OBEDIENTLY EVER AFTER II

by Reese Gabriel

  Ironically, he had, but it took years, not weeks or days as it had with the rest of the men in her life. And he had done so by sheer neglect, not by vicious attack.

  "Big isn't it?" he bragged as she squirted more of the gel into her palm.

  Miranda offered no reaction. Her job was the rubbing, the stroking. She had his cock glistening. God, he was big.

  "The balls, too."

  Miranda did his testicles, though she knew this would make no difference to Cammie's comfort level. John was just looking to exploit Miranda.

  "How about some right in the horse's mouth?" He offered patting Cammie's tautly drawn posterior.

  Miranda shuddered. John laughed. "Don't worry, I won't push you that far. Goldie can deal with a dry hole."

  Miranda called out, but it was too late. John was taking her, thrusting himself deep into her narrow canal. Cammie arched her back and released a moan into her gag. She was yielding herself, as though he were in her pussy.

  "Good slut," John murmured. "Good fucking slut."

  Cammie absorbed her praise and her penetration with equal grace. Her curvaceous body was hungry, hungry for cock, hungry for humiliation.

  John rammed himself deeper. "Play with yourself," he ordered Miranda. "I want you coming when this slut here does."

  Miranda gritted her teeth. She felt weak and languid, her body like a mannequin's. Under the man's command, she moved her hand down, between her legs.

  "Open your legs. I want to see bush. I want to see pussy," he snarled.

  By this point, John was ass fucking Cammie with the fury of a demon. Miranda reached her clit, swollen and ready. Cammie was whimpering. She wanted to come, but she had no cock between her legs, just up her ass.

  "Fuck yourself, bitch!" John groaned, his whole body shaking. "Fuck yourself and I'll buy this piece of shit property!"

  He managed to snake a finger around to Cammie's pussy. Her body went stiff at his touch. She went into orgasm at once. John slammed his dick home again and again until he, too, was roaring out in climax.

  Miranda dropped to her knees, unable to stay upright. Pinching her swollen nipple with one hand, she kept the other shoved between her legs. She bit down so hard on her panties she was sure she was tearing them up. Closing her eyes tight, she dug down to the center of her being.

  To her hopes and dreams and fears.

  To Rob.

  She fucking missed him. The callous, inconsiderate, checked-out son of a bitch. As the waves finished rocking her, she reached the only conclusion possible. Between tightly clenched thighs, her fingers held in a vise-grip, her lungs afraid to breathe lest the vibrations jar her apart ... she knew what she needed to do.

  It was time to go home and fix her marriage.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Erin Wyatt greeted them at the door with a smile on her face. "Hello, darling," she parted her lips discretely for a kiss from her husband.

  "Hello, Erin." Mark Wyatt bestowed his lips, strong and firm, crisp and business-like.

  The lovely blonde melted discretely, her one heeled foot sliding back on the floor and up to pointed toes, her bosom subtly pressed to his chest. Rob felt a twinge of jealousy at her obvious devotion. She had prepared herself exquisitely, in a sleeveless green dress, pearls and a matching emerald ribbon to tie back her silky, well-combed hair.

  There was something incredibly young and innocent about her, like she was a schoolgirl, though clearly, she was a well kept and fit woman in her thirties.

  "I missed you," she whispered, just a little breathless.

  He smiled back, his finger under her chin. "You grow more beautiful every time I see you, Erin."

  Her cheeks flushed to a delightful shade of pink. There was no doubt Mark was the center of her world.

  "The children are with the Smith's," Erin reported. "And dinner is nearly prepared."

  "Good girl," said Mark.

  "Thank you," she replied, her body almost at attention, straining forward toward him, ever so slightly.

  Rob had the sense she wanted to say or do more but was restrained. Was it his presence holding her back?

  "Erin, please take Rob's coat," Mark said.

  Erin held out her slim hands in readiness to receive Rob's business jacket. He noted she had not as yet addressed him directly.

  "Thank you," he told her as she took charge of his jacket.

  Erin bowed slightly, but said nothing. Rob had never been to the Wyatt's home before, so he had no idea if this was usual.

  "Rob, what would you like to drink?" Mark asked. "White wine, perhaps? Or a mixed drink?"

  "A whiskey would be fine, thanks. Neat."

