CHAPTER ONE
A Different Woman
After three frustrating years, I knew my marriage to Mark was in serious trouble. In many
ways some subtle and others much more obvious things weren`t working out at all. Our
relationship was nothing like the kind of relationship I wanted it to be.
It wasn`t all Mark`s fault. To tell the truth, I had never found the courage to tell him
what I wanted, needed, and, most of all desired from him. To say that I literally
worshipped Mark is no exaggeration. I loved him as much as ever and yet I sensed in some
important way he was holding back.
The funny thing about it is I had enough insight into myself to know exactly what it was
I always wanted from Mark.
In my heart of hearts, I wanted him to dominate me in every way, to enslave me. Believe
me, nothing would have made me happier than for Mark to order me to strip naked, grovel at
his feet, and obey his every whim and command.
Despite my many hints, Mark continued to hold back, acting only on his weakest, most
passive traits. Rarely did he display the qualities of a strong, dominant male. Much to my
disappointment, his behavior bordered on the subservient.
I blamed it all on his first wife, Darlene, who had him schooled so well in his duties
that he cooked, cleaned, vacuumed, did all the dishes, and performed constant oral sex on
her. In short, Mark served Darlene exactly as she had required, submitting to her every
desire.
Mark waited on that woman hand and foot massaging her, dressing her, even giving her a
pedicure whenever she needed one. He spent many long hours painting her toenails a bright,
candy-apple red.
During intercourse, Mark was allowed to ejaculate only when she gave him permission. In
many respects, Darlene was a fine woman, but in Mark`s case, she really overdid it.
Besides, I`m not Darlene. My name is Susan, and I am an entirely different woman.
Before she died tragically at a young age, Darlene dominated Mark completely, to the
extent that his true personality virtually disappeared.
No one knows why in love affairs one partner must dominate and the other submit. Perhaps,
as some suggest, a tendency towards either role is simply a component of our individual
personalities, or the fact that chemicals released within the brain during sex seem to
influence human behavior profoundly.
Don`t ask me. In some ways my private behavior is as much a mystery to me as it is to
others, but my response is that I live my life mostly by instinct, doing the things I feel
I must do.
There is no other explanation.
My peculiar love for Mark was rooted in a powerful craving to be dominated by him. I was
sure he had a secret, masterful side to his personality just waiting to emerge. But after
three restless years of waiting, I was about ready to give up.
Probably the best moment in our marriage came right after our second anniversary. Pulling
into the garage, I had carelessly dented the right fender of Mark`s beloved Porsche with
my car.
Mark was so angry he took me over his knee and spanked me until my bottom turned red.
Later that night, he forced me down on my knees to suck his cock, ejaculating so much of
his rich semen into my mouth I thought I would be swallowing forever.
Later that night, he indulged himself in my vagina and my rectum, seeming not to care if
I was getting any pleasure. No doubt he knew I was, on account of how wet my quim got and
how loudly I squealed.
After he finished using me, he fell fast asleep, snoring softly into his pillow. I was in
heaven. Placing a kerchief between my legs to collect his juice as it slowly drained out.
Meanwhile, I masturbated in the dark, thinking this was it.
You can just imagine how disappointed I was the next day when Mark meekly apologized for
spanking me, swearing it would never happen again. Soon our lives returned to their
normal, frustrating pattern.
When? I asked myself. When would Mark become the dominating male I secretly desired? I
began to be concerned that my dream would never come true. Lines from a haunting verse by
the poet Sylvia Plath kept running through my head, teasing and tormenting me:
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you...
What was the answer? I had no idea. One thing was sure:
Mark had to be the one to take the upper hand. He had to be the ruler. The chemistry was
all wrong for me to dominate him as Darlene had. I wanted Mark on top.
So I waited and yearned.
Things finally came to a head during a lovely garden party hosted by Mark`s employer. The
site of the event was the secluded lakefront home of the company owner, John Marshall, and
John`s beautiful blond wife, Marsha.
The communications equipment company John began on a shoestring years earlier had
recently posted record profits and John was pulling out all the stops in celebration.
He could not have picked a better night. It was one of those soft evenings when
late-blooming flowers give their all to the warm summer air. Everywhere, Painted Lady
butterflies dipped among the dahlias and alighted on the lavender, in a final frenzy of
activity before darkness.
