BOB'S STORY

Chapter 4

Our lives continued in that manner for several weeks.  The two lovers behaved exactly as if they were on a honeymoon, which in many respects is probably a pretty accurate description of their mindset.  They seemed to be fascinated with each other, and as most newlyweds do, spent endless hours exploring each other's bodies.  In the first two weeks following Carol's trip to Mark's bedroom, they fucked in every room in our home, sometimes several times.  I was usually in attendance, and it seemed I never tired of watching them make love, and I especially never tired of what was required when the act had been completed.  I had truly found my destiny, and it was to live as my wife's cum slave.  There was nothing more exciting to me than being "required" to lick and suck her delicious pussy after they had fucked, and the taste, the smell, and the texture of that part of her body quickly became my obsession.  In short, it was the only way I was allowed to give pleasure to her, and I loved doing it.

At night I would lie in my lonely bed, living for the moment when Carol would call out my name.  I would rush to their bedside, quickly falling to my knees there.  She would turn sideways in the bed, place her legs over my shoulders, and say, "Eat it."  Of course, I didn't need her command in order to do that.  I loved providing that service, and would have begged to be allowed to do it.  I seemed to have no greater mission in life than to lick and suck my wife's freshly-fucked pussy, and would have gladly done it every waking moment if that were possible.

The only sexual relief I was allowed was masturbation.  Even given my age, I seemed to need to cum at least twice a day, and even though my crotch ached from overwork, I couldn't stop my hand from drifting down my body as I lay alone in my bed.

I loved to provide every service I could to the lovers, and when the alarm clock rang in the morning, I would hurry to the kitchen to prepare their morning coffee, along with any special treat I could think of to serve them.  I enjoyed seeing them lying in their bed as I brought the tray to their room, especially the many occasions when they would already be awake.  Mark seemed to especially like what he called "morners," by which he meant intercourse before they got out of bed in the morning.  Sometimes they would allow me to watch as they engaged in their first lovemaking of the day, and then as they drank their coffee and ate the sweet rolls I had brought to them, Carol would allow me to suck my breakfast from her stretched, dripping-wet vagina.

The only real change in our routine came about two months after the beginning of their relationship.  Mark had been required to attend a statewide meeting of veterinarians, and was away from home for two nights.  Carol said she didn't want to sleep alone, and had told me I could return to what had once been my bed.  My imagination ran wild until she brought me back to reality by saying, "Of course, you won't be able to undress.  Mark doesn't want you in bed with me when you're naked.  I agree, since it'd probably just lead to more frustration than you already have."

I was devastated to learn that I would have to lie next to her naked body, but would have to keep all my clothes on.  Even though I knew what I would experience then would be very hard to take, just the chance to be near her was enough to make me look forward to that night with more anticipation that I would have thought possible.

She allowed me to bathe her before bedtime, and the stimulation of touching her delicate skin, of bathing her beautiful breasts, and finally of soaping and then rinsing her exquisite crotch, was almost too much to bear.  By the time I had toweled her dry, and we were lying side by side in bed, I was literally out of my head with lust.

Carol had left her bedside lamp on, and as she lay on her back, I simply could not drag my eyes from the sight of her naked breasts, and the entrancing curves of her lovely body.  In the lamplight, I could see her nipples were erect, and I prayed with all my might that indicated she was sexually interested in me, and before much longer I would once again be allowed to give her pleasure.

I very slowly reached out one hand to lightly touch her breast, and was rewarded with an immediate slap as my hand was knocked away.  She said sharply to me, "Don't touch me!  Mark wouldn't allow that!  If you can't keep your hands to yourself, you'll have to sleep on the floor.  Now behave yourself."

I was desperate to be allowed to remain lying beside her, and apologized over and over for what I'd done.  She seemed to at last forgive me, and said, "I know this has been very hard for you, honey, but it's what you said you wanted to happen.  You told me you wanted me to fuck Mark, and now you'll just have to live with the consequences."  She paused for several seconds then, as if gathering her thoughts, before asking, "Do you still love me?"

