I watched with sad eyes as the candle on the nightstand did its flickering, erotic dance...teasing me...the fire's happy jig seemed to be reminding me of what I had become...and of what I used to be.
I knelt by the empty bed, hypnotized by the flame. It's only Friday, I sighed. Another long weekend lies ahead.
Just outside the bedroom, nuzzled up on the couch watching TV, oblivious to my sorrow, was my precious wife Monica and her boyfriend Randy.
Randy. Oh, how I hated him.
But I feared him even more.
Randy has been in the picture from the very beginning. Monica has been seeing him all along, but I thought that she might end the affair once we got married.
I thought wrong.
Randy not only has the key to my wife's heart - he has a key to the house as well. He moved in with us shortly after Monica and I were married, and even though I resent it terribly, there isn't a whole lot I can do about it.
Oh well. This is my life now. I'm stuck with it.
How did I get into this mess? To tell you the truth, I'm not quite sure. It all happened so fast...
* * *
Monica was working as a waitress in a greasy spoon and going to college part-time when I first met her. From the first moment I saw her, I knew I was in love. I think it was her eyes that did me in.
Those playful blue eyes..if I only knew the evil that was lurking behind them!
I started coming around just about every day for lunch. At first, Monica pretty much ignored me. The few times she did deem to speak to me, it was with disdain - as if my presence was interrupting an otherwise pleasant day.
"You again?" she would ask me, crinkling up her pretty nose. "Don't you have better things to do than hang around here bugging me? Get a life!"
I knew all the other waitresses were laughing at me. I could see them snickering behind their hands every time Monica would loudly throw another put-down my way.
But I was willing to play the part of the fool. Anything to be near her.
Eventually, after I continued to leave $10 and $20 tips in spite of her rude treatment, I think she began to sense the power she held over me. That's when she started asking questions.
I should have noticed the calculating gleam in those eyes when I told her I was the owner of a successful business, and that I had a little money.
But I didn't see the train coming.
She made me beg for about a month before she finally let me take her out. We went out on a few dates, but I never even got to first base.
One time when I did try to kiss her, she pushed my face away with the palm of her hand and laughed at me.
"Yuck!" she said when her laughter died down. "C'mon, Carl, you're a nice guy and all..." she paused. "But a KISS? I don't think so!"
My confidence was completely shattered. I never made any advances toward her after that.
But even though Monica wouldn't give me the pleasure of even a friendly peck on the cheek, she began telling me she needed money. It started out as a hundred dollars here and there, but pretty soon it was almost like I was paying her a salary to go out with me - and a damn good salary at that!
I guess she sensed my submissive nature from the very start, because it sure didnt take long for her to reel me in. Im an older guy, and a little overweight. Not the most attractive fellow in the world, I'm afraid. And deep down, I knew she was only after my money.
But your vision gets a little cloudy when youve been bitten by the bug. And I had it bad.
Within a week of our first date, I was coming over regularly to clean her apartment and wash her car. After our third date she told me that she was tired of driving a six-year-old car and demanded that I buy her a new one.
Three dates - without so much as a good-night kiss - and here she was, practically ordering me to buy her a new car!
Of course, I obeyed. When we went to go pick it out, she didn't spare any expense: she got a Jaguar, fully loaded. Cost me a cool $75,000. But I didn't think twice about it - by that time, I was in knee deep.
After our fourth date, she broke the news to me: she was seeing this other guy, Randy. She told me that she fully intended to continue seeing her "special friend," and that, if we were ever to get married, I would have to accept it.
Whoa! Her words hit me like a sledgehammer. Never mind this Randy character; she just mentioned getting married!
Married? After four dates? Isn't this a little early for her to be talking about marriage? And why was she interested in marrying me, when she didn't even want to kiss me? Well, I thought, maybe she's shy or something, and doesn't like to get intimate with a guy until she's known him for awhile.
The possibilities bounced around in my head like ping-pong balls.
In the end, though, despite my initial apprehension, I was thrilled! This beautiful angel was talking about marrying me! Wow! Only in my wildest dreams!
But it didn't take long for my angel to turn into a vampire.
I'll never forget the night I took her out for her birthday. I'd really knocked myself out to try to make this a special night for her. I made reservations at the finest restaurant in town. I had three dozen roses sent to her apartment. And, for the coup de grace, I bought her a $7,000 diamond tennis bracelet.
When I went to pick her up for our big date, she told me the bad news.
