Husband 5

Day 2: Monday
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2:00 p.m. Luxuriating in lilac-scented bubblebath and hot
water, I closed my eyes. The house was quiet now. Peter was
sleeping in the guest-room and Charles was doing some kind of
strange exercises on the lawn behind our house. I had slept until
around 1:00 and, on waking, found Charles no longer beside me. He
and Peter had been in the kitchen when I came downstairs, eating a
breakfast of honeydew melon and croissants. I had joined them:
Peter, stark naked, and Charles, in one of Peter's robes, reading
the morning paper. I could tell that Peter had not slept well; his
eyes were red and baggy.

Putting the paper down, and pushing his half-eaten melon away
from him, Charles spoke.

"Good morning, Linda. Have a seat and join us. I was just
telling Peter about all the wonderful, naughty things you and I did
last night in his bed. Hope you get a chance to change the sheets
today. My god, what a mess!" he said, winking at Peter.

"Anyway, while you two slept the morning away, I called a dear
old friend to whom I owe a favor and, surprise!, we've all been
invited to a little private party. I'm sure you'll both find his
hospitality stimulating and very refined. Peter, I'm assuming you
own a tux?"

"Yes. But I haven't worn it in a year or so," Peter had said.

"Well, make sure the moths haven't had a feast, then go get
some rest. You look like you're half dead. It might be another
long night for the two of you. Linda, dear, you certainly will
need a bit more rest. I'd like you to wear something formal
tonight, but sexy, too. Wear some nice, skimpy panties, and thigh-
high nylons under a sexy dress for us. Don't worry about a bra."

"Yes," he had continued, leaning back in his chair, "tonight
we're going to explore the world of the bourgeoisie. You know, I
just love that song Liza Minelli and Joel Grey sing in Cabaret:
'Money makes the world go around!' We'll save a taste of the
proletariat for a little later in the week. It'll be a nice
contrast of mores for all of us and excellent field research.
We're leaving around six, so make sure you're ready by then. You
two kids run along now and get some rest."




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As I lay in the tub, gently rubbing my sore ass and cunt with
a soft sponge, I replayed Sunday night's events in my mind:

Peter, on his hands and knees, being fucked in the ass as I
knelt in front of him and kissed him (at one point, Charles had had
Peter draw his legs up under him, then spread his knees, flattening
him against the bed like a frog, as he fucked him); Charles making
me squat with my back to the wall and Peter leaning over me, his
hands against the wall above me and his legs spread, Charles behind
him, fucking him again up the ass while I fellated my husband
(running my fingers up between the two men as I sucked Peter, to
feel Charles' cock pump into him, was so incredibly erotic I'll
never forget it).

After our little bedroom tryst, we had all showered together.
Peter had soaped and cleaned Charles and me before he was allowed
to wash himself. Charles sent Peter off to bed in the guest room
just down the hall from the master bedroom with instructions to
leave both his door and ours open. We then spent the next few
hours in a marathon fucking session in Peter's and my bed. His
stamina was incredible. I'm sure my poor husband got an earful of
the moans, groans, squeals, wet slapping skin and squeaking
bedsprings into the wee hours of the morning.

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I got out of the tub, dried myself, then went into the
bedroom. After changing the sheets, I set the alarm for 5 p.m.,
and settled down to get some much needed rest. The new sheets were
cool and soft against my skin. As I drifted off, I remembered
something Charles had whispered in my ear as he was plowing into my
upturned bottom last night:

"Soon, very soon, you will prostitute yourself to others of my
choosing; no matter how undesirable, how unattractive, or even how
revolting you may find them, or the things they require you to do,
do not forget that they will only be an extension of me and of my
power. You will yield, Linda, and yield with enthusiasm. In this
way you will become an instrument in your own debasement and
humiliation, thus also becoming that much more beautiful and erotic
to me and to your husband....."