  "Whiskey neat, for our guest," repeated Mark to his wife. "And the usual, for me. We'll take them in the living room."

  "Yes, darling." Erin headed off promptly, Rob's coat over her arm.

  Mark led Rob into the spacious living room. "Have a seat," he gestured toward the brown leather sofa. It was a perfect contrast to the lightly stained pine wood floors and brick chimney. The walls were off-white, covered with various tapestries and Native American artworks.

  "Quite a place you have here," Rob noted as Mark sat across from him on a matching, brown leather recliner.

  "Thank you, I'm quite proud of it. As I am of all my possessions." His eyes slipped sideways, tracing the movements of his wife, who was, just now, entering the room with the drinks.

  Two for the males, none for her.

  Rob felt a distinct stirring in his cock at the word "possessions". There was little mistaking that he counted his pretty blonde wife among them.

  Rob's curiosity was growing by the minute. "Thanks, Erin. I really appreciate it," he said as she offered him the drink.

  Erin gave the appearance of ignoring him as she moved to give her husband his drink.

  "Please don't think my wife is being rude," Mark offered by way of explanation. "She is not allowed to speak to any other men without permission."

  Rob looked at her, rigid as a soldier, standing next to her husband's chair, hands at her sides.

  Remarkable, he thought. It's like she exists just for him.

  "It seems odd," Rob admitted. "Talking about her in the third person."

  "Erin is quite comfortable with the arrangement. It pleases her. Doesn't it, Erin?"

  "Yes, Mark," she replied.

  "I'll admit, I'm amazed," Rob said. "How she must manage it all. The clean house. The wonderful supper I smell. And I know you have kids, too."

  "Her life is carefully regimented," Mark replied. "Left to her own devices Erin would tend toward laziness and manipulation, like any female."

  Rob looked at Erin for a reaction. Finding none he attempted a joke. "Wow. I half expected her to slug you for that remark."

  Mark smiled wryly. "Unlike most modern wives, Robert, Erin is not permitted the luxury of rejecting the truth. She must confront it daily, naked, on her knees, in total obedience."

  Rob wasn't sure what to say to that.

  Mark finished his bourbon. "Shall we eat?" he asked Rob.

  Erin whisked herself off to the kitchen.

  "There are only two settings," Rob noticed as they entered the dining room.

  Mark gestured for Rob to sit down to his right. "That's right," he agreed. "There are."

  "But what about Erin?"

  "Erin will be tended to later."

  Mark made her stand, like a servant, while they ate. She watched like a hawk, constantly refilling his glass and asking him if he wanted more servings of this or that.

  She did the same for Rob. Her presence rattled him just a little. Especially because he was trying to hide a hard-on, that only got worse with each act of obsequiousness on her part.

  At one point, his hands got shaking so bad, he managed to dribble hot gravy onto his lap and down his leg. Rob uttered a mild epithet at his clumsiness and leaped to his feet.

  "Don't worry about it," said Mark. "Erin will take care of it."

  Erin practically r
an to the kitchen.

  His heart quickened as she approached him a moment later, with a damp rag in hand. Surely she wasn't going to...

  "Hey, what are you doing?" He backed off as she made her approach, the rag aimed right at his crotch. "Keep away from me with that thing."

  Erin looked at her husband, fear in her eyes. Turning back to Rob, she whimpered softly, indicating her humble desire to clean him with the rag.

  "Robert, my wife's been given an order," Mark explained. "If she does not carry it out, she will face consequences."

  "Consequences?" Rob repeated.

  "Punishment," Mark elaborated. "My wife will be put under the cane. A full ten strokes to her naked buttocks."

  Rob's head was swimming. He tried to picture the nubile blonde, her ass exposed to the whistling, stinging rattan. "But ... I'm the one refusing her."

  "That is of no import. Any failure to carry out a command is considered disobedience. Isn't it, my darling, Erin?"

  Erin's lip tremored, very slightly. "Yes ... Master."

  Mark's features turned cold. "Were you given permission to call me that ...i n front of an outsider?"

  Erin realized her error. "N-no, Mas – I mean, no, Mark."

  "You'll be in the cage, tonight, little miss," he informed her. "Regardless."

  Erin hung her head.

  "The choice is yours, Robert," Mark turned to the dumbfounded man. "You may allow the wench to clean your pants or else I will take a cane to her."

  "I've got to be dreaming," Rob mumbled.

  "I assure you, it's quite real. Erin, you may beg the man, if you wish."

  Erin's beautiful face was dripping tears. "Sir ... please, may I clean your pants?"

  Rob's cock turned to iron as she dropped to her knees. "Please, sir," she looked up at him. "I beg you."

  Rob tried to swallow. His mouth was parched. What the hell was he going to say? What was he going to do? It seemed a little late to run out the door. "Yeah," he croaked at last. "Okay."

  "Thank you," breathed the woman, abject gratefulness emanating from her every pore.

  "You're welcome..." Rob clenched his fists, standing there as she scooted forward on her knees. He could see down her dress from this angle. Her bra was black silk, a pushup model. A little tight and maybe even a size or two too small.

  God, he wanted her. He wanted that submissive, whispering mouth of hers. And he wanted to grab those breasts, tearing off her dress, pushing her down on the floor and making her spread wide, pleasing him, desperately with that fine, fucking body of hers.

  Erin tended to the gravy stain, seemingly oblivious to the fact she was rubbing a man's erection in the process.

  Rob had to hold himself back, he was that close to coming. Fuck, was his boss trying to torture him? Talk about cruel.

  Erin moved down his leg in the nick of time, sparing him the embarrassment of ejaculating in his pants. She dabbed the few spots she could find then moved to check her work.

  Mark drew her attention to a final detail. "Sweetheart, you should check his shoes."

  There was a sexy kind of irony in the tone of his voice – such a kind and loving call for even greater self abasement.

  Without hesitation, Erin got down on all fours.

  "Not with the rag," her husband said.

  Erin dropped the cloth. Rob tried to stop her, too late. "My shoes are fine," he blurted. "There's nothing on them."

  "Erin knows what she needs to do," said Mark.

  Indeed she did. Lowering her head, her ribboned pony tail falling forward over her head, she touched her tongue to the leather of Rob's shoe.

  "Jeezus Christ," hissed Rob.

  His boss' wife was licking his feet...

  Inch by inch, covering the surface with her sexy, tongue. In perfect subjugation. For the first time, it hit him, square in the eye. Shit. The truth had been here all along, plain as the nose on his face. That magazine wasn't for jerking off. It was a lifestyle guide.

  For masters. And slaves.

  Erin wasn't just a traditional, polite, submissive wife. She was her husband's property, like his house, or his car. Or a dog he might buy.

  He had mentioned a cage for her, and he had been prepared to use a cane on her. Now she was here, on hands and knees, cleaning his shoes with her fucking tongue.

  "Mark, I really have to be going."

  The implications were too much right now. Was he supposed to be taking notes on all this for his own relationship? Miranda wasn't like this. She wouldn't lick, she wouldn't crawl. She wouldn't beg, and he was most certainly not the kind of brute to cage or beat his own damned wife.

  "If you must," Mark conceded. "Although I can see Erin has aroused you. She'd be more than happy to take your come in her mouth. Wouldn't you, girl?"

  "Yes," she sighed, looking up with wet puffy lips. "May I, Rob? May I swallow your come?"

  Rob could smell Erin's arousal. She was hot and eager under her dress. "Erin, I'm sorry," he said piteously. "I'm a married man. Mark, you won't punish her if I don't let her, will you?"

  "No," Mark assured him. "The use of my wife's mouth ... my slave's mouth ... is strictly a gift I am offering you as my guest. Erin," he snapped his fingers. "Take off your dress. Offer yourself properly."

  Erin stood, with all the grace of her feline nature. Raising her hands behind her head, momentarily lifting her full bosom enticingly high and forward for display, she lowered the zipper on the back of her dress. Shrugging it forward, she allowed it to fall over her hips and shapely legs.

  "Clothes are a privilege for my little wifey," said Mark, taking obvious pleasure in her easy stripping. "As is everything else I give her. She's my prize, Robert. I would kill for her, die for her. But I would never, ever let her go free. She is mine. Forever."

  Erin was breathing more heavily. Rob wasn't sure if she was getting off on her husband's words or the totally degrading scene he was creating for her. Maybe it was a combination of both.

  "You like the underwear?" Mark asked. "It's new."