Out on the green lawn, smartly dressed people ate, drank, and talked in low murmuring
voices. From a battery of outdoor speakers, soft New Age music issued serenely.
Set under a canopy by the glittering pool, a buffet table was spread with a wide
assortment of delicious seasonal goodies. We sampled five different salads along with a
huge variety of fruits, vegetables, tasty spiced meats, fish, cheeses, breads, and crisp,
cold beverages.
It was a feast fit for royalty. Waiters dressed in starched whites served an elaborate
dessert tray to the elegantly attired guests. Waitresses in French maid outfits carried
trays loaded with tall crystal glasses of golden champagne, which flowed abundantly.
Before and during the meal, Mark was so sweet and attentive I wanted to bop him. I
flirted with several men, but he made no effort to scold me or put me in my place. I was
dressed to kill in a stunning black mini-dress, but all my efforts seemed wasted. He never
tried to bend me over in the bathroom, nor did it apparently cross his mind to drag me out
to the car and make me suck his cock.
My desperate longings went entirely unheeded. As we got ready to say good-bye to our
hosts, I asked Mark to please get my jacket. When he returned with the wrong one, I really
blew my stack.
"That`s not my jacket!" I snapped. "You don`t even notice what I wear! Why
can`t you do anything right?"
"I`m sorry," Mark mumbled, his face turning red. "I`ll get it right
away." He hurried off.
John Marshall was the only witness to the scene, but that was bad enough, since he was
Mark`s employer.
John is about five years older than Mark. He`s a tall, distinguished-looking man with
dark hair and a full beard. A sidelong look came at me from John`s slate gray eyes.
"You don`t really like Mark to wait on you like that, do you?" John said.
"It`s beneath a man like him."
"No, I don`t," I answered, forgetting myself. "I wish he`d boss me around
instead of always being so meek."
I must have blushed, because I suddenly realized I had blurted out the truth about my
desires to John.
"I`m not sure what made me say that," I confessed. "It`s not like me. It`s
not like me at all. I mean"
"Tut-tut," John interrupted. "Say no more. I understand what you mean
perfectly. No explanation is necessary."
Suddenly, John`s wife appeared at his side. Marsha was a tall, blond, willowy woman,
dressed in a white sequined gown. She held one of the tall glasses of champagne. John
accepted the drink from her hand and sipped from it.
"Susan`s nature is much like your own, my dear," John said, nodding at me.
"But I`m afraid Mark isn`t fulfilling her deepest needs."
Marsha was concerned at once.
"That`s awful," she said. "Susan, I suggest you speak honestly to Mark. Be
open. Tell him you wish to submit to him in every way possible. It can save your
marriage."
I was impressed by the warm, happy tone in Marsha`s voice. The bonds connecting her to
John were so strong they seemed almost visible.
But it made me nervous that they had understood our problem so quickly and had a ready
solution.
What kind of people were they?
The idea that near strangers knew about my craving for sexual submission made me uneasy.
The fact they approved of it both thrilled and worried me.
Intense excitement pulsed through my body. Between my legs, the hot center of my desires
throbbed maddeningly.
"I`m not feeling well," I said. "Mark and I must be getting home
soon."
"Why so soon?" John asked. "Perhaps you`d like to stay after the party and
visit with us for a while."
Marsha nodded. "We could talk woman to woman," she said, leaning in close to
me. "It`ll be fun."
I shook my head, backing away. "Maybe some other time," I answered, feeling
more aroused than ever.
Mark showed up a moment later, this time with the correct jacket. We left abruptly.
In the car, I apologized to Mark for being so bitchy and embarrassing him in front of
John. It didn`t seem to do any good. He answered me in monosyllables and stared straight
ahead as he drove. He hardly said a word on the way home.
* * *
Two weeks later, we accepted another invitation from John and Marsha. I still felt
terrible about my outburst in front of John and wondered if it had been forgotten. In the
car on the way there, I stared nervously at Mark.
He was his usual placid self, shifting the gears and taking the turns on the winding
country road with quiet precision.
It made my heart melt to look at him sometimes. A soft breeze blew through the Porsche`s
open sunroof, and wisps of his longish blond hair danced over his broad, tanned forehead.