That simple question shocked me more than anything she'd said to me for many months, if not years.  My love for her was such an all-encompassing thing, so overpowering, so very much a part of my being, that I couldn't believe she'd ever question it.  I told her over and over that she was the most important thing in the whole world, that I loved her with all my heart and soul, that I would do anything for her, and that I thought she was the most wonderful person that ever had existed.

She seemed to forgive me for my transgression, and then looked deep into my eyes while her hands began to caress her breasts.  She whispered, "Would you like to watch while I play with myself?"

It was almost more than I could do to force my aching throat to say, "Please."  She smiled in a satisfied manner, then began to slowly move one hand down her body, while the other continued to fondle, pinch, and pull her erect nipples.  When her questing hand reached her pubic hair, she sighed and stretched, then parted her legs.

She whispered, "Get down between my legs so you can see better.  I want you to see how excited I get when I think of Mark doing this to me.  If you touch me, I'll make you get out of his bed."

I hurried to do her bidding, and soon my eyes were locked on the sight of her fingers slowly sliding up and down her slit.  After several minutes of doing that, she brought down her other hand and spread her pussy wide open to my view, while her other fingers continued to rub the tender flesh she had exposed there.

She asked, "Do you like to look at my pussy?"  It was almost more than I could do to answer her, but was finally able to croak out my impassioned, "Yes!  It's the most beautiful thing in the whole world."

She laughed softly as I said that, then as she continued to pleasure herself, asked, "Would you like to lick and suck it?  Do you want to taste it?  Is that what you want to do?"

Again I forced my throat to respond, and gasped out, "God, yes!  Please let me do that.  I want that more than anything else in the whole world.  Please!"

She laughed again, saying, "Well, you can't.  Mark said you are not to touch me unless he's in the room with us.  Since he's the one who now owns my body, then his wish is my command.  It's what you said you wanted, and now you have it.  I guess you'll just have to watch, and know that if you were a real man, you could still fuck me and eat me."

My frustration at that moment was so great that I actually cried.  That seemed to drive her to even greater efforts, and her fingers moved faster and faster as they rubbed her slit and her ever-growing clitoris.  After what seemed like an eternity, she moaned, and actually began to pinch and pull her engorged bud of flesh.  Her hips raised from the bed,  as if offering herself to me, and it was almost more than I could do to stop myself from burying my face in her crotch.  The sense of frustration I felt at that time is still, in my memory, the greatest I've ever experienced, and I was sure it would drive me out of my mind.

After what seemed an eternity to me, her hips slowly settled to the sheet, and her breathing evened.  She said, "Come up here beside me now.  That's all you get to see."

With a reluctance that was almost too great to overcome, I obeyed her, and soon was once again lying beside her supremely beautiful, naked body.  After a silence that seemed to stretch forever, she said softly, "I'm sorry I did that to you, honey.  I don't know what it is that makes me do things like that.  I just can't help myself.  There's just this urge to make you suffer, to humiliate you, and I can't resist it.  I'm sure you must think I'm a bad person, and sometimes I think the same thing about myself.  I'm sorry."

The shock that produced in my brain caused me to blurt out, "Don't ever think such things!  You're the best person in the world, and I love you with all my heart.  You only do things like that because I drove you to it.  Don't ever think you're a bad person."

She seemed to accept that, and lay quietly for awhile.  Finally she said softly, almost as if to herself, "You wouldn't think I was so wonderful if you knew some of the thoughts I have.  You'd think I was horrible, and wouldn't want anything to do with me."

Again I protested, declaring my love for her over and over.  I said, "Nothing about you could ever be horrible.  No matter what it is, I'd love you even more than ever."

After another pause, she said again, "No.  If you knew what I think about doing to you, you'd hate me.  Any man would.  If you knew, you'd leave me and never come back."

That produced yet another round of declarations of love, ending with me saying, "Just tell me what you want to do to me, or what you want me to do for you.  I'll do anything.  Surely you know that by now.  Please, tell me."

She seemed to be considering whether or not to be candid, and must have finally arrived at the decision to do so.  She began her tale, saying quietly, "I can't stop myself from having fantasies about doing terrible things to you.  I can't explain why, but when you're standing by the bed watching us make love, or kneeling there sucking his cum out of me, I have an almost overwhelming urge to punish you, to hurt you as much as possible.  The things I want to do to you make your first whipping look like child's play."