"Listen, Carl, I forgot that Randy promised to take me out tonight, too," she said. My heart sank. "Looks like we're going to have to postpone our date," she added matter-of-factly.
"B-But, Monica..." I stammered. "I have reservations for us at Chez Paul! And...I have a gift for you."
I handed her the velvet box containing her bracelet. She tore it open and marvelled at the expensive piece of jewelry.
"Wow, this must've cost a pretty penny!" she said. That was it. No" thank you" or anything.
"We'd better go, Monica," I said, after I realized that she wasn't going to thank me for the expensive gift. "Our reservations are at 8 o'clock."
She pursed her lips for a minute, deep in thought.
"I'll tell you what," she said slowly. "Why don't we compromise? Randy was supposed to pick me up at 8. Why don't we all go out together?"
"B-but Monica...the reservations are for only two people!" I pleaded.
"Well, we'll just have to work something out then, won't we?" she said icily.
We "worked something out," all right. I wound up sitting in the car for more than two hours while Monica and Randy went inside and ate the gourmet dinner I paid for.
After that, things got progressively worse. Monica stopped dating me altogether, spending every free night with Randy.
One night, she called me on the phone. I hadn't heard from her in over a week and I was thrilled to hear her voice.
"Carl, can you do me a little favor?" she asked sweetly.
"Sure, Monica. What is it?"
"Well..." she drawled. "Randy's parents are flying in tomorrow. They're going to spend the weekend with him."
"Yeah"? I asked suspiciously.
"Well, his apartment is an absolute mess! And we're going out to the basketball game tonight, so he won't have time to clean. I was wondering...do you think you could come over and straighten his place up for him?"
I was flabbergasted! What kind of fool did she take me for, anyway?
When I could find my voice I heard myself say, "sure, Monica. Anything you want."
"Thanks!" she said gaily. "You're such a sweetheart!" She paused for a moment. "Uh..Carl?" she asked after a few seconds, an amused twinkle in her voice.
"Yes, honey?"
"Uh...I'm going to need a few hundred dollars. You know how expensive things are at the basketball games. It cost $6 for a beer! And parking...plus, Randy wanted to get a jacket, and that costs over $100."
That's when I knew I'd hit rock bottom.
I think I made a big mistake the night I told Monica about my submissive fantasies. With much trepidation, I told her everything: how all my life, I'd fantasized about being a slave to a beautiful woman. It was the first time I'd ever told anyone about my fantasies, and I should have felt like a million pounds had been lifted from my shoulders. Instead, I had this unexplainable feeling of impending doom.
"So, you want to be a slave, do you?" she asked with an evil, yet playful look in her eye. "Well, Carl, you don't know what you're getting yourself into! I can be an absolute bitch sometimes! But if you want to chance it, I'd be willing to play along with your sick little fantasies."
I almost came on the spot!
Now that she knew for sure that I was her slave (as if she didn't know before!), she threw all caution to the wind. She immediately started taking advantage of her new submissive toady. She would call me once or twice a week when she wanted something done. Her house needed painting. Or her car needed an oil change. Or she needed a new outfit to wear on a date with Randy.
She kept me running until my tongue hung out.
Toward the end of summer, she started hinting around about wanting to get married and settle down. It took me a few weeks before I finally got up the nerve to ask her to marry me. When she said yes, I was the happiest man on the face of the earth!
We celebrated by going to Monica's favorite bar. Well, guess who showed up?
I sat dejectedly at a table in the back of the bar and watched Monica and Randy play darts all night. The only time either of them talked to me was to ask for more money.
Every time Monica made a good shot, he would give her a big kiss. I hated the way she seemed to melt like butter in his arms! The way she looked at him...if only she would look at me like that!
Yeah, I know. She was my fiance, and by all rights I should have said something. But I just couldn't get up the nerve! I was afraid she might call off the wedding.
That night, on the way home from the bar, Monica told Randy all about my submissive tendencies.
"He tells me he wants to be my slave!" she said. I wanted to lay down on the floor of the car as she continued. "He says he wants me to beat him, and treat him like shit!" Her words were a little slurred; maybe she'd had one too many Long Island Iced Teas at the bar!
"So, he's one of those guys, eh?" Randy said, looking at me with an evil smile. "I've heard about weirdos like him who like to have their asses kicked! What a wimp!"
"Well, at least he's a rich wimp!" Monica laughed. "A fat, rich wimp, maybe - but a rich wimp just the same!"