Mark`s penetrating blue eyes were the perfect complement to his hard, muscular body. He
was everything I ever wanted in a man except for one thing: he simply would not make me
his sex slave.
"We`re really deep in the woods here," Mark said as he took a sharp turn.
"Isn`t the forest magnificent?"
"Yes," I answered, noticing how the alder trees along the roadside gave way to
evergreens as we climbed uphill.
I wrestled a brush out of my purse and ran it through my long brown hair. It sounds vain
to admit it, but I know I`m easy to look at. My legs are long, my breasts are full, and my
bottom is very shapely.
We passed through a dense stand of Douglas fir, the dappled light shining through the
needled columns like the inside of an Old World cathedral.
"It`s beautiful here," I agreed. "Like a golden country."
Mark nodded. Following a zigzag of curves, the high-performance Porsche propelled us
effortlessly through the verdant terrain.
"John must have something on his mind tonight," Mark said, downshifting to take
a sharp turn. "I`ve known him for years, but this is the first time we`ve been out to
their place as their exclusive guests."
"I wonder why they`ve asked us." I felt so nervous I squirmed in the supple
leather seat, unable to sit still as my anxiety mounted.
"I don`t know," Mark answered. "But John told me yesterday afternoon it
had to do with you and me."
What he said made me more anxious than ever.
Soon the Porsche found John and Marsha`s private road. A metal gate swung open and Mark
squeezed our car through. We pulled into the driveway and got out. John emerged from the
covered patio and greeted us warmly.
"It`s so good to see both of you," John said, shaking Mark`s hand.
John`s black beard had been trimmed in an extremely attractive Vandyke. His clipped
whiskers tickled my face as he kissed my cheek gallantly.
"Susan, it`s especially wonderful to see you. You are stunning in that
outfit."
John was speaking the truth. I did look good in my new red toreador pants and matching
short-sleeved blouse. My ordinary flats were replaced by red pumps with four-inch heels,
and my left ankle sported a large ruby on a thin gold chain.
Up top, the bow on my red choker pointed downward, to help direct attention to my
gorgeously tanned cleavage.
I knew the outfit was sexy because earlier that day, after Mark had seen me in it, he had
shyly asked me to suck his cock. I had done so gratefully, getting down on my knees in my
high heels to do it.
"Did you bring swimsuits?" John asked. He was dressed in snug blue trunks that
clearly outlined his sizable manhood.
"Yes, we did," Mark said.
"Excellent. I thought we`d have a light supper then take a dip in the pool,"
John replied.
Fragrant grill smoke floated lazily out to the driveway from a barbecue in the back
yard.
John turned to me. "Marsha`s in the house, Susan, helping to prepare our meal.
She`ll be bringing drinks out to us by the poolside soon. Why don`t you go join her in the
kitchen?"
"I`ll be happy to," I answered. There was something assured and commanding
about the way John spoke to me.
I walked up to the house, a large and comfortable Spanish-style stucco with a wide
veranda and meticulously maintained grounds.
Beyond the pool, the bright green lawn sloped down to their creek-fed private lake. The
clear water was home to a native trout that John was determined to preserve from the
incursions of developers.
I opened the front door and let myself in.
"Marsha?" I called out. "It`s me, Susan."
"I`m in here, Susan," came the reply. I followed her voice down the hallway to
the brightly lit, spacious kitchen. My footsteps echoed loudly on the tiled floor.
What I saw in the middle of their kitchen shocked me right down to the roots of my hair
and left me gasping.
I could not believe my eyes!
Marsha stood at the sink in the kitchen, wearing high heels and a white apron, but
otherwise completely nude. As she turned around, I saw that she held a boiled potato in
one hand and a peeler in the other.
"Please sit down," Marsha said, putting the peeler down on the counter. She
went back to the sink, picked up a knife and quickly diced the potato into thick chunks.
She scraped the chunks into a mixing bowl.
I sat down in a daze and watched her work. In a flash, Marsha had a lovely potato salad
prepared.
"Would you care for a drink?" Marsha asked, taking off her apron. "We have
everything."
