Chapter 3

“We’re living the dream,” I told Karen one sunny afternoon after our second month as Master and Slave.

She was referring to me as Master in private, and while I didn’t call her ‘Slave,’ I also found it difficult to think of her as just my wife or Karen while she submitted to me. During the times when she was submitting, I thought of Karen as my slave and so did she.

Things had generally been better than I had expected. In that month, I laid down the fundamentals of a Master-slave relationship with my wife. I had purchased some bondage and sex toys online to enhance her training, too.

Of course when I made my remark, Karen didn’t answer me. She couldn’t. I gagged her with a huge dildo that actually entered her throat and made her neck look amazing. Her hands were cuffed behind her back and her legs were spread in a spreader bar. I had clothespins attached to each of her pink nipples, and I had stuffed a dildo into her pussy to compliment the small rubber butt-plug already filling her ass hole.

The gardener had just left. He was the only other person who had ever seen Karen completely vulnerable and bound this way, and he’d never said a word about it. He smiled and waved and looked at my helpless wife in the window but pretended it was all perfectly normal. I somehow knew he wouldn’t walk through the door and try to fuck her no matter what he thought of her. I was pretty sure Karen knew that too. It was something incredibly hot that neither of us could deny that, if he did request her use, she would have to serve him sexually. I got hard just THINKING about that.

Karen often asked me questions, especially when we first began. At first, I considered it topping from the bottom because it seemed like she was challenging everything I wanted her to do. Her asking me to have a reason was really annoying. I came to realize that Karen could accept rules if she understood there was a purpose to them and the person making the rules wasn’t being arbitrary. She was testing me to see if I had a plan before she would accept that plan. I came to appreciate those questions because it meant I really did need to think about what I was doing, and I couldn’t just make random things up on the fly.

As an example, she wanted to know what she would do IF the gardener tapped on the glass. She also wanted to know what to do IF the gardener was upset and wanted her to stop being so nasty. I told her if he wanted inside, she was to offer to please him. I explained that her purpose was to amuse and obey her betters. I told her if he wanted us to knock it off, we would.

My logic was simply that if the gardener didn’t want to see my wife trussed up, I wouldn’t make him. Karen read something into that rule that I had never intended, but that I came to really enjoy. My wife felt the rule was an incentive to be as over-the-top and as exposed to Sammy the gardener as possible. She figured if she was outrageous enough, the timid gardener would become so shocked he’d complain, then I would stop putting her on display.

It was Karen’s idea that I make her squat like this in the sunroom window. She had practiced for weeks to be able to deepthroat a dildo. “If I start to choke, please take it out, Master?” she asked me.

“Why? Don’t you think the gardener would be shocked if he saw all that spit dripping off your lips and onto your tits as you choke on a big black dildo?” I smirked.

“You’re right, Master!” And Karen obediently opened her mouth as wide as she could.

I should mention that Karen was raised in the deep south. She had many black friends but most of her family was deeply racist. Karen told me her first boyfriend in middle school was black. She had to keep the fact she was dating him secret from her family. Karen told me she might have started dating him just as an act of defiance but she really liked him. She said it was kind of thrilling have to sneak around behind her family’s back because it was her dirty little secret. She broke up with him the moment her brothers started teasing her about him.

She said she regretted that, but she couldn’t bear the thought of their constant insults and the humiliation they would have heaped on her for being a, “nigger-lover.”

There was an extra level of shame and degradation for Karen when I had her suck a black dildo. I had also started Karen wearing a small butt-plug several hours a day. A week earlier she protested, but it was helping her adjust to all of the anal sex we’d started having. She even thanked me for insisting on it, once we started.

I learned that, just like her first boyfriend, the plug was her dirty little secret. She could be at work or out shopping and be continuously reminded that she was being trained by her husband to take it up the ass whenever it suited him. There was a practical purpose to training my wife’s asshole as well. The plug was not stretching her out but it was training her asshole muscles so she could consciously choose to grip my dick when I fucked her and to easily relax her asshole when necessary. I started out using lube but I quickly progressed to simply spitting on her asshole.