Randy chucked, then reached into the back seat and slapped me across the ear.
"So...you want to be treated like shit, eh? Well okay, you fat, fuckin' wimp: you're gonna get exactly what you asked for!" Monica giggled, then leaned over and gave him a kiss.
It really started going downhill after that.
When I told Monica about my submissive nature, I hadn't planned on becoming Randy's slave, too. But that's exactly what happened.
Monica insisted that I buy Randy a new car. He picked out a $60,000 sport-utility vehicle. It was so humiliating to watch them tooling around in their new cars...cars that I paid for!
I'd been paying all Monica's bills for months. Now, she informed me that I'd have to start giving Randy money for his bills as well!
All my life I've had fantasies about a beautiful woman whipping me and abusing me. But now it was Randy who did most of the whipping. What I thought was going to be a fantasy come true backfired on me! Randy went out and bought a plastic whipping rod, and he delighted in turning my ass into hamburger while Monica looked on and laughed.
I hadn't bargained for all this...but I didn't say a word. After all, Monica was now my fiance, and I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that.
That fall, Monica and I got married by a Justice of the Peace - but not before I'd signed a prenuptual agreement which effectively put everything in her name: my house, my business, all my stock holdings and my savings accounts. Material things. They mean nothing next to my Monica, I remember thinking.
What a sap! I can see it now - why couldn't I see it then?
I went out and bought a new suit for the occasion. Monica showed up with Randy, wearing a pair of jeans and a leather jacket. I don't know which I was more upset about: the fact that she'd brought Randy along as a witness, or that she didn't think enough of the occasion to dress up a little.
After the ceremony, my new wife packed a suitcase and her new American Express Gold card and took off with Randy on a month-long cruise to Australia. I stayed home and pined.
Some honeymoon, huh?
On the day they returned, Monica announced that Randy was moving in with us. Just like that. When she told me he was moving in, I began to second-guess myself for ever marrying this woman.
But by then, of course, it was too late.
All my old friends eventually lost respect for me over the way I let her treat me. "She's a bitch," they would tell me. "She's only after your money. Why do you put up with it?" I had no answer for them - then or now.
These days, I have no real relationships with anyone from the outside world. My world now exists here, inside what used to be my home, waiting on my knees in the bedroom, watching the candle flicker and hoping my mistress and her evil "special friend" will be too tired to torture me tonight.
* * *
I could see it in their eyes as soon as the bedroom door opened. They were horny - and part of their foreplay was going to include me, unfortunately.
Randy plopped down on the bed and shimmied out of his pants while Monica stood in front of the mirror, unbuttoning her blouse. They didn't notice me for a few minutes. I knelt there in silence while my wife and her boyfriend undressed.
"Whew, its hot in here!" Monica told Randy. She turned to me. "Go turn up the air, asshole, I'm burning up in here!"
I shuffled on my knees as fast as I could manage. As I left the bedroom, I heard Randy call after me, "hey, lard-ass! While you're up, go grab me a brewski!"
"Make that two beers, lard-ass!" my wife added.
I hate it when they call me that. Okay, maybe I am a little overweight - but do they constantly have to rub it in my face? Sure, they both have perfect bodies, but so what? Is that any reason for them to call me these terrible names? It really hurts my feelings.
But what in the world was I ever going to say to them? By now, I knew exactly what my role was in this household - and it certainly didn't entail talking back to my superiors, even if they were in the wrong.
When I returned to the bedroom, my wife and Randy were on the bed, making out like two teenagers at a drive-in movie. I knelt by the side of the bed for a minute, balancing the two cans of beer on the serving tray.
I kept my head down respectfully as they kissed, but I couldn't help sneaking a peek once in awhile. I hated the way Monica moaned when Randy touched her. I loved her so much, with all my heart and soul - but to her I wasn't even in the room.
To her, Randy is a god. He can do no wrong in her eyes. Even when he whips to within an inch of my life - which is quite often - she laughs about it, giggling at the faces I make every time another terrifying blow hits home. Randy breaks out his wicked plastic rod for any infraction, perceived or real, and my wife loves it.
One time, Randy gave me 200 awful strokes with the rod for - in his words - "not being respectful enough while serving dinner." Respectful? I had slaved over a hot stove for three hours getting their supper ready, and then Randy told me he didn't like it. He told me to order a pizza, and all I did was sigh. Just a sigh; that isn't really being disrespectful, is it?