"One fantasy that I've been having every night for more than a week is the worst yet.  It starts with the three of us moving to a house way out in the country, miles from town.  The nearest neighbor is five miles from our house, and we're surrounded by lots of big trees, so we have complete privacy.  You're not allowed to wear clothes, and anytime we see you with a hardon, we whip it with riding crops we carry with us all the time."

"I've been trying to get you to do something for me for a long time, but you refuse to do it.  Finally I get very angry with you, and Mark and I take you outside, to the front yard.  There's a big tree standing there, and I order you to stand under one of its limbs that's growing straight out from the trunk, about ten feet above the ground."

"I order you to hold your arms straight out in front of you, with your hands together, then tie a rope around your wrists.  Mark throws the end of the rope over the limb, then pulls on it to lift you off the ground.  We watch you slowly swinging there, trying to touch the ground with your toes.  As you feel your shoulders being pulled from their sockets, you start whimpering in pain, and we laugh at you."

"I tell Mark to tie the rope to the tree trunk, then to take off his belt and show it to you.  It's made of heavy leather, about 2" wide.  The tongue has a metal tip on it, and there are lots of sharp metal studs running up and down its entire length.  I tell you that we're going to teach you a lesson about what happens when you refuse to do something I ask of you, and when you realize what's about to happen, you begin to whimper even more."

"We walk around behind you, and I say, 'Just remember this the next time you think you can refuse a simple request I make of you.  We're going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget.'  I then tell Mark to whip your ass as hard as he can, and not to stop until I tell him to do so."

"He raises the belt high above his head, then brings it down against your butt with all his strength.  Almost before you can cry out, a bright-red welt is raised, and everywhere one of the studs broke your skin, small droplets of blood appear.  Again he strikes your stretched butt with every bit of force he can muster, and again you cry out in pain.  Over and over he whips you, each stroke making you scream louder than the one before, and leaving a fresh welt overlapping the others.  Soon your blood is dripping onto the ground beneath your body, which is jumping wildly as you try to avoid the belt."

"Finally I tell him to stop, and we stand there laughing as you continue to cry and whimper, still jerking wildly in an attempt to escape the agonizing pain Mark has given you.  After we quiet down, we walk around in front of you, and I see your tiny little wee-wee standing up as hard as possible, trying to convince me it's a real penis, and not just something that should be hanging off a child."

"I order you to spread your legs and hold them there, saying that you still haven't been punished enough.  You begin sobbing as you realize what is going to happen next, but I'm very proud of you when that doesn't stop you from obeying me.  Soon you're holding your legs out to the sides as far as you can get them, trying to prepare yourself for what is about to be done to you."

"I tell Mark to whip your crotch, but to not be as tender as he was with your ass.  He laughs, then again raises his belt high above his head.  It's deathly still then, as you're too frozen with fear to even whimper.  In the stillness, we all hear the sound of the studded leather as it whistles through the air.  The scream you make when the metal tip strikes your worthless little dick is almost enough to make me cum right there, and I try to concentrate on not climaxing, because I don't want to miss even a single second of your whipping."

"Mark's second stroke comes up from the ground, and the sharp studs dig into your little peanuts while the metal tip almost disappears into your asshole.  Your screams are continuous now, and they seem to drive Mark to greater efforts to punish your weakness.  Over and over he brings the belt crashing down on your little weenie, or snaking upwards to tear into your balls.  After several strokes have landed there, I see that your sac has been peeled away, and your little nuts are hanging down by their cords.  Mark begins to concentrate on them even more, and first one, and then the other is torn free by the force of his blows."

"He then focuses on what remains of your penis, and I revel in the sounds of the agonized screams tearing from your throat.  Finally the sound stops abruptly, and as I look at your face, I realize you've passed out.  I look down just in time to see your legs slowly closing, and there's nothing left of your cock and balls but a few bloody shreds of skin."

She took a few ragged breaths then, trying to steady herself, before concluding, "Now you know what I mean about being a horrible person.  No wife could ever think of doing such horrible, disgusting things to her husband.  Surely you hate me now, don't you?"

