Shadow of Doubt

by Sir Nathan

  At nineteen, I was still so reliant on Johan. As his star rose, I wanted to feel like a success too. Marriage to a twenty-eight year old business executive was fun and sometimes exciting, but I wanted something I could call my own.

  I had designs on becoming a graphic artist, so while Johan worked his fingers to the proverbial bone, I went to school and boy was that fun. I enjoyed all the looks I got, walking around the campus in my short skirts and halter necks. I fended off dozens of advances from guys during those years and actually got into one jam with a guy who pinned me against the wall in the college bar one evening.

  God, it made me so wet, but thanks to a friend, I squirmed out of his embrace and fled home into the arms of my husband who kindly fucked my ass off. I was so nervous when I got home though. He’d warned me so many times about wearing the clothes I liked. “One day you are gonna get attacked wearing stuff like that,” he’d say.

  “Don’t be so old-fashioned.”

  “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I wish I had a dollar for every time he said something like that. When I returned that night, he had no sympathy. “You stupid slut. He probably thought you were begging for it.”

  “But I wasn’t though,” I complained. “I didn’t say anything. He just grabbed me and pushed me against the wall and started feeling me up.”

  “Hey, I’ve warned you a hundred times, if you dress like a tart, you’ll be treated like one.”

  “That’s not fair. I like my clothes.”

  “You probably loved it anyway.”

  “I did not!”

  “Bullshit. You said you didn’t say anything!”

  “I was too shocked!”

  “Bullshit. Show me your cunt.”

  “Noooo!”

  “Now!”

  “Oh, it’s not fair. You make me wet. Not this. Not being felt up by a complete stranger!”

  “I don’t believe you. Show me your cunt, NOW!”

  “Ohhhhh ...” I remember picking up the hem of my short skirt and there for Johan to see was a big patch of wetness in the gusset of my panties.

  “See? You loved it.” Well of course I did. But I couldn’t admit it to him, no matter how submissive I was. Good girls aren’t supposed to like that kind of thing. I always thought I was good, as long as I was pleasing my man. I fantasised about a lot of things, sure. But I never dreamed of actually doing them.

  “No, I love you!” Yeah, I know, I wasn’t exactly lying, but I wasn’t telling the truth either. Honesty is the basis of a correct D/s relationship. I’ve heard it a million times before. But a girl’s got to have some secrets, right? They were just fantasies, and I didn’t want to hurt my man. Or my marriage!

  I mean, what would happen if I told him the truth? What would happen if I told him I fantasised about being fucked by a gang in an alley? Or treated like a slut by a girl and forced to go down on her and her friends? God! He might disown me! He might think I’d gone too far, that I really wanted something like that to happen!

  Ugh! I couldn’t tell him the truth! I couldn’t tell him my nipples got hard as soon as that guy at school pressed his body against me. I couldn’t tell him I practically went weak at the knees as he put his hand up my skirt and caressed the inside of my thigh. It was indecent! I was so thankful Suzie, one of my friends from class, was with me.

  “Get off her, you baboon!” She punched him hard in the shoulder and I wriggled free. I was slack-jawed, unable to comprehend why I didn’t do anything to stop him. I was like a deer in headlights. Fortunately it all happened so fast, Suzie hadn’t noticed my inaction. I felt embarrassed. I felt humiliated. I felt guilty.

  And I felt wet.

  Which Johan decided to check. Right there in the kitchen. He said I was a slut, and sluts should be punished. So he took the wooden spoon from the drawer and spanked my ass about fifty times! He made me admit I was a slut. Yes, I’m a slut! For you! Then he spanked me till my ass glowed and I was moaning from the red-hot pain and the humiliation of being spanked over the kitchen bench. God, it was breathtaking!

  When he was done, he fucked me right up my sore and sorry ass. And he was rough. I go nuts when he’s rough. When I thought he was done spanking me, he pushed me back down and pushed two fingers up my pussy, fucked me with them for a minute, then pushed them straight up my ass. God! If my ass wasn’t so sore, and I wasn’t so exhausted, I would have screamed for mercy. But by that time I just wanted to be fucked.

