Shadow of Doubt
by Sir Nathan
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2008 Sir Nathan
Published by Burping Frog Publishing
Detroit, Michigan
burpingfrogebooks.blogspot.com
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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All rights reserved. Manufactured in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All persons and locations in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters depicted in this work of fiction are eighteen years of age or older.
Chapter 1
“Baby?” Johan asked, as we lay in bed.
I roused myself without opening my eyes. “Mhmmm?”
“Look at me.”
I was lying on my back, in post-orgasmic bliss. It was difficult just to roll onto my side and face him. “Yes, Sir?”
“Do you remember what you said?”
“You mean, ‘I love being your slut’?” I whispered, biting my lip.
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “That.”
“A bit naughty?” I giggled and blushed. Being naughty always made me nervous.
“Well, yeah. But ...” He hesitated a moment as I grazed my fingernails lightly down his muscular chest. “It was more the way you said it,” he continued.
“I can’t help it. You just make me so wild.” Pressing my pussy against his hip, I thought maybe I could get round two going, instead of continuing down this road. Johan would have none of it.
He wrapped his arms around me, breathing in my ear. “It sounded more like a plea. Are you happy with ‘us’? Are you satisfied?”
“Johan,” I said, staring into his eyes as I caressed his cheek. “I love everything we do so much. I can hardly imagine being more satisfied than I already am.”
“And there’s always your toys, right?”
“Mhmmm. You wanna play with some?”
“You’re insatiable.”
I giggled. “Sometimes!”
“Go get your high tech vibe, the one I got you for Christmas ... and your butt plug.”
“Awww, do I have to get the plug?”
“Just get it, dirty girl. And get that little whip I bought the other day. The one we haven’t tried yet. I promise I’ll be gentle.”
“Yes, Sir.” I smiled to myself. Yay for round two! Maybe I’ll get to suck him off as well!
Later, feeling thoroughly fucked and exhausted, I was lazily caressing my clit with my fingers. The toys lay on the bed next to me, and I could feel Johan’s cum dripping down my chin and drying on my neck. Behind my closed eyes, my mind wandered. I was thinking about one of my favourite fantasies, and my pussy started getting juicy again.
“What are you thinking about?” Johan interrupted. He was leaning on his elbow, head in hand, watching me intently and still breathing heavily himself.
The vision evaporated as though I’d been caught. “Oh, nothing.”
“Well, it’s obviously something. What do you fantasise about?”
“Mostly you, baby.”
“Mostly?”
Oh, dear. “Yeah, mostly.”
“What else then? C’mon tell me!” He jumped on top of me and held my arms down over my head with one hand. He’s a huge guy and I’m only small!
“Noooo!” I squealed.
“Tell me or I’ll tickle you.”
“I can’t!” I whined.
“Yes, you can!” He started tickling me madly, and I’m sooo ticklish! In moments I was laughing painfully and trying to squirm from his grasp.
“Nooooo! Ahhhhh! You’re killing meeee!” He attacked me just under my ribs, his nails just right and sending me mad with laughter, tears pouring from my eyes. “Stop, please, pleeeeeaaaassssseeeee!”
“I’ll stop when you tell me!”
“Ahhhh! Nooo! OOhhhhhhhh! Okayyyy! Okkaaayyyyyy!” I was exhausted and crying from the tickling and all I could think was, What am I gonna tell him? “You’ll think I’m a slut!”
“Really. How interesting.”
“I mean it, Johan. You really don’t wanna know.”
“Oh yes I do, Shannon.”
“But it’s wrong and ... Ohhh ...” I burst into tears. It was the moment I’d always dreaded. Ever since we started this dominance and submission thing, I’ve been really honest about everything. Everything except this. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell him I had these crazy fantasies.
Johan lay down beside me, taking me into his arms. “It’s all right baby, honestly. It’s all right. What could be so bad? I know you’re a very passionate and sexy girl. It’s okay to have fantasies you are embarrassed about sharing. I won’t judge. I promise.”
“But you’ll hate me! You’ll think I’m a dirty, filthy, little whore!” My nipples stood up hearing the words coming from my own mouth!