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5:45 p.m. Wearing a simple black dress with a pleated skirt,
semi-sheer black nylons and black pumps, I came down the steps and
walked into the living room. Charles was standing next to the
picture-window, wearing a white linen suit and holding a brown
paper bag. Peter sat at the couch in his black tux, sipping an
early brandy.

"Wow! Bravo! You look ravishing, Linda! Turn around for
us!" Charles gushed. Blushing, I twirled once and struck a pose
with my hands on my hips. "Simply smashing! Now show us what's
hiding under that sexy dress, and don't be bashful; this is
practically a three-way marriage now, you know!"

I lifted the hem of my skirt to my waist, revealing the white
silk panties I wore. Despite every attempt to avoid it, I felt my
cheeks redden even more.

"Dear god, an angel on the face of the earth! Now come over
here to me, pretty thing."

As I walked to Charles, Peter's eyes met mine. They were soft
and loving and a faint smile curled at the corner of his lips.

Charles reached his left hand out and placed it on my cheek,
then pressed his thumb against my lips and entered my mouth with
it. He turned my face first to the left and then to the right,
looking me over. As he withdrew his hand, I noticed smudges of my
red lipstick on the base of his thumb.

"It's time we were on our way. I absolutely hate being late:
it's boorish and discourteous. Peter, I'd like you to drive.
Before we go, however, Linda needs help with a final little detail
to her wardrobe. Come over here, Peter." Charles took hold of my
shoulders and spun me around toward Peter, who had risen from the
couch, then bent me slightly forward from the waist. "Hold your
wife's shoulders for me please." Peter held my shoulders, and I
felt Charles lift my dress up from the back and lower my panties
just to the bottom of my ass. I heard a rustling noise as he
opened the brown bag he carried.

"This will hurt a little bit, Linda. Don't worry, you'll get
used to it and, when all is said and done, considering what is
likely to happen this evening, you'll be grateful for this
preparation." As he spoke, I felt something cool and wet being
applied to my anus. "Relax now, dear. Don't fight it." Something
new -dull, large and rounded- pushed against my bottom. I shook
my head: it was impossibly large! I started to move my hips away
in protest, instinctively.

"Hold her, Peter. Linda, I expect you to behave, darling."

"No," I started to babble, "I really don't think... please,
it's too large, Charles... I can't, honestly, I'm too sore
there..."

Up it came into my poor, swollen, red, over-used, little ass-
hole. Okay, okay, okay... I can take it... I squeezed my eyes
tight and gripped Peter's arms.

I opened my eyes, finally, and looked down between my legs.
I saw Charles pulling two small chains from the base of the huge
dildo up through my crotch, on either side of my vulva, to the
front. He pulled a third chain up the crack of my ass from behind
and attached the two front links over my hips to the third one
behind. The giant phallus thus secured, he pulled my panties back
up and lowered my skirt.

"See, not so bad after all. You may thank me now, Linda."

"Thank-you, Charles." I said. I had no idea how I was going
to even attempt walking with this thing in me, let alone wearing my
high-heels...

"You're welcome. That reminds me. Peter, you've never
expressed your gratitude by properly thanking me for fucking your
wife and you in the ass. I'm sure it was an oversight on your
part; you're such a courteous person."

Peter looked down at his feet.

"Thank you for fucking my wife and me in the ass, Charles."

"You're welcome, Peter. It was nothing. Gee, now you've
embarrassed me!" Charles said.

"Anyway, Linda, as I was saying, human beings are resilient
enough to adjust to just about anything; you'll hardly know it's
there in an hour or so. Now stand up straight, my dear, and quit
slouching. It's time to go to the party!"


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Peter drove and Charles and I sat in the back seat. We headed
west, out of town. I kept trying to adjust myself so I sat on
either my right or left buttock, thus avoiding sitting directly on
the shaft impaling my bottom, but without appearing too obvious
about it. Somehow, I wanted to completely conceal the discomfort
from Charles. The impulse, created by the inserted dildo, was to
spread my legs and slide down on the seat, unlady-like. So I fought
it and deliberately did the opposite, crossing my legs demurely.

