time. But your cunt is hardly worth it!"

I knew he didn't mean them, but his degrading words still sent another wonderful orgasm bursting inside me as his cock erupted into my cunt. Warm, thick cum panting my sheath. He slammed one last time into me, then panted. He grabbed my hair, painfully yanking me up and he kissed me on the lips.

"That was hot, cutiepie," he panted.

I was breathless from my orgasms, otherwise I would have answered him. He pulled out of me and spun me around. I licked his cock, groin, and legs clean of my pussy juices and piss. He started the shower up and I lapped up my disgusting puddle of urine with my tongue as he whistled while washing himself. I beamed on the inside as I lapped up my acrid piss—he whistled because I made him happy.

After his shower, he again threw me over his shoulder and carried me downstairs. I yelped as he attached my nipple clamps, the sharp, aching pain going straight to my messy cunt, then he started cooking breakfast. That was the irony of our Saturdays; I was the slave, but he had to do all the work. There was not much I could do tied up.

It smelled like eggs and bacon, and my mouth salivated as I knelt beside him on the kitchen floor. "That smells good, Master," I purred.

He smiled down at me and we chatted. The usual married couple topics: friends, family, work. The sort of breakfast conversations you'd see at any house across America. Bacon and eggs didn't take long to cook, and soon he dumped the eggs and bacon into my bowel before setting it before me. Like a bitch, I eagerly dug in with my face.

"Eat that food like a bitch!" Jonathon grunted.

Out of the corner of my eyes I could see him jerking furiously. I worked my mouth, scooping up the bacon—precut for me—and scrambled eggs into with my tongue. Jonathon groaned, and cum splashed on the side of my face and on top of my food.

"Thank you for the sauce, Master," I giggled, taking a bite of egg and topped with cum. "My favorite!"

"You're welcome, slave," he grinned, wiping the tip of his cock off in my hair.

He cooked his breakfast while I finished eating, then pulled me on his lap, impaling me on his hard cock. The magical Viagra gave Jonathon the level of stamina our God possessed, able to cum as much as he wanted before the pill wore off.

He ate, enjoying his breakfast and my cunt around his cock. I amused myself by rhythmically working the muscles in my cunt, trying to see if I could get him to cum. He finished eating, and started pulling hard at my nipple clamps, stretching my breast to obscene levels. The pain made me clamp my cunt hard on his cock and I came before my husband flooded my pussy.

It was summer, so Jonathon had his gardening chores: mowing the lawn, trimming the hedges, etc. Everything but the flower beds was his responsibility. I was in charge of the inside of the house. It was a fair trade. So Jonathon headed to the bathroom to get the sunscreen so I wouldn't burn—he liked to watch me as he worked and I enjoyed being outside with him. I had developed a strange set of tan lines, you could tell just where Jonathon liked to tie me up, leaving me striped like a tiger.

The doorbell rang.

"Master!" I called out. "Is someone coming over?"

He padded out of the bathroom, looking confused. "I'll go take care of it."

He dumped me on the living room floor in a kneeling position. "I love to see you on your knees like a bitch ready to be mounted," Jonathon liked to say. The carpet fibers rubbed on my cheek and I had a good view beneath the couch. So dirty. When we got back from our trip, I'd have Jonathon move the couch so I could vacuum beneath it.