  And so I was. He cornholed my poor little ass till I screamed in ecstasy. Did I tell you I love it up the ass after that initial penetration has settled down? Well, he never gave me the chance to get accustomed. He just jammed himself up my ass and started hammering away. It knocked the wind out of me and I couldn’t even think, let alone scream! Then he started spanking my already tortured ass and I forgot about the pain from his cock real fast. In no time I was bucking back into him and yelling for him to fuck me harder. He pulled my head back by the hair and slammed me till he came, then spanked me once more for good measure and told me to clean up.

  I knew what that meant. I had to wipe up the juices from my pussy that were running down my legs and lick them from my fingers. I begged him to let me cum but he said I wasn’t allowed. He said, “Sluts get used, they don’t care how. And they get off on being used, not just by cumming.” It was like he hit a raw nerve. And that nerve was in my clit. I shuddered and tried to avoid my deceitful little jelly bean so as not to cum. He kept me like that for hours, and while I hated it at the time, looking back on it now it turned me on so much.

  So maybe I am his slut. His horny girl. His horny little slut girl who masturbates to her hot fantasies. Fantasies that make her nervous at the thought of telling him. Nervous and wet. Even now, sitting here trying to finish my first paragraph, I keep getting distracted and have to clean the juices leaking from my pussy. And lick my fingers. I can hear his chuckle in my mind and it just makes me wetter ...

  Dear Sir,

  I’ve been a naughty girl and I haven’t been completely and utterly honest with you. I have extreme fantasies, fantasies that would make a whore blush, and as you asked, I will set them out here, for you to do with as you wish ...

  Chapter 2

  I’d spent many hours in front of the computer in Johan’s den while he was at work or away, reading erotic stories and tweaking my imagination. Sometimes I looked at porn too, but I always found the images in my head much more erotic.

  For almost two hours I’d been sitting there, chewing my thumbnail or sucking a pencil, and not getting anywhere. I’d made little headway. Instead I spent most of the time revisiting my fantasies and trying to make sense of them in my head.

  I was lost in my thoughts and almost jumped out of my skin when Johan knocked loudly and pushed his head around the door.

  “I’ve just come to tell you dinner’s rea ... what’s wrong, baby?”

  “This is just ... really hard!”

  “Come and have some dinner. You can come back and start over when we’re done.”

  Start over? I’d hardly written anything! “Okay ... I am kinda hungry.”

  Being Sunday night, the kids were at their Grandmother’s house and would by now be getting themselves ready for bed. Johan and I enjoyed a romantic candlelight dinner of spicy fish and sautéed vegetables. While we ate, we talked quietly about the problems I was having writing down my fantasies for him.

  I told him it wasn’t easy. Of course he made light of my difficulties (well, he is a male), telling me, “Sure it is, you already told them to me once, sweetheart.” I love all the pet names he has for me. I smiled softly and explained to him it was more than that. I told him how it was important to me to own them, and that I needed to sort them out in my head. I wanted to give him some idea of why I had them.

  He said he understood, and repeated his suggestion to start over. “Sometimes when I write a letter, I just start off on the wrong foot. Start over, baby. Just tell me what’s going on in your head.”
>
  Maybe he was right. Later after we’d washed up the dishes, I sat back down in front of the damned computer. I moved the mouse and the screensaver flickered away. The opening paragraph stared back at me from the screen. For about the twentieth time, I read it again.

  I’ve been a naughty girl and I haven’t been completely and utterly honest with you. I have extreme fantasies, fantasies that would make a whore blush, and as you asked, I will set them out here, for you to do with as you wish.

  I wrinkled my nose. It sounded too formal and I wasn’t happy with it.

  “ ... make a whore blush ...” I giggled. It didn’t sound like me at all. Besides, there was something else. I didn’t really know if it would make any difference, but I had to be even more honest. You see, I hadn’t told Johan that I had taken a very small step away from ‘not wanting to actually do them’.

  Lately I’ve recalled certain fantasies when I’ve noticed attractive people, and instead of just accepting them as fantasies and forgetting about them, I’ve wondered, ‘God, imagine actually doing that here’, or, ‘Imagine if it was them!’ When I get thoughts like that, my nipples get hard and my skin prickles with excitement.

  They were hard now at the thought of what I was about to do.