Johan noticed too. He took one between fingers and thumb and tugged it gently. “I can see that thinking about your fantasies turns you on, little one. I have an idea.” I just swallowed and listened. “I want you to have everything I can give you. Everything within my power. I want to grant you a fantasy or two. I want to make it happen. Just to show you how much I love you. And baby?”
I sniffled. “Yes, Sir?”
“I give you my solemn promise, as a man, as your husband, and as your dominant: I will never leave you because of this. The only way I’d ever let you go is if you begged me. I love you, Shannon. You know that. And nothing you fantasise would change that.”
I curled up in his arms and wiped my cheek on the pillow. “Are you sure?”
“I promise, baby. I promise.”
“O-Okay.”
A couple of hours later, we were lying on our backs in bed. I’d just finished telling him everything and I was worried he’d just get up and leave. But after a few moments, he spoke. “I want you to write it all down as a request and sign it.”
“Write it down? Sign it?”
“I’m not having you reporting me to the police, pet.”
I nodded slowly. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”
“And no fudging.”
I giggled and leaned up on my elbow, looking down on him. “Okay. I’ll write it all down. God, I can’t believe it. You really don’t hate me?”
“Baby, I think you’re the hottest woman in the world. Boy am I gonna have fun with this!”
I swallowed again. I really couldn’t believe he didn’t think I was a low-down gutter tramp. “I love you,” I said.
“And I love you, baby. No matter what. I love you more than life itself.”
I slipped into his arms again and held him tightly. “I’m so relieved,” I whispered.
“It’s all right,” he whispered back. “It’s all right.” I fell asleep with the sweet feeling of his loving fingers running gently through my hair.
“Have you done it yet?”
“Done what?” To be honest I hoped he’d somehow forgotten about it. We were standing in the kitchen the next afternoon. It was a Sunday. He’d been out all morning.
“Have you written down your fantasies for me, baby? I can’t do anything till you’ve written them down and signed on the dotted line.” He winked.
“Ohh ...” I whined.
“Don’t be afraid, Shannon. I love you, remember?”
“It’s not that. I know you love me, after what I told you, I definitely know it now. It’s just a bit ... I don’t know ... scary!”
“I bet it turns you on!”
“A bit.”
“Liar.” He smiled at me and I blushed.
“Sorry, Sir.”
“Good girl.” I love it when he calls me his ‘good girl’. It makes me feel so appreciated. Such simple words. So easy to say. So easy to forget to say. “Go on then.”
“Now? But I was going to water the garden.”
“I’ll do it. You go sit down at the computer for an hour or so. I’ll start dinner too.”
“Goodness. Thank you, darling.”
“Anything for my sweet girl.” He curled his warm fingers around my cheek and I leaned against his hand. My brown eyes swam in the blue of his. If only I knew what I was getting myself into. Oh, but I knew. I knew only too well. Just admitting these things made me practically shit myself. Thinking about them made me wet. Talking about them made me need to change my underwear.
I just wanted it to happen. I needed it to happen. Something. I don’t know why, and I honestly didn’t care what or how. I just wanted something off the wall. Something scary or crazy. Something out of my deepest, darkest fantasies. I needed it. Needed to know. Needed to feel.
Yes, my fantasies have driven me crazy lately, affecting me at inopportune times. Shopping. Watching television. Washing up. Sometimes it’s hard to resist the need to masturbate. I love to masturbate.
Fortunately, I found a man who has managed to keep my demons at bay. He leaned in to kiss me at that moment, and as I always do, I melted. I married him when he told me I wouldn’t find anyone like him ever again. He was right.
I hope you don’t think I’m sick. Well actually, I’ve often thought the same thing myself. I mean, well okay, I was a bit wild in high school. By that, I just mean ‘a bit’. My fantasies always outstripped my realities. I’ve always loved masturbating. I loved to fantasise. As my sex-toy collection grew, my fantasies grew more and more elaborate. And more bizarre. And more extreme. Though I’d sucked a few cocks, and given a few hand jobs, just about everything I knew today I’d been taught by my Johan.
His warm, slightly minty tongue slid into my mouth, filling me with him while his hands found my ass. I kissed him back fervently. Thinking about this stuff always made me hot. Kissing him made me hotter. With one last squeeze of my ass and one last slice of his long, strong tongue into my mouth, he broke the kiss. “Get in there,” he growled, grinning.