Charles rode quietly, apparently absorbed in thought. His
hands were folded in his lap as if in prayer. I observed him
closely for a bit and noticed that it was impossible to discern if
he was even breathing. His chest did not observably rise or
expand. His eyes were open, staring out the window at the passing
landscape, but never focusing on anything. Very strange; a form of
meditation, perhaps? Occasionally, I would catch Peter glancing
back at us through the rear-view mirror. After about 20 minutes,
we came to a stop-sign at a crossroad.

"Keep going. There will be a small paved road on your right
about a half a mile from here. Turn onto it," Charles said slowly
to Peter.

We came to the road and Peter turned. A sign indicated it was
a private drive. It wound through a stand of old oak trees
intermingled, to weird effect, with hemlocks.

Rounding a bend in the road, a huge house appeared. At least
three stories high, there were towering spires on both ends. While
the style reminded me of a Victorian mansion, there was an oriental
flavor that I could not quite place. I am not very knowledgeable
about real estate, but I would place this property easily in the
seven figure range.

There were four or five other cars parked near the entrance; a
BMW, two Mercedes and a Porsche. Peter parked and we all got out
(that damn dildo still wreaking havoc with my ass).

Charles pressed the doorbell and we waited, Peter and I quite
nervously. After a moment, the door opened and a small Japanese
woman, maybe 45 or 50, peered through the crack. She looked at
Peter and me, then noticed Charles. A big smile appeared, and she
opened the door wide. She wore a simple red dress, conservatively
cut. Bowing deeply to Charles, she said something in Japanese.
Charles also bowed, not quite so deeply, and returned a comment,
also in Japanese.

"Please come in," she said, with only a slight accent.

The interior was gorgeous. High ceilings, obviously expensive
artwork that was extremely heterogeneous in taste, ranging from
classical to romantic to modern, plush and deeply colored oriental
rugs over absolutely immaculate hardwood floors, and tastefully
placed indirect lighting.

She led us into a large room lined with books and furnished
with large, leather upholstered furniture. Besides Peter, Charles,
myself and our lady-host, there were four men, a boy, and another
female in the room. The men quickly stood, all in formal attire,
including the boy. All were Japanese except the other woman, a
tall, leggy, very pretty blonde.

What appeared to be the oldest man walked toward us with a big
grin. He was not too tall, but was thick in girth (not fat;
massive I would say); his hair was silver and the crowfeet at the
edges of his eyes gave his face a careworn appearance. For all his
mass, he seemed to float, not walk, across the room.

Peter bowed as he approached, and said something deep and
explosive, that sounded like "Osu!" The man returned the bow and,
this time, I noticed it was not quite as deep as Peter's bow. They
shook hands briefly and he turned to us.

"This is Peter, and this is Linda, his wife," Charles said to
the man. Then to us: "Peter, Linda, please meet Akira Koshiwara
Sensei, my teacher and friend."

"Sensei" took my hand and bowed deeply, his eyes sparkling and
clear.

"It is a very great honor to meet you both, Linda and Peter.
I hope that my humble home and hospitality will not displease you,"
Sensei said. His English had a tinge of Oxford, rather than
standard "American."

Charles leaned close to Sensei and whispered something in his
ear. There was an uncomfortable silence as Peter and I waited, the
others in the room also silent and unmoving.

A little smile came to Sensei's lips, and his eyes locked onto
mine as Charles pulled away, also with a grin. I could feel my
cheeks begin to redden again and, for the first time in several
minutes, began to notice the dildo....

"Please forgive Charles' poor manners. It is unconscionably
impolite to whisper about someone in their presence, as he has. A
teacher is only as good as the desire of his pupils to learn, and
Charles has always been a problem student," he said, grinning even
wider and putting his arm around Charles' shoulder.

"My wife, whom you have met, would be honored to bring you a
drink if you like," Sensei continued. "Dinner will be served in a
little while. I hope you have an appetite. Please, come in, and
let me introduce you to my other dear friends."