  I highlighted the text, hit backspace, and swallowed. This was not going to be a short letter! I sat back in Johan’s chair to swivel a little and thought about how I usually go about fucking myself. As I always do, I closed my eyes and used my imagination. Like a movie, I watched myself get ready and then play with myself on our big bed in the dark. I figured if I was going to write about it, I’d better get an idea of what I must look like. I saw myself with my legs spread wide, thrusting a big toy into my body with one hand and pressing a strong vibe to my clit with the other. I felt the blush creeping up my cheeks and my nipples hardened. I rolled my hips a little and squeezed my thighs together. God, I was so wet. I sighed. I was never gonna get this letter written.

  I stood up and went to the bathroom for a new towel. I grabbed a nice fluffy one and returned to the den. Not once did I think to put my panties back on. I folded it in half and sat back down. You see, I get very juicy when I get excited, and warm liquid will well up inside me and eventually escape, trickling down the inside of my thighs or staining what I’m wearing.

  Of course Johan loves how hot and wet I get, and he likes making me clean myself. He says it’s sexy and I don’t mind the taste. It’s just, well, it’s nasty and it always makes me blush, and my nipples get hard when I blush, and my whole body tingles and I get doubly horny! I’ve told him what happens and that it’s a losing battle and having to do it only makes me hornier.

  He just chuckles and says he likes me horny.

  It’s infuriating!

  I resigned myself to my fate, and I could feel myself blushing more just thinking about it. Taking a deep breath and then pouting unconsciously, I spread my legs and slid my pretty, summer dress up from my knees with flat palms. I watched as my thighs, with their smooth tanned skin from so many hours in the solarium, were slowly revealed.

  Is it wrong that I like the look of my body? That I enjoy the pleasure it gives me? Johan enjoys it. He always has. Mmmmmm ... my beautiful husband. He’s so sweet.

  I started thinking about fucking him. Dragging my French nails lightly up the inside of my bare thighs, I closed my eyes and saw him over me, fucking me hard. I quickly shook my head and opened my eyes again, sitting up a little straighter but leaving my legs open.

  I furrowed my brow in annoyance. “It’s not fair,” I said aloud. It was such a mean rule. I lifted the bunched hem of my skirt above my cleanly shaved pussy, staring down at my glistening folds. So wet, and I hadn’t even touched myself. I’d be here for hours if I didn’t get my mind on this letter.

  I lifted my middle and index fingers to my mouth, sliding them between my lips. Moistening them a little, I slid them together over my clit and down to my puffy, wet opening, then drew them slowly up to catch what had escaped. “Mmmmmm ...” I tried to think constructively about what I was going to write while I watched my fingers returning to my mouth, glistening with my juices.

  I licked my lips and sighed. Well, I thought, as I slid my fingers into my mouth, it shouldn’t take too long. There’s only three or four different fantasies isn’t there? I closed my mouth around my fingers and sucked softly.

  Maybe five?

  I returned my somewhat dry fingers to my hot, wet little pussy and shivered as I drew them up between my lips, coating them with my honey again, before once more cleaning them in my mouth. I swallowed and set my jaw. I needed to get this done now. And then I needed a good fuck! I shook my head at myself and cleaned my fingers in my mouth one last time.

  I sat up straight and rearranged myself, wiping my fingers on the towel. Bringing them up to the keyboard, I reminded myself that I needed to stay focused while thinking about this stuff. I wanted to make sure Johan knew a couple of things first. Then, if I hurried up, maybe there would still be time to fool around a bit. I smiled to myself and started typing.

  Dear Johan,

  In the interests of complete honesty, I’ve decided to make this kind of like a confession. I want you to know everything there is to know about my masturbation habits. I hate that word. ‘Masturbation’. The feel of that word isn’t right, baby. In my head I call it ‘fucking myself’. So I’m going to call it that here. I hope you don’t mind. I just think it’s important you understand everything, baby, so I’m gonna write it all down exactly how I think about it.

  Johan, you know how when we do it, I can be really dirty, and really naughty? Well, when I close my eyes and fantasise, I can be even dirtier and naughtier. I’ll try to explain.