“Yes, Sir!” I giggled, and darted out, but not before yelping when he smacked my ass as I skipped past. Thanks to that little tête-à-tête in the kitchen, I was already wet when I sat down to write. But that alone wouldn’t explain why I had to get a towel to sit on. No. You see, I have to admit I was turned on by the thought of writing down my darkest fantasies. I’d never been this far before. The thought that I might have one or more actually occur was intensely arousing, and I wasn’t wearing panties.
I should tell you about myself. My name is Shannon Bree Stollson. I’ve been married to the man who stole my cherry for almost eight years. I’m twenty-seven years old and I’m reasonably slim and I’m told I’m attractive. My hair is blonde but I’m not natural. Well it’s streaked blonde so you would know anyway, even though I shave my pussy. I do that for my husband. He insists. He says he prefers it that way, and now so do I.
One weekend almost ten years ago I met him while at the beach. I was busy readjusting my bikini when he walked right up to me and asked if I needed a hand. I could hardly speak. God, he was just so gorgeous. I still get weak-kneed when I see him naked. Or in a suit. Or in almost anything. Five minutes later he was asking me out. We’ve been together ever since.
Nowadays he runs his own business consulting for medical importers and exporters. But then again, he could do almost anything. He speaks six languages fluently. Though I keep house, our two children are under four and are in day care two days a week. Monday and Tuesday. They also enjoy staying at their grandmother’s house on Sunday and Monday nights. Which of course gives us ample time to continue our torrid love life. ‘Our weekend, ‘ he called it. As the years went by, I adored our weekends, and gladly accepted his strange working week. I gladly accepted a lot of things. As our love life became more and more crazy, I accepted more than most!
I accepted his dominance right from the beginning. It was only a few short years later than we formalised the relationship. We had discovered the BDSM lifestyle through a friend of his, who brought us along to a munch. That’s where like-minded people get together and chat about things. We soon realised we were already practicing. I was already his submissive. He was already my dominant. We read lots of stuff together and drew up a contract. I was so nervous and so excited. I eagerly signed it and gushed into my panties as I did.
So began our life. It’s easy to be a good submissive when your man is such a fucking turn-on. I mean, even in my fantasies, when it’s just one man, it’s always my man. Always. He’s so imposing. Everyone looks at him first when we walk into a room. In the beginning, I didn’t like it. But after a while it just made me proud. And thankful. Thankful that it was me on this Adonis’ arm. But he is so much more than an Adonis. He’s not cocky, just self-assured. He knows himself well. And he is about to know me better than he ever has. I started typing.
This is a bit embarrassing to admit. But when I get wet, I’m only allowed to clean myself with my fingers and my mouth, which usually just makes me all the wetter. Which is kind of self-defeating, don’t you think? He chuckled when he made that rule. But it was right up my alley.
I have slut fantasies. Fantasies where I’m taken unwillingly and fucked till I love it. Who am I kidding? I love being fucked. And I mean completely fucked. Sweaty and sore. All holes. I am not too keen about anal, but I like it after the initial shock and pain. I don’t look forward to that feeling. It makes my tummy tumble. But after that, I do love it. I feel so slutty too. Naughty. Dirty. Delicious.
I loveeee sucking too. Especially big ones, though not all my fantasy men have enormous cocks. A couple of my girlfriends really envy me! But I don’t know why. I mean, if Johan were a bit smaller, it would be a lot easier! A cock is a cock, right? I can’t imagine a tiny one being much fun though. Is it wrong to genuinely feel a bit sorry for those guys?
I just think sucking is so yummy though. I can see his face and actually know whether I’m being pleasing. I mean, it’s got to be pretty hard to fake! Right girls? I also spend a fair bit of time on my knees too. Oh! I don’t mean like that! Let me explain!
Johan is my husband and lover, but he is also my Master. I like being able to kneel at his feet. So I have three really big cushions in various places around the house. With time, one really does get used to kneeling. As long as one’s joints and back are okay. I guess I also feel sorry for the subbies who can’t do that. I love looking up at him from down there. I love seeing the look in his eyes.