I could only gape at the tall, trim, and evenly tanned woman who stood before me. Marsha
did not seem the least bit embarrassed by her nudity. Nor did she seem to be in any
special hurry to explain her appearance.
"Uh..." I said. Frankly, I was still so stunned by Marsha`s nudity I found it
difficult to talk.
The gorgeous tan Marsha wore enhanced her smooth body to the absolute maximum. Another
thing that caught my eye was the neatly trimmed blond triangle at her center. Her pubic
hair was the color of spun gold.
I also couldn`t help but notice how her long, shapely legs rose gracefully from her
white, high-heeled pumps. Like stiletto points, the heels of her pumps jabbed the kitchen
floor, their height accenting the lushness of Marsha`s superbly toned body.
Her breasts were smaller than average but still quite nice, crowned by nipples like
cherries. In addition, Marsha had a narrow waist, which gave her breasts singular
definition.
Her breasts. Ornamenting the right one was a tiny gold nipple ring, glinting in the
kitchen light. My eyes went from her nipple ring up to the blades of the Casablanca
ceiling fan that slowly stirred the warm air.
"I`ll take a brandy, if you have one," I said.
"Coming right up," Marsha said, turning her back to me. I sneaked another peek
at her jiggly bottom, which had an endearing teardrop shape.
She filled a crystal snifter with ice and spilled two fingers of Black Monk brandy over
the rocks. I drank it down quickly, and within minutes the brandy took the edge off my
shock. Still, I was unable to hide my curiosity.
"I suppose you`re wondering about my nudity," Marsha said.
I nodded.
Marsha took a small swallow of her soda, running her tongue over her full lower lip.
"John and I have practiced a private personal dynamic known as Dominance and
submission, or D&S, for several years," Marsha explained. "It is a
responsible and consensual way to explore the giving and receiving of power in a loving
relationship. Accordingly, in our relationship, John is the Master and I am the slave. To
help you understand how this works for us, John ordered me to greet you and your husband
tonight in the nude."
My mouth fell open. "Because you`re his slave, you willingly agreed to go nude in
front of us?"
Marsha laughed. "That`s exactly right."
I sat there silently. Marsha smiled at me, raising her glass. I remember thinking how
ironic it all was. What I desperately wanted, Marsha already had to be a slave to her
Master. Feelings of envy such as I had never known suddenly washed over me.
Envious as I was, the idea that Marsha had what I wanted also thrilled and excited me. If
John and Marsha had it, then such a life was at least possible!
"But why be John`s slave?" I managed to say.
"Slavery is the centerpiece of the pact John and I have made to achieve proper
living as man and wife."
"Proper living?" I said. "What do you mean by that?"
Marsha winked and took the empty brandy snifter from my hand. "You`ll see soon
enough. Let me get you another brandy," she added, with a toss of her head. "I
have the feeling you`re in for some surprises tonight, Susan."
I drank off the second brandy, which only served to increase my feelings of envy and
excitement. Never in my life had I been so incredibly turned on.
My mind was caught in a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. As a woman, I oppose
discrimination against my gender and have no use for male chauvinism.
On the other hand, ever since I had met Mark, the desire to be completely dominated by
him sexually had been at the forefront of my thoughts. Most of all, I wanted to be his
little pet, his lover, his "always-wet-between-the-legs" sex slave!
I wanted Mark to master me, body and soul.
Also, there was something in Mark that told me that he, too, wanted to master me, to rule
me, to dominate me in every way. Deep down, I believed Mark wanted to extract every bit of
physical sensation from our sexual relationship that he possibly could. This sensual
quality in Mark is what drew me to him.
At that moment, I felt more sexually excited than I had been since the night of the
Porsche. All I could think about was Mark and his muscular male body, and about getting
his big, hard cock into my mouth.
I wanted to get down my knees in front of him, my mouth open and pliant, an eager
receptacle for his penis. I wanted to suck him and lick him and swallow his rich semen.
Above all else, Mark is an exceptionally sensual man. He is the kind of man who really
can smell a rose, appreciate a sunset, or pet a cat for hours. Though he`s very sensitive,
Mark loves being a man, having a cock, and putting it in me.
So there was my dilemma. I was torn between love and devotion on one hand and a vague
notion of political correctness on the other.
Fortunately, Marsha was a good guide in helping me sort out my feelings.
"You must learn to separate the personal from the political," Marsha told me.
"Besides, it doesn`t hurt to interrogate your principles every now and then. Why
should a feminist, or any woman, for that matter, be constrained to only certain forms of
sexual expression?"
"You`re right," I said. "It`s a private matter, isn`t it?"
Beyond the wisdom of Marsha`s words, I came away impressed by the warmth and happiness of
her tone. It stirred me deep inside to see in person the emotional equilibrium I so
desperately sought. If only Mark would dominate me!
A buzzer rang on the stove.
"The hors d`oeuvres are ready," Marsha said, getting up from the kitchen table.
She carefully retied the knot at the back of her apron, adjusting it so the straps dangled
along the pink divide of her fleshy bottom.
Lost in my own thoughts, I had nearly forgotten she was nude.
"I`m taking these out to serve your husband and my Master," Marsha announced,
hefting the tray. "Please follow me."
We went out to the patio where three chairs were grouped beneath a white umbrella. From
the expression on Mark`s face, I could tell he had been briefed beforehand by John about
what to expect.
Marsha served snacks from a tray and mixed drinks from a mobile cart by the pool. When
she was finished, she prostrated herself on her hands and knees before John.
"That will be all for now, Marsha," John said. "Please bring your leash
and collar and assume your usual position."
"Yes, Master," Marsha answered. She bent low to kiss each of John`s feet on the
instep before running off to fetch her leash.
The three of us Mark, John, and me sat on the redwood chairs under the umbrella while
Marsha seated herself on a little pillow at John`s feet. She gazed at the mirror-smooth
water of the lake, speaking only when asked a direct question by her Master. A black
leather collar circled Marsha`s neck. John held the attached stainless steel chain leash
in his left hand.
Mark seemed to enjoy the presence of a nude female slave, calling for extra snacks and
drink refills. We nibbled on tasty hot hors d`oeuvres and listened to John speak frankly
about the lifestyle they had chosen. I knew better than to open my mouth too much, fearing
that I`d let my true feelings spill out again in an embarrassing fashion.
"This way of living suits us," John said. "In the early years of our
marriage we were both unhappy, no doubt because of conflicting expectations we had about
our roles. If we hadn`t met a brilliant woman, Mistress Sabina, who showed us the ropes,
so to speak, we might be divorced by now. Enslaving Marsha saved our marriage."
"Has it improved your sex life?" Mark asked.
"Indeed it has," John answered. "Remarkably so. Once Marsha accepted
domination by me, the frequency and intensity of my ejaculations in her more than tripled.
Before enslaving Marsha, she was fortunate to receive my semen once or twice a week. Now
that she has become my obedient receptacle, I make it a point to anoint her often."
"Marsha certainly seems obedient," Mark said.
"She has every reason to obey," John replied.
Later Marsha served a lovely supper, opening the meal with a fresh salade nicoise. Piled
on a bed of fresh romaine lettuce were filets of cold cooked tuna, potato salad, fruit,
baby carrots, celery, beets, radishes, and steamed Blue Lake beans.
As we finished the salads, Marsha brought a steaming platter of braised trout over from
the grill. Slathered in piquant barbecue sauce, the fresh fish was a mouthwatering treat.
I asked why Marsha was not joining us.
"Marsha is here to serve us," John dug his fork into the fish. "She had
her dinner earlier."
Lifting his chin, John paused between bites long enough for Marsha to wipe his whiskers
with a cloth napkin.
The entree was arranged artfully and garnished with fresh parsley and capers.
Accompanying the meal was a fine California blush wine and a loaf of aromatic French
bread.
Before dessert, John bent Marsha over in the fading sunlight so Mark could see the tiny
"J" tattoo on the thin ridge of flesh between Marsha`s anus and vagina. He made
Marsha spread her cheeks so we could peer deeply into her cleft.
"This marks her as my property for the rest of her life," John said. "It
shows the world who owns her."
"Isn`t slavery morally wrong?" Mark asked.
"Not if it`s part of a consensual agreement," John answered. "You see, we
follow the rules of a special system that removes the objectionable element of
coercion."
"Fascinating," Mark said. His eyes lingered on the small gold ring piercing
Marsha`s nipple.
John went on to describe the joy he took in using Marsha`s body, praising the
responsiveness of her vagina and the elastic tightness of her rectal sheath.
"But Marsha`s mouth is where we achieve perfection," John said. A look of pride
flashed in his eyes. He tilted Marsha`s head back to display her obscenely full lips and
broad, flat tongue.
"I can`t tell you how sweet it is to have her kneel before me in the morning to suck
my cock. That`s when I know life truly is worth living!"
"You do have an enviable arrangement," Mark agreed.
John sent Marsha away with a playful slap on her rump.
"Yes, we do," he said. John leaned forward and began eating the orange sherbet
Marsha had placed in front of him.
Behind the trees, the sun sank in a purple-red blaze, its color reflecting in the clouds
and on the water of the lake. Though spectacular, the sunset couldn`t hold a candle to the
radiant Marsha. The smug and satisfied glow she emanated was more intoxicating than any
landscape. My own body pulsed with excitement and sexual arousal.
Every few minutes, John unhooked Marsha`s leash to send her off on an errand.
"I could use another olive for my martini," Mark said.
"Go fetch Mark another olive, Marsha," John said. "And be quick about
it."
Marsha leaped up as soon as John let go the leash and strode quickly to the drink cart in
her high heels, her bottom swaying provocatively.
I was almost beside myself with excitement, which I took great pains to conceal.
Squeezing my clitoris with the flesh of my inner thighs as discreetly as I possibly could,
I hoped no one could tell I was masturbating.
Marsha brought the olive jar over to Mark. He obligingly held his glass out while she
dipped inside the jar with a fork. Marsha brought up a large pimento-stuffed Spanish
olive, but it slipped off the end of the fork and rolled into the grass.
"Oh, I`m sorry!" Marsha exclaimed. "I`ll get you another." She fished
out a second olive and dropped it into Mark`s drink.
"Thanks," Mark said good-naturedly.
John stood up.
"Marsha!" John said harshly.
"Yes, Master?"
"You know perfectly well how much I abhor it when you serve me inadequately. And
that extends to our guests as well!"
I hung on every word of this byplay between John and Marsha. My eyes flicked from one to
the other and back again, the dominant male Master and his submissive female slave.
"I`m sorry, Master." Marsha hung her head.
"Pick that olive off the ground and eat it!"
"Yes, Master," Marsha plucked the fallen olive from the grass and gulped it
down.
John turned to Mark and me.
"I`m afraid I`m going to have to discipline this clumsy slave," John said.
"I hope you won`t mind."
"Not at all," Mark answered rather pleasantly.
John looked at me.
"Uh-no," I said. "Go right ahead." In all honesty, I was dying to see
Marsha get punished.
"Bring me the stinger," John ordered Marsha.
"Yes, Master." Marsha dashed into the house, returning with a little leather
whip no more than a foot long.
While Mark and I watched, John lashed Marsha`s breasts with the tiny whip, making bright
red marks across them. The welts went all the way across and reddened nicely.
John had Marsha hold her breasts up with her hands, the better to absorb the stings. As
the whip fell, Marsha made little whimpering noises. Though it must have hurt, her nipples
grew fully erect under the lash, the right one hoisting the gold ring.
John handed Marsha back the whip and told her to return it to their bedroom.
"Hang it in its usual place by our bed," he said.
"Thank you for whipping me, Master," Marsha said, before she went inside with
the instrument of correction.
"You`re welcome," John answered.
I knew deep down that Marsha had enjoyed being whipped, especially in front of Mark and
me. When Marsha again took her place at John`s feet, her face wore a happy smile.
John raised his glass. "To my dear friend and colleague, Mark, and to his lovely
spouse, Susan may we forever be friends!"
We toasted and drank.
Then it was Mark`s turn to propose the toast. An eloquent man, Mark had little trouble
summoning forth some appropriate words:
"A day without love is a day without life," Mark said, raising his glass.
"Let us drink to love!"
John`s glass clinked against Mark`s.
"To love!" John said.
I added mine to the upraised glasses. "To love!"
Only Marsha was left. John nodded to her with an almost imperceptible lift of his brow.
She brought her glass up. "To love!" Marsha said.
We all drank heartily to love.
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