For that little transgression, I couldn't sit down for a week!
But what could I do? I love Monica, so I guess if I'm going to keep her, I have put up with Randy's sadistic ways.
Besides, Monica tells me it makes her horny to watch Randy beat me - as if that makes it all right!
Now, as I knelt before the amorous couple, holding their beers on a silver serving tray, I felt as if I couldn't get any lower. I sadly watched Randy's hand slowly move up and down my wife's crotch, her breathing keeping time with the strokes of her lover's fingers. Every time Randy would hit her "spot," she would gasp out loud and bury her face in his chest.
It was depressing to watch.
After about 10 minutes of patiently waiting on my knees, Monica and Randy finally broke their passionate clinch. They each propped up on an elbow as I carefully raised the tray to allow them easier access to their beers.
Monica guzzled a few swallows, then looked me right in the eye. "Go pick me out something sexy to wear, lard-ass," she said.
"Yes, Monica," I said respectfully. She answered me by belching loudly, causing Randy to chuckle.
I chose Monica's purple teddy and presented it to Randy. He rubbed his chin for a minute, studying the lingerie while I stood at the foot of the bed, holding it up for him. "Noooo..." he mused, "Im not in a purple mood tonight. Try something else."
I returned with Monica's black silk teddy. "That's more like it," he remarked. "Bring it here."
He snatched the teddy from my hand and handed it to Monica. "Now, you go make yourself real puuuurrrty for me, okay sweet cheeks?" Randy pinched her butt. "Hey, dickhead," he called to me. "Make sure my girl is looking hot when she comes out of that bathroom, now, you hear?"
"Yes, sir," I whispered, and followed Monica into the bathroom to help her get ready for her lover.
* * *
I SHUFFLED ON MY KNEES behind Monica as she re-entered the bedroom. I saw Randy's face light up. She looked gorgeous in her teddy! I looked at my wife's behind with a heavy heart. She started wiggling her hips for Randy. I put my hand down to my crotch and started touching myself as I watched Monica do a slow, sexy dance for her lover.
"Hey, what the fuck - " My blood ran cold as I heard Randy's voice, and realized the awful truth: I was busted! "The fuckin' worm's playing with himself, Monica!"
She turned around and slapped me silly. "Yuck! Nobody wants to see you playing with your little weenie," she hollered, kicking me hard in the chest with her spike-heeled pump. Her blue eyes narrowed. "You're dripping from the end of your dick! That's disgusting!"
Randy sat up on the bed with a sinister, happy glint in his eye. "Well, now...it looks like I'm going to have to whip a few pounds off that fat ass, ain't I?"
Monica jumped onto the bed and nuzzled up to Randy's hairy chest. "Uh-oh," she said in mock horror. "Looks like someone's going to be on the wrong end of the rod tonight! Better run, asshole! Hide while you can! Randy is PISSED!"
I was frightened for my life and she was making the whole thing out to be a joke - but then, I guess it was just a joke to her. I was about to be thrashed by Randy, and my excruciating pain would be no more to either of them than an evenings entertainment...like watching a movie or something.
"Go get it, you fat piece of shit," Randy spat at me.
I quickly returned with the dreaded rod and assumed the position: on my knees with my head to the floor. "Get that chubby ass up in the air!" he ordered. "Higher"
"Wait, honey, I want to see his face," Monica clapped her hands like a little girl. "Turn him around."
"Turn around so she can see you," Randy snapped. I scooted in the opposite direction so Monica wouldn't miss the fun.
And then it began.
The rod is horrible. It cuts like a saber, leaving grotesque marks that last for weeks. Randy showed no mercy tonight, either. While Monica reclined on the bed, her chin propped up in her hands and a wane smile on her face, Randy laid into me, one after another. Eventually, through my tears, I could see that Monica was getting horny. She rolled onto her back and began playing with her pussy. She was obviously getting off watching me get whipped.
"Do it harder," she kept whispering to Randy. "Make him squeal like a pig."
Finally, after more than 100 strokes, I heard Monica moan, "Okay, Randy, goddamn it, I can't stand it any more. I need you inside me!"
With that, Randy took his foot off my neck and roughly shoved the thin plastic rod up my ass, causing me to yelp. He cuffed me upside the head. "Shut up, lard-ass! Keep quiet while me and Monica take care of business here."