And I love knowing a man’s cock is hard because I’m exciting him. It’s basic and animal and it affects me deeply. It makes me horny and I like being horny. I mean, I’m no ‘spread my legs at the drop of a hat’ type slut. God, the men at the supermarket, or the women for that matter, would have a fit. No, I am very straight-faced and conceal my horniness well.
I mean, God. I’ve never done anything really wild. I’ve never slept with anyone but Johan. I’m just a regular girl who had normal young girl fantasies and stuff. Save myself for marriage and all that. It wasn’t an iron-clad promise I’d made to myself, I just hadn’t met anyone I really wanted to do it with.
When a friend mentioned erotic literature and a website one day, I had a look and was hooked. I read and read and fantasised and wished Johan would just take me. I mean we were going together and everything, and I was thinking, God he’s such a hunk. I wonder if I should let him fuck me? I masturbated endlessly wondering what it would be like. But I could never throw myself at him. I’d probably even resist. God, then I had a thought and a feeling went through me that I will never forget.
What if he forced himself on me?
Now let me make something perfectly clear. He would not have been raping me. That thought was not what I was thinking about. The idea of being actually raped is NOT what I’m talking about. What made me tremble with carnal lust was the idea of being forced, when I wanted it.
Because I did want it. And I recognise that now. To be honest, I recognised it then too. I recognised it as he pushed his big cock into my virgin pussy and I came as the pain hit me. I bucked back at him and screamed. I breathlessly told him to fuck me harder. He split me open and I cried in ecstasy.
I became a slut almost overnight. Not a slut for any guy. Just for my guy. I discovered the joy I felt in giving pleasure almost immediately. Johan had me kneel in front of him and we spent a whole day practicing and talking about sucking cock.
Mmmmm. It took a heartbeat to realise I had a lot of power when on my knees. Listening to him moan at my various touches made me cream. I absolutely loved it. I wanted to suck him all the time, and I was always disappointed when I didn’t get the opportunity. I was becoming demanding. High maintenance.
I knew I had a strong sex drive. I read about it. It was normal for young females to have strong desires when first introduced to sex. Much like males. But apparently more so, given the fact that my first experience was good. That can be crucial, so I’ve read.
All I knew was, I found myself thinking about having sex with Johan all the time. In school, after school, at dinner, when out with friends, sailing, skiing, anything, anywhere, anytime. It got to the point where I started to beg him. Yeah, yeah, I know. How demeaning. But honestly, I didn’t think about it that way. I just wanted my fix. “C’mon baby, don’t you wanna fuck me?” God, I was such a slut. “No? Awww. Then can I suck you? Would that be okay? Please?”
Conversely, he actually was pleased. I mean, what big-cocked, hot blooded, Scandinavian guy wouldn’t be? He was making a cute little number into his own personal slut. I had all the necessary assets. I had the body and I still do. I had the open, accepting mind. I had the enthusiasm and the strong desire to please. And I had a man who satisfied me wildly beyond my frantic masturbatory imaginings. I would have done anything for him.
After outrageous sex one afternoon, we were kissing and cuddling and talking, as we always do. “I’ll marry you one day,” he said.
I rolled over onto my tummy, looking down on him. He was lying on his back, breathing heavily. “You will, huh?” I smiled widely.
“If you’ll have me.” He winked.
“I’d have you. I’m not an idiot.”
“What about now, then?”
“What?” My tummy tumbled.
“Will you marry me?”
“Are you asking?” Duh. Okay, so I wanted some time. He nailed me. He always does.
“Shannon. Don’t hedge me, baby. You know you’re mine. You always have been. And you always will be. I can’t see a reason why we shouldn’t.”
I reached up and caressed his face. “Nor can I. Of course I’ll marry you, baby.”
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 getting 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)
Anyway, it makes me wet just thinking about that.
I also have a fantasy where I am taken roughly by a group of men I don’t know. The idea of being gangbanged and treated like a slut by strangers makes my cunt spasm. In my fantasy, I try to talk them out of it but they are ruthless and unstoppable. I submit and can’t help myself, soon becoming their willing, insatiable whore. There are usually three, but often more. Sometimes it is many more. Sometimes they are black. Sometimes there are spectators who yell abuse and humiliate me. My fantasies usually involve men with huge cocks, but my gangbang fantasy always does.