  Erin stood for inspection, in the undersized bra and a pair of black thong panties, trimmed in lace.

  "I told the sales girl we wanted something slutty. Erin tried on quite a lot of things before there was a general consensus. Me, the sales girl, and a couple of male customers. I had to buy it all, of course, because wifey soaked through all the panties. Isn't that right, lover?"

  "Yes, Mark."

  "And why is that, sweetheart?"

  "I'm a slut, Mark."

  "And what would you like to do right now, my precious, beloved slut?"

  "I would like to swallow Rob's come."

  "What if I make you take a beating for it?"

  Erin's eyes glazed. She was another woman, no longer the neatly coiffed obedient housewife and mother. "I ... I would still want to..."

  "Well, isn't that flattering, Robert. She would take the cane, just to get at your cock," Mark quipped. "Although, in all honesty, Erin would suck any cock, wouldn't you, darling?"

  "Yes..." she sighed.

  "Any cock I ordered, Robert. And it's not only her mouth. If I choose, her pussy is available and her ass. Isn't it, girl?"

  "Yes..." She was beginning to move where she stood, a kind of subtle undulation in her scandalous undergarments, the scraps of black which did more to mock her modesty than cover it.

  "You may call me Master, Erin. I think Robert has guessed our dirty little secret by now."

  "Yes, Master." She sounded relieved to call him by the title.

  "There you have it, Robert. We are officially out of the closet. I am Erin's husband, and her owner. She is my wife, and my pet, in the most literal sense of the word."

  Rob shook his head. "Mark, I'm sorry, this is just a little much."

  "Is it Erin?" Mark wondered. "If she did something to put you off, she would be happy to try and make it right."

  The half naked blonde took her cue and dropped back down to her knees on the floor. Her legs tucked beneath he
r, she touched her forehead to the tip of Rob's shoe. Arms extended in front of her, palm down, she addressed him directly. "Sir, forgive, this miserable slave. Punish her ... use the cane or whip on her ass. Teach her her place as an animal."

  The blood pounded in Rob's head. He was so fucking confused. He felt like he could do just that – use this woman as a piece of slave meat, working out on her helpless, imbonded body all the darkest of his lusts. But she wasn't his. What were the limits of playing such a dangerous game with Mark Wyatt's wife?

  Presumably he wanted her back. And in reasonable working order.

  Another part of him was disgusted. That he could entertain the idea of punishing and torturing a woman, just because she was calling herself a slave. This should not be turning him on, much less giving him the most powerful erection he'd had since he was a teenager.

  What about Miranda? She was being a tight ass bitch. An aloof ice queen. Spacey when it came to their marriage, but she didn't deserve to be cheated on. He ought to be a man and just tell her, if it wasn't working, if he needed to move on in the relationship.

  Sweetheart, I need a sex slave ... I gotta let you go.

  That would go over really big.

  "Erin, Mark, I can't be a party to this."

  "Please, Sir," Erin whined. "This slave will be better ... this girl will be good."

  "It's not that, Erin. It's not about you being good or not."

  "What is it, then, Robert?" asked Mark. "Is it me you're rejecting? Are you condemning my lifestyle? Pretty hypocritical considering that boner in your pants, and my magazine you stole."

  "Mark, I'll pay for the damned magazine," Rob snapped.

  "You're raising your voice in my house?" the man queried calmly.

  Rob ran his hands through his hair. He was sweating like a demon. "Mark, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, and I'll replace the magazine. I just need to go home."

  "Go home to what?" Mark pressed. "To an empty house? To hours of waiting for Miranda to show up so you can sleep next to an iceberg all night? Or is tonight the night you'll be able to successfully beg sex from her?"

  "With all due respect, that's my business, Mark."

  "Do you think I go wanting?" Mark pressed. "Do you think I permit Erin to play games with me? Do you think she would dare be anything but hot and eager? That body on the floor in front of you is mine, and when I want it, I take it. Slavery isn't a game, Robert and it's not a joke or a freak show. It's the most powerful male-female bond in the universe. Erin is the mother of my children and I cherish and protect her. She will never want for anything, and she will never be dishonored. Slavery is a secret we keep, from the children, from the entire world. Except the few, like you, that I choose to reveal it to. Do not disrespect my gift, my sacred trust in you."