Chapter 8

“This life’s hard, but it’s harder if you’re stupid.”
― George V. Higgins, The Friends of Eddie Coyle

Six months later...
The Murphy Residence

“Do you, Wayne, take this woman, Vanessa, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, to love, cherish, and protect, for better or for worse, for rich or for poor, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?” my sister, Wendy, asked me as I stood in the buff at a very small, very intimate, and very nudist wedding at our family home.

“I do,” I smiled, getting smiles back from all of my partners.

I knew that I wouldn’t pull the plug, and that if Vanessa did, she’d simply change her status in the house. The only reason why she might try to divorce me would be if she either wanted to become a slave, or if she wanted others to become slaves so badly that she’d become one herself, or if she just acted in haste while forgetting the terms of our prenup. The terms were notarized, witnessed, signed, and notarized. They were quite legally binding in Arizona now that it was a sovereign nation (it had survived well enough for now). If Vanessa filed for divorce, or if I did, she would become a slave as soon as it became final. That was a definite motive not to dissolve our marriage.

“Do you, Vanessa, take this man, Wayne, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, to love, honor, and obey, for better or for worse, for rich or for poor, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?” Wendy put a bit more emphasis on the “obey” part, but that was hardly a shock.

The truth was that, whatever her legal status, Vanessa knew that I had all of the power, all of the leverage in our relationship. Not only could I convert her position in society to that of chattel quite legally, with some very simple paperwork, but she increasingly acted in a rather brazenly submissive manner. Vanessa was a de facto slave, just as Wendy and Brittany were in their own way, though they had more legal rights than Tamara, Jordan, or the busboys. My old high school crush had been very drawn to my lifestyle of bondage, domination, submission, discipline, sadism, masochism, etc. She fit in like a glove, knowing her place in the hierarchy.

She was also more and more obviously pregnant, just as Wendy, Brittany, and Tamara all were. It was undeniable that I was the proud papa in all four cases. I went out of my way to ensure that I alone bred all four ladies, though they had plenty of fun with Jordan and the busboys, as well as Brittany’s former boss. We had arranged things in such a way that we kept him worried that he might be the father, even though he wasn’t. We intentionally didn’t do any paternity fraud, of course, just kept the prospect of a paternity suit over his head like the proverbial sword of Damocles. It was useful to have him by the balls, after all. Why bust them fraudulently, do anything wrong, and risk exposure? The leverage was the point, not any kind of money.

“Si, I do!” Vanessa, being a good, bilingual Latina, answered in both of her mother tongues.

“Then by the power vested in me by the Independent State of Arizona, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride,” Wendy urged me, being an ordained minister.

Vanessa didn’t wait for me, rushing into my arms and began kissing me so hard that I could taste her breakfast on her breath. The diced onions and cilantro pleased me, even if they were a very niche kind of odor together. I was the one that she kissed, so it was perfectly fine in this scenario. I put my hands on her sweet, naked ass as we made out and she left no doubt in my mind that she was completely mine. I then kissed her baby bump, making her cry a little before I landed a lip lock on her mouth again.

“This ... is the ... happiest day of my life! Being your wife at last ... Vanessa Murphy! Mrs. Wayne Murphy! Papi, you have made me so fucking happy! I’m yours, you know. I belong to you, so totally, so entirely, that I will never let you doubt that fact!” Vanessa assured me with a series of truly effusive statements of her sentiments toward me.

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind, of course. She belonged to me in her own way, just as Wendy and Brittany did, but she still belonged to me. She knew it, I knew it, and the whole fucking room knew it. I smiled as I turned to the other brides, since we had all agreed that Wendy would take Brittany to wife. Since the State wouldn’t let me have plural wives (an issue that kept coming up and there was even a petition to hold a referendum on the matter), I would simply keep my sister and sister-in-law as my paramours or concubines or mistresses or whatever. They would have the legal benefits of marriage to each other, though that marriage would be dissolved the instant that they ever became my slaves.

“Do you, Wendy, take this woman, Brittany, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, to love, cherish, and protect, for better or for worse, for rich or for poor, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?” I now asked my sister, who blushed and beamed herself now that she finally got the chance to tie the knot.

“I do,” Wendy blushed crimson yet again, looking at her bride, who was stunning in all of her pregnant beauty.

Naturally, as with my vows, we left out that whole “forsaking all others” nonsense. No one had time for such traditional trash. Marriage was the baby, but monogamy was the bathwater. All of us pregnant knew that none of us would be able to keep our hands off each other for too long. When I wanted to bend my sister and her wife over, I would, the same as I would with my wife and our slaves. These wouldn’t be our last babies. We all also fucked plenty of other people as it struck our fancy. I was a very busy man myself.

“Do you, Brittany, take this woman, Wendy, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, to love, honor, and obey, for better or for worse, for rich or for poor, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?” I now inquired of the former waitress.

“I do,” Brittany blushed as well, licking her lips as she contemplated what kind of commands she might have to “obey” from my sister.

“Then, by the power vested in me by the Independent State of Arizona, I now pronounce you woman and wife. You may kiss your brides,” I now declared, even as Wendy dipped Brittany to kiss her fiercely on the mouth.

“Oh, fuck meee!” Brittany shouted, even as I grabbed her by the hair of her head and bent her over a nearby chair.

“I believe that I shall,” I told her, sliding into my pregnant sister-in-law to fuck her good and hard from behind, “Wendy, grab my bride and fuck her with a strap-on ... maybe get Jordan to rim her. Tamara, stick your tongue up Brittany’s bum while I pound her.”

My slave grinned as she greedily licked Brittany’s butt and even Jordan proved enthusiastic at tasting Vanessa’s culo while Wendy humped her. It seemed that, as frustrated as he was by now, Jordan had decided that he would milk life of what pleasures remained in it. That was the healthiest approach to his predicament, short of suicide, which I was relieved that he didn’t choose. He was a very useful chattel for all of us, even if his own delights were limited.