My pussy is creaming again, baby, back in a sec. Okay, back again.
Johan, as you know, my last fantasy is a rape fantasy. I don’t know if this is a common fantasy. I’ve never asked any of my friends about it. I’d be too embarrassed to ask them. It makes me feel queasy thinking about it and it was the hardest one to admit to you. I can’t reconcile it. I don’t want to be raped. I really don’t. The thought of being actually raped scares the crap out of me. It would be a horrific experience that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. But what if, in the back of my mind, I knew it was ‘play-rape’? If I ‘knew’ I was safe?
In my fantasy I’m surprised by someone or caught doing something I shouldn’t be doing, and then force-fucked. I don’t want to like it, I fight and try to stop it happening, but I am overwhelmed, and before long my body betrays me, and he knows it and despite myself, I can’t help it and I cum and cum and cum. The whirlwind of force and being able to do nothing ... God. The thought is so frighteningly erotic.
But Johan, please, this is important to me, baby ... If you see fit to fulfil this particular fantasy, I would need you there. I would need to be able to see you, so I knew I was safe. In fact, I would prefer it if you were there for all of my fantasies. The thought of you being there, seeing it, seeing me be a slut, a dirty slut, makes me even wetter. Oh, God ...
All I know is, when I fuck myself, it is usually one or more of these fantasies that I have. As you know, I love to cum, baby. I just love it. And when the thought of these scenarios passes through my mind, I cum so hard. Asking you to make them come true ... God, Johan ... my tummy flips, and my pussy is so wet. But Johan, I love you. Nothing will change that. My crazy thoughts, dreams and fantasies don’t change the fact that I love you with every square inch of my heart. If nothing comes of this, then I won’t be unhappy. I’ll only be unhappy if it changes us.
So baby, that is the confession of my fantasies, and I give you permission to do with them what you wish. Whether that is to make one or more, or a combination of them, come true, or to ignore them altogether. As I submit to you, that is your choice. And one last thing: I trust you, Johan, but baby, please don’t lose this letter. I trust you to look after my secrets as well as you do me.
Your loving wife,
Shannon
xxx
ps. You know the amazing thing? I don’t have any secrets any more. Not one. I’m scared and hot about what might happen, but I’m also strangely relieved.
I’d been sitting cross-legged on our bed, either looking down or watching Johan read my words. I blushed when he looked up from the pages to smile into my eyes. When he looked at me like that, I always felt like I was naked. He looked down again to finish reading. Finally he sighed and straightened the pages, shaking his head. “You are such a naughty girl, you know.” He looked up at me, lust burning in his hot blue eyes.
Godddd! I thought, as my pussy clenched involuntarily. I bit my lip. “I’m sorry, Sir,” I said, blushing madly. He turned around and placed the pages on the bedside table. I watched him as he stood and moved around the end of the bed, like a huge cat.
Suddenly he was over me. He’d flattened me on my back and had my hands pinned over my head in an instant. Her held my wrists tight down on the bed while his other hand moved my legs apart. I pushed them back together again as soon as he reached for the buttons down the front of my thin, floral dress. He slapped me on the inside of my thigh and pulled my legs apart again. “You are my slut, and my slut has her legs open whenever I want her to have them open!”
I shuddered and kept them open, but it didn’t stop me trying to get my arms free. “Y-Yes, Sir.”
“Or perhaps you ‘want’ me to rip this pretty dress from your body.” He took hold of it in his fist between my breasts. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
I swallowed and stopped struggling. “But it’s one of my favourites, Sir,” I whined. Surely he wouldn’t.
“You don’t think I would?”
I looked at him imploringly. I needed fucking. I didn’t need my second favourite dress torn to shreds. God ... I could feel how wet I was getting. I’d put my panties back on earlier. They were getting wet and it felt cool as the moisture evaporated from the tight fabric covering my pulsing, wet little cunt. I started squirming again but he held my wrists tight. “Please ...”
“Please what? Please rip your dress to shreds and fuck my ass off, or please let me go?”
“That’s not ...”
“Choose, slut!”