It was almost impossible for me to speak, but after several attempts I at last managed to say, "I love you even more now than I did before you told me your fantasy.  How could you even begin to think I wouldn't love you?  I think you're the most wonderful person in the whole world.  Just because you want to punish me for not being a real man doesn't mean you're a bad person.  I deserve anything you want to do to me, and when you do it, it'll just make me love you all the more."

She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat before saying softly, "Thank you, honey.  Your love means the world to me.  I hope you know, no matter what I may do to you someday, that I'll always love you."

I assured her that I'd never doubt her love for me, and then asked in a timid voice, "Do you love Mark?"  That question had been foremost in my thoughts for many days, but I'd never before been able to ask it.  Now that I had, I realized the answer was very important to me.

She replied simply, "Of course I love him.  I love both of you with all my heart.  It's just that I think of you in different ways, I guess.  The English language simply doesn't have the right words to describe our relationships, but I guess the closest I can come is to say you're my 'house husband,' and he's my 'sexual husband.'  Does that make any sense at all?"

I told her I was sure I knew what she meant by those terms, and it was perfectly understandable that she would assign those terms to us.  He gave her so much pleasure, so much satisfaction, in terms of lovemaking, that she couldn't help but think of him in anything but sexual ways.  I, on the other hand, was the one who was there for her in all other ways, the "keeper of the house," so to speak.

She thanked me for understanding, then asked a question that literally took my breath away.  She asked, "Honey, would you like to cum now?"

As soon as I heard those words, I knew that I wanted to do that with every fiber of my being.  The arousal I'd experienced when bathing her lovely body, combined with watching her masturbate and the supremely exciting story she'd just told me, had my cock hard as a rock, and I could feel the wetness leaking from it in my pants.  The only word I was able to force from my throat was a simple, "Please."

That was enough answer for her, apparently.  She said to me, "Unzip your pants and take out your little thing.  I don't want to have to touch it any more than necessary."

I hurried to obey, and soon my hardon was bobbing in the air, its head glistening with the pre-cum that had been spread over it while in my pants.  Carol told me to raise my feet in the air, and even though that completely mystified me, I did as she asked.  She then grabbed both my ankles and pulled my feet over my head, at the same time spreading my knees.  I began to understand what she had in mind as I saw my erection pointing at my face, and that understanding just added to my already raging lust.

She said, "Mark can get the whole head in his mouth, and says that any man with a normal-size cock can suck himself.  I see your little pecker is still about four inches away, but maybe I can aim your cum where it needs to go.  Now open your mouth and keep it that way.  I don't want you getting cum stains in Mark's bed."

She then placed one hand on my penis and began to quickly stroke it.  Given my state of arousal, it took no more than half a dozen pumps before my semen began to spurt, and she guided it as well as she could into my wide-open mouth.  The last spurt had fallen on my shirt, and after she'd lowered my legs to the bed once again, she told me to wipe it up with my fingers and eat it also.

As soon as she saw I had cleaned up any mess, she turned off the lamp and settled into place on her stomach.  She asked in a sleepy voice, "Did that taste as good as Mark's cum?"  I already knew the answer to that question, because I'd been eating my own cum for several weeks by that time, in an attempt to satisfy my appetite for the stuff, which had grown to be an addiction.  I replied, "What you feed me is much better.  Your pussy juice is so special that nothing can compare to it."

She said, "I thought you'd say that.  I read a magazine article once that said men who eat their wive's pussies for more than three months become addicted to the taste and smell.  It said that men who lose their wives after having eaten them on a regular basis have a much harder time of adjusting to the loss than men who don't eat pussy.  I'm sure the same thing is true for you, too."

I had no doubt of it, and told her so.  I could tell she was falling asleep then, and hurried to ask one last question, the one that was quickly becoming increasingly important to me.  I asked, "In your fantasy, you punished me because I refused to do something for you.  What was it that I wouldn't do?"

She mumbled sleepily, "Maybe I'll tell you someday, if you're a good boy.  Now go to sleep.  Good night."  That was the last I heard from her that night, and her regular breathing soon told me she was fast asleep.

To be continued . . .