We developed a routine where I’d spit on her asshole every time she cleaned and reinserted the plug, and we both really enjoyed the shared experience. It was like we each had our responsibilities and both of us felt like we were living out a scene from the dream she’d had.

Unfortunately, reality has a way of making you focus on other priorities, like work and family. There was no getting around that, although we were still making the most of any opportunity to play when the kids were occupied. Still, I had to admit I was never more thankful to see the kids all choosing to leave the house when they did. Claire and Joe were old enough that they were frequently gone an entire weekend. My youngest son Kyle, was often home, but he liked to be up in his room with his headphones on, playing his video games while ruining his hearing with whatever music he was into that day or week - and believe me, it seemed to change that often!

That leads me to an explanation of one perfect weekend when all three kids were out of the house the whole Saturday and Sunday. That Saturday, Karen begged me to be particularly creative when the gardener came over to mow the lawn. I bound her like before and attached clothespins to her nipples and her labia. Karen could reach a state on the edge of an orgasm that to her was like her nirvana.

She told me it was like heaven because of the constant stimulation from the clothespins. “It feels like a tiny red ant is biting my clit and nipples, and he wants to make me suffer but he is strangely turning me on!” Karen explained that it was a sublime feeling of both pain and pleasure. It was funny to me that she’d assigned a gender to the ‘tiny red ant’ but just as awesome that she enjoyed it so much.

My wife wouldn’t admit that the humiliation of being exposed to the gardener gave her an adrenaline rush, but I could see it in her eyes as she prepared herself for an afternoon like a puppy on display in a pet store window. I further upped my game when I used lipstick to write ‘CUNT’ on her forehead, in large red letters.

I randomly picked a lipstick out of a makeup drawer and was positioning myself to write, when Karen squeaked, “NO!”

I thought I had finally pushed my wife to refuse one of my orders. I was about to remind her that it was her dream we were living and insist that she obey me. I knew Karen found the ‘C’ word to be offensive. She’d say nigger, but she reserved the word cunt for women she despised. It was one reason I made her use that word to describe her pussy at all times.

“Please, Master,” she begged, sounding panicked. “That’s Ulta! If you’re going to write on my forehead, the other one would be MUCH better!” She reached into the same drawer and produced another one that looked the same to me, but she assured me it was much more suitable to waste.

I chuckled sweetly and told her how much I loved her. She continued to bat her eyelashes at me and smiled sexily as I wrote on her for the first time. And here I thought she’d be angry with me and tell me I had gone too far!

“Once you tie me up and stick the dildo in my mouth, will you take a picture and send it to my phone, Master?” she pleaded submissively. She explained that she wanted to be able to look at herself later, helplessly bound and displayed so she could relive the experience.

“Ah, living the dream huh, Slut?” I asked, not expecting a reply because I was already stuffing a dildo into her throat.

I took three or four pictures and sent them to her and myself before turning her to face the backyard where she’d see the gardener as soon as he rounded the back of the house. She was squatting in heels, something I’d made her practice in the bedroom, but with a spreader bar attached to her ankles. The position fully exposed her pussy to anyone in the backyard while at the same time highlighting the fabulous lines of her legs in all their glory. She didn’t have to wait there long. Her big tits jiggled slightly as she looked at the man working in the hot sun with anticipation that he’d notice her soon.

Sammy no longer pretended he didn’t see her. He’d ride by, wave and smile. I’d wave back at him and Karen would drool and mumble. Good times! If I could save a perfect moment and bottle it, I would have saved that one. I’d open the bottle again and drink it if I could. Those moments were so rare back then I doubt I would have ever taken that bottle off the shelf though. I think back on how sexy it was to watch my wife squat for me for an hour and just expose herself in the sun room windows, and it still makes my dick hard as a rock.

Once the gardener left, it was a little anticlimactic. The Hispanic guy didn’t knock on the door to ask to fuck my wife’s mouth or even tell us we had gone too far. I think Karen would have secretly been disappointed if he’d made her stop.

“I really wish he’d knock on the door and asked to fuck your lovely face, cunt or ass,” I lamented. I was making Karen wash my dick with her lips and tongue before I completely untied her.