“But!” I tried one more time to wrestle free. In the struggle, he took the neck of my pretty dress in his big hand. Without warning, he tore it from neck to hem. “Nooooo!” He took my exposed left breast in his hand and crushed it firmly, my flesh bulging between his fingers. I clenched my teeth, trying not to moan. Fuck! I loved that dress!
“My stupid little slut ... your wet pussy just cost you that dress you know ...” He released my breast and I sighed with pained relief, before suddenly feeling his fingers gathering the material of my panties into his fist, then stretching them tight up my ass. “All you had to say was ‘Let me go’, but your wet fucking cunt just wouldn’t let you, would it?”
“Noooo! Donnn’tttt!”
RRRRIPP!
He tore my bikini panties from my body like they were tissue paper.
“Open your dirty mouth, my little slut,” he said, chuckling. He brought the shredded garment to my lips and pressed it between my teeth, pushing more and more of it into my mouth. As it was pushed in, I pressed my tongue against it to stop myself from choking and immediately tasted myself. He prodded the last strip into my mouth and lifted my chin with his finger, closing my mouth. I had a pair of my own wet panties in my mouth. I’d never done that before. I was startled and had become still. Swallowing instinctively, I felt like I was on another planet. My pretty little blue panties were being used as a gag to shut me up. I moaned softly and my eyes rolled back into my head. Spreading my legs wider and arching my back, I lifted my pussy into the air in search of sensation. God, I so wanted it. I was on fire!
SMACK!
My eyes flew open and the air whooshed from my lungs as pain radiated out from my pussy. He SLAPPED my CUNT! I thought, fighting to take a breath. My chest shuddered as two of his thick fingers drove straight up my slick tunnel, and the scream that had been building burst straight into the back of the gag, muffled against the fabric, now sodden with my saliva. He clamped the pad of his thumb over my clit, stretching and retracting the hood in time with his thrusting fingers.
I didn’t want to moan and I was trying so hard not to, but my treacherous hips had already betrayed me. “MMMMMMMM!” I moaned uncontrollably, fucking back at his fingers and tossing my head from side to side. Stars exploded behind my eyes as ropes of crackling electricity snapped my limbs taught. I gritted my teeth and held tight to the sheet I’d fisted in my hands. Rebounding back to my clit tenfold, the electricity slammed into me and I shuddered completely out of control. Juices shot from my clenching cunt, drenching his hard fingers, my hips driving my pussy against the base of them as hard as I could. “MMMMMMM MMMMMMMMM! I cried into the gag, feeling then twisting and fucking my spasming pussy as I came.
While I was weak with aftershocks he unexpectedly pulled his fingers out of me and wrapped his hand around my thigh. I was unceremoniously flipped over and found myself face down, flat on the bed with my arms twisted and my wrists still pinned over my head. I could barely move. My muscles were limp and I could feel him pushing my legs apart. He slid those maddening fingers deeply back into me, then he roughly lifted me onto my knees by my cunt.
“MMMMMMM!” I cried, my muffled protests now pointless. With me now on my knees, her pulled his fingers free and I sighed. Then I smelled the heady scent of myself as the same fingers fumbled for the cloth poked into my mouth. I started panting through my nose. Suddenly the gag was gone and I slipped my tongue around my mouth, wetting it before swallowing. Eyes blazing with need, I gasped, “Fuck me, you bastard. Please Johan, just fuck me!”
“You can beg better than that, my slut.”
SLAP!
“Ohhhh!” I yelled out, blinding heat radiated from my ass, and echoes of the hard slap ringing in my ears.
“Come on! Beg!”
“Please ... please, oh baby, please ...” Another hard slap peeled back my wantonness and I wallowed in it. “Fuck me, please baby,” I whispered hoarsely, saliva drooling from the corner of my mouth. “I need it baby, I need it so bad. Your baby’s cunt needs your cock so bad ... please baby ... please ...” I groaned as my wrists were suddenly freed and I got up on hands and knees, looking back at him. He climbed on the bed behind me and took my hair in his fist, pulling backwards and making me look straight ahead. “Ooohhhh!” My back arched and he split me wide open, stretching and impaling me with his big cock in one mighty thrust.
“Ohhh FUCK! YESSSSSSSSSSSSS!” I hissed, pulling against my hair. He buried the full length in me, and my cunt gripped him and twitched, sending trickles of juices cascading down the insides of my thighs.