So I knelt there at the foot of the bed, slobbering into the carpet and listening to the taunting sounds of the squeaking bedsprings above me, trying not to think about the fire in my bottom...or the fire being generated by my wife and her "special friend."
PART 2...COMING YOUR WAY SOON!
I knelt by the empty bed, hypnotized by the flame. It's only Friday, I sighed. Another long weekend lies ahead.
Just outside the bedroom, nuzzled up on the couch watching TV, oblivious to my sorrow, was my precious wife Monica and her boyfriend Randy.
Randy. Oh, how I hated him.
But I feared him even more.
Randy has been in the picture from the very beginning. Monica has been seeing him all along, but I thought that she might end the affair once we got married.
I thought wrong.
Randy not only has the key to my wife's heart - he has a key to the house as well. He moved in with us shortly after Monica and I were married, and even though I resent it terribly, there isn't a whole lot I can do about it.
Oh well. This is my life now. I'm stuck with it.
How did I get into this mess? To tell you the truth, I'm not quite sure. It all happened so fast...
* * *
Monica was working as a waitress in a greasy spoon and going to college part-time when I first met her. From the first moment I saw her, I knew I was in love. I think it was her eyes that did me in.
Those playful blue eyes..if I only knew the evil that was lurking behind them!
I started coming around just about every day for lunch. At first, Monica pretty much ignored me. The few times she did deem to speak to me, it was with disdain - as if my presence was interrupting an otherwise pleasant day.
"You again?" she would ask me, crinkling up her pretty nose. "Don't you have better things to do than hang around here bugging me? Get a life!"
I knew all the other waitresses were laughing at me. I could see them snickering behind their hands every time Monica would loudly throw another put-down my way.
But I was willing to play the part of the fool. Anything to be near her.
Eventually, after I continued to leave $10 and $20 tips in spite of her rude treatment, I think she began to sense the power she held over me. That's when she started asking questions.
I should have noticed the calculating gleam in those eyes when I told her I was the owner of a successful business, and that I had a little money.
But I didn't see the train coming.
She made me beg for about a month before she finally let me take her out. We went out on a few dates, but I never even got to first base.
One time when I did try to kiss her, she pushed my face away with the palm of her hand and laughed at me.
"Yuck!" she said when her laughter died down. "C'mon, Carl, you're a nice guy and all..." she paused. "But a KISS? I don't think so!"
My confidence was completely shattered. I never made any advances toward her after that.
But even though Monica wouldn't give me the pleasure of even a friendly peck on the cheek, she began telling me she needed money. It started out as a hundred dollars here and there, but pretty soon it was almost like I was paying her a salary to go out with me - and a damn good salary at that!
I guess she sensed my submissive nature from the very start, because it sure didnt take long for her to reel me in. Im an older guy, and a little overweight. Not the most attractive fellow in the world, I'm afraid. And deep down, I knew she was only after my money.
But your vision gets a little cloudy when youve been bitten by the bug. And I had it bad.
Within a week of our first date, I was coming over regularly to clean her apartment and wash her car. After our third date she told me that she was tired of driving a six-year-old car and demanded that I buy her a new one.
Three dates - without so much as a good-night kiss - and here she was, practically ordering me to buy her a new car!
Of course, I obeyed. When we went to go pick it out, she didn't spare any expense: she got a Jaguar, fully loaded. Cost me a cool $75,000. But I didn't think twice about it - by that time, I was in knee deep.
After our fourth date, she broke the news to me: she was seeing this other guy, Randy. She told me that she fully intended to continue seeing her "special friend," and that, if we were ever to get married, I would have to accept it.
Whoa! Her words hit me like a sledgehammer. Never mind this Randy character; she just mentioned getting married!
Married? After four dates? Isn't this a little early for her to be talking about marriage? And why was she interested in marrying me, when she didn't even want to kiss me? Well, I thought, maybe she's shy or something, and doesn't like to get intimate with a guy until she's known him for awhile.
The possibilities bounced around in my head like ping-pong balls.
In the end, though, despite my initial apprehension, I was thrilled! This beautiful angel was talking about marrying me! Wow! Only in my wildest dreams!
But it didn't take long for my angel to turn into a vampire.
I'll never forget the night I took her out for her birthday. I'd really knocked myself out to try to make this a special night for her. I made reservations at the finest restaurant in town. I had three dozen roses sent to her apartment. And, for the coup de grace, I bought her a $7,000 diamond tennis bracelet.
When I went to pick her up for our big date, she told me the bad news.