  When I’m with you, I’m so focused and so lost in you, baby. You are the centre of my universe and none of these fantasies intrude into that. I never think about them unless I’m alone. Ever. The things we do when we are together are so close to my limits, so close to as much as I can stand, they consume me ... And yet, in my fantasies, I still wonder about things. Different things. Dirty things. But I don’t feel unfulfilled. I want you to know that. You take me so high, baby.

  So, when I’m alone, something might happen. It might be a thought that I have, or a commercial on TV. Anyway, suddenly I feel horny and I think about all my amazing toys. Then I think, “what the hell,” and I go to the bedroom and make a selection.

  Then I usually turn off the lights and close my eyes. I can see things much more clearly in my mind like that. During the day I draw the curtains. Then like I said, I take off my clothes and close my eyes. Sometimes in my mind, I’m being ordered to do it. Yes, baby, sometimes it hits me that hard.

  I’ll lie down on the bed and gather my toys around me within reach, and watch as the pictures in my mind begin. It’s times like these when my limits are blown away. With my eyes closed, and my toys doing their work, I can be such a dirty girl, baby. I do things I’d never imagine doing in real life.

  Like most people, it’s sometimes one scenario, sometimes another, and sometimes they vary a little, but basically I come back to the same four or five different ones. Okay, so I guess I better write them down now ... Yes, I’m nervous, but I’m grinning. Here goes nothing!

  One of the fantasies I have is one that I think most people have at one time or another. It comes from being a bit of a show-off, I guess. I know I have a nice body and I notice the looks my legs get. It turns me on, and I sometimes have the devilish thought of flashing.

  When I was younger, I would fuck myself to the thought of flashing at traffic or exposing myself to the boys at football games. Then while at college I would wonder if I could flash a good-looking guy while having lunch in the cafeteria. I’ve also fantasised about being exposed on a city street or a crowded train. I’ve never done anything like that, but the thought of it drives me nuts. The thought of finding myself exposed in front of a group of people, their eyes devouring me, their cocks getting hard and their pussies get
ting wet, excites me a lot. I can’t help it. I’ve always loved the look of a hard cock in a pair of jeans, baby, you know that. But even more so, it’s the thought of what they think of me that makes me cum. Like, “Look at that girl, what a slut ...”

  God, Johan, the thought of actually doing it ... I masturbate to that fantasy a lot.

  A fairly recent fantasy, in a similar vein, is not only to be exposed to, but also used by, our friends. I find a lot of our friends very attractive, for a variety of reasons. I mean, some of them are quite good looking, and knowing most of them share this lifestyle and would use me well ... ohhh, it makes me shiver when I think about it.

  Please understand, Johan, that there is no one I desire to be with other than you. I don’t ‘want’ anyone else. But if I were ‘made’ to please them, or ‘used’ for their pleasure, I wouldn’t be responsible for enjoying it, would I? Because, baby, that’s exactly what happens. They use me. I’m touched by them, felt, caressed, spanked, played with, and fucked. But I’m unable to move or touch them in any way. I’m at their mercy. In my fantasy, I’m naked, blindfolded, gagged and tied down tight. I can’t do anything to stop what happens. Being unable to tell who is doing what, and not being able to do anything about it, is a major fantasy for me, and I love the orgasms I get from that one.

  Ugh. Just a minute ... Okay, back again. I’m shaking my head ‘cause I can hear you chuckling.

  The third fantasy involves other women. Whereas the last fantasy usually has women present and involved, it’s not the same because it’s impersonal. In this fantasy, I have to satisfy others. I’ve never had an experience with another woman, and I have no desire to initiate one. But I’ve looked at other girls and thought they were attractive, and I’ve wondered if they taste the same as I do. But that’s all.

  You and I both know I’d never do anything like this without your permission, but even with your blessing, if someone I found attractive asked me, I would definitely say ‘no’. Even though I’m curious about it, I couldn’t admit to wanting it. What I’m getting at is, I’ve never seen myself as wanting it or liking it. To eat pussy, I mean, baby. I mean, you guys do it, and seem to like it. So it couldn’t be too bad. Oh, I don’t know! In my mind, I always thought you had to be a lesbian to want to do that. But you see, if I didn’t have that choice, if I ‘had’ to or if I was ‘made’ to, I could do it. Then if I liked it, I wouldn’t be a lesbian. Would I? I know I should be more open-minded. Blame the nuns, baby. (winks)