With my mouth open and gasping, and my hair pulled back tight, time seemed to stand still. Sounds were muffled and a knot coiled in my belly. The relentless pounding of his huge cock in my cunt drove me higher and higher, the feeling tightened and grew larger and larger. Tingles broke out like wildfires across my skin. It was gonna be a big one! I couldn’t even hear my own voice as I screamed. “FUCK MEEEE!”
He yelled out what I so desperately loved to hear. “I’MMM CUUMMMMIINNNGGGGG!” He drove hard into me and shuddered against my ass, his cock head mashed against my cervix, blowing his hot cum deep into my cunt. I trembled, impaled deeply, moaning constantly, eyes closed and body tight as a drum. My pussy gushed as I came hard, gripping and releasing his throbbing cock over and over and over. Our moans mixed together as he released my hair and collapsed on my back. We were both exhausted, but I couldn’t even move.
“Mmmmm, baby ...” he whispered as he kissed my shoulder and softly bit my neck, “such a naughty girl ...” Tremors wracked my body for minutes and I shuddered again as his thick length slowly withdrew from me. I rolled up into a ball beside him, tucking my head under his arm and trying to catch my breath. He played with my hair while we listened to the sound of each other breathing. I was afraid to open my eyes in case it had all been a dream. Johan got up and turned out the lights, before sliding back into bed behind me. He kissed me behind my ear softly and gently licked the lobe. “Tomorrow’s a whole new day, baby.”
I swallowed and snuggled back against him.
Chapter 3
Mornings are wonderful on ‘our weekends’. Not having to jump out of bed at first light to feed and keep our children occupied is such a blessing. Perhaps I should feel guilty, but when our two little ones are at Grandma’s house, Johan and I get to be and act like we always have with each other. For two whole days a week we can relax and be two horny people who both enjoy sex, having fun, playing with toys, and all kinds of other ‘regular’ things too. ‘Our weekend’ stretches from Sunday night until Tuesday afternoon when one of us picks up the kids from Grandma’s. The intervening time we spend as we wish. Or perhaps I should have said as Johan wishes.
You see Johan is my ‘ideas man’. Or at least, that’s what I call it! He likes to decide what we are doing and when we do it. I love that, because during the week when I’m making dinners and breakfasts and lunches and getting people ready, I feel like everything revolves around me. I have to do things and organise people, and I make meals and I clean and wash. I relish my responsibilities and I adore my children. But nurturing, feeding and providing entertainment for two children under four is no mean feat. Add to that a sexually demanding husband and I’m out on my feet most nights, not to mention sore each morning! And no! I’m not complaining!
I appreciate the time we have alone together so much. We are fortunate to be in the position we are. Johan’s mother adores our children and loves to have sleepovers at her house. And Johan has been able to arrange to work only four days a week, even though he does spend a fair bit of time in front of the computer, such is his job. We are not super rich, but we want for little. I thank Johan and his shrewd investments for that, every day.
In fact, I thank Johan for a lot. I thank him for rescuing me from a life of boredom in a small town. I thank him for seeing in me everything he wanted in a woman. I thank him for the love and care he shows our children and the love and care he shows me. For the things he’s shown me and taught me, and for the things we share and learn together, I thank him every day of my life. Johan is not just responsible for what I have, but also for where and who I am.
I mean, here I am, an ‘unsophisticated, average, small-town girl’, married to a ‘sophisticated, well-above-average, experienced city man’. I live in a luxurious house in one of the best parts of town. Our street was one of the prettiest, with its large houses perched on spacious lawns surrounded by leafy and manicured gardens.
I know it was borne of insecurities that existed before I met him, but I’ve often had the vague feeling that it was all a dream, and one day I would wake up back in ‘Hellsville’ (that’s what I call Hallsville, where I grew up) and none of it really happened. Perhaps strangely, I felt like I didn’t deserve my life, like I must have cheated somewhere along the way. It was like an echo, just a shadow of a doubt. Like it could all be taken away one day when Johan woke up and finally realised I was still just an ‘unsophisticated, average, small-town girl’. Of course, these thoughts were fleeting and I always brushed them away as nonsense.