“You really WOULD completely share me with other men, Master?” Karen asked as best she could with my cock in her mouth.

I had either become good at understanding her with a dick in her mouth, or she was getting better at talking through whatever was in her mouth.

“I’m not insecure, Bitch,” I said in a casual way, using the pet name I’d been calling her more often lately. “I know who you belong to, and more importantly, YOU know who you belong to.” I said as I began face-fucking her in earnest while lightly choking her with my hands around her throat. “If I loaned your time or your body to someone else, it wouldn’t change that. It would simply be a test of your obedience to me. You would be doing it because I ordered it. It would be different if you were cheating on me and setting out to get affection from someone else. I’m talking about the dream, Karen. You exist to please me. If it pleases me to see you get the shit fucked out of you by the gardener, you would obey,” I said.

“I love The Dream, Master! I really do!” Karen agreed, and I think that was the first time she’d said it in exactly the way I felt about it. Like THE DREAM was a title and not just a super hot memory to us both. Unfortunately, she attempted to put a damper on things by reminding me, “But if you don’t untie me soon, Sir, Joe is going to come home from football practice and walk in that door!”

“I thought we had the house to ourselves this weekend?” I managed as I jizzed on my wife’s tongue.

Karen pulled her head back and opened her mouth to show me the cum as she answered. She had to speak carefully so she didn’t swallow without permission. “He’ll just be home to change and then he’s going out with his friends, Master!”

Usually, Joe only stayed a few minutes to shower and change before heading out again. Teens! They’re always on the move. Joe was almost an adult and I found myself thinking more of him as a man than a boy in the last few months. Even if it was unlikely he would walk into the sunroom and find his mother bound, we’d never wanted to take a chance of that occurring.

The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to push the envelope. Naturally, I didn’t want to shock my kids and expose them to things they couldn’t or shouldn’t understand. It was just part of the frustration of living our dream for a couple hours, packing everything up then once the coast was clear, starting a new game.

“How quiet can you be, Bitch?” I asked Karen. I specifically didn’t give her permission to swallow. I stuffed the black dildo back between her tired jaws. I put another dildo in her cunt and checked her butt-plug without untying her. I unsnapped the clothespins and pulled on her nipples and clit before re-applying them. I loved how elastic they were, and I flicked them a little with my finger, enjoying her torment.

“Hrmfeerrremf,” she replied.

“I’m not going to release you this time. As you say, Joe’s going to be home soon and he has no reason to come here looking for you, but if you’re really quiet, it won’t even occur to him. I’m going to the living room to watch TV, and if he asks me, I’ll tell him you’re tied up with a project and not to disturb you.

Karen’s eyes got huge, and she struggled a bit, testing her bindings before she settled down again. I don’t think she was really trying to get out of her bindings. She probably could have stood up and got out of the bondage if she really wanted to. I think she felt she had to at least make a show of trying. She tried to speak, but that big black dildo was an effective gag that even she couldn’t talk around. She just made mewling piggy noises to elicit sympathy. I ignored her pleas, but it did give me an idea for later.

If this were a made-up story, I’d tell you that Joe walked in on his mom and had his way with her or blackmailed her into serving him or something equally as fantastic and unrealistic. It may be anticlimactic, but when Joe did get home, he didn’t even have time to tell me how his practice went. He ran upstairs, and 20 minutes later he was out the door. I was just like him at that age, so I wasn’t mad. I didn’t really want him to catch his mother tied up anyway.

I know it sounds irresponsible on my part, but I am a betting man. Joe’s interests are sports, girls, and his friends. I’m not sure in what order those fall, but no matter how you spin it, hanging out with Dad in the living room watching TV on a lovely Saturday didn’t rank in Joe’s top ten priorities.

Claire popped in as well, seemingly to prove that she remembered she lived in a house and not at a friend’s place or at the mall. My daughter always looked sarcastic and annoyed with whatever was happening around her. She had a pretty face, but she usually looked like she’d just smelled a fart and was disgusted by it. The other expression Claire wore far too frequently was one like she had mischievously just silently farted and was about to leave the room so everyone else could ‘enjoy’ her parting gift.