"Listen, Carl, I forgot that Randy promised to take me out tonight, too," she said. My heart sank. "Looks like we're going to have to postpone our date," she added matter-of-factly.
"B-But, Monica..." I stammered. "I have reservations for us at Chez Paul! And...I have a gift for you."
I handed her the velvet box containing her bracelet. She tore it open and marvelled at the expensive piece of jewelry.
"Wow, this must've cost a pretty penny!" she said. That was it. No" thank you" or anything.
"We'd better go, Monica," I said, after I realized that she wasn't going to thank me for the expensive gift. "Our reservations are at 8 o'clock."
She pursed her lips for a minute, deep in thought.
"I'll tell you what," she said slowly. "Why don't we compromise? Randy was supposed to pick me up at 8. Why don't we all go out together?"
"B-but Monica...the reservations are for only two people!" I pleaded.
"Well, we'll just have to work something out then, won't we?" she said icily.
We "worked something out," all right. I wound up sitting in the car for more than two hours while Monica and Randy went inside and ate the gourmet dinner I paid for.
After that, things got progressively worse. Monica stopped dating me altogether, spending every free night with Randy.
One night, she called me on the phone. I hadn't heard from her in over a week and I was thrilled to hear her voice.
"Carl, can you do me a little favor?" she asked sweetly.
"Sure, Monica. What is it?"
"Well..." she drawled. "Randy's parents are flying in tomorrow. They're going to spend the weekend with him."
"Yeah"? I asked suspiciously.
"Well, his apartment is an absolute mess! And we're going out to the basketball game tonight, so he won't have time to clean. I was wondering...do you think you could come over and straighten his place up for him?"
I was flabbergasted! What kind of fool did she take me for, anyway?
When I could find my voice I heard myself say, "sure, Monica. Anything you want."
"Thanks!" she said gaily. "You're such a sweetheart!" She paused for a moment. "Uh..Carl?" she asked after a few seconds, an amused twinkle in her voice.
"Yes, honey?"
"Uh...I'm going to need a few hundred dollars. You know how expensive things are at the basketball games. It cost $6 for a beer! And parking...plus, Randy wanted to get a jacket, and that costs over $100."
That's when I knew I'd hit rock bottom.
I think I made a big mistake the night I told Monica about my submissive fantasies. With much trepidation, I told her everything: how all my life, I'd fantasized about being a slave to a beautiful woman. It was the first time I'd ever told anyone about my fantasies, and I should have felt like a million pounds had been lifted from my shoulders. Instead, I had this unexplainable feeling of impending doom.
"So, you want to be a slave, do you?" she asked with an evil, yet playful look in her eye. "Well, Carl, you don't know what you're getting yourself into! I can be an absolute bitch sometimes! But if you want to chance it, I'd be willing to play along with your sick little fantasies."
I almost came on the spot!
Now that she knew for sure that I was her slave (as if she didn't know before!), she threw all caution to the wind. She immediately started taking advantage of her new submissive toady. She would call me once or twice a week when she wanted something done. Her house needed painting. Or her car needed an oil change. Or she needed a new outfit to wear on a date with Randy.
She kept me running until my tongue hung out.
Toward the end of summer, she started hinting around about wanting to get married and settle down. It took me a few weeks before I finally got up the nerve to ask her to marry me. When she said yes, I was the happiest man on the face of the earth!
We celebrated by going to Monica's favorite bar. Well, guess who showed up?
I sat dejectedly at a table in the back of the bar and watched Monica and Randy play darts all night. The only time either of them talked to me was to ask for more money.
Every time Monica made a good shot, he would give her a big kiss. I hated the way she seemed to melt like butter in his arms! The way she looked at him...if only she would look at me like that!
Yeah, I know. She was my fiance, and by all rights I should have said something. But I just couldn't get up the nerve! I was afraid she might call off the wedding.
That night, on the way home from the bar, Monica told Randy all about my submissive tendencies.
"He tells me he wants to be my slave!" she said. I wanted to lay down on the floor of the car as she continued. "He says he wants me to beat him, and treat him like shit!" Her words were a little slurred; maybe she'd had one too many Long Island Iced Teas at the bar!
"So, he's one of those guys, eh?" Randy said, looking at me with an evil smile. "I've heard about weirdos like him who like to have their asses kicked! What a wimp!"
"Well, at least he's a rich wimp!" Monica laughed. "A fat, rich wimp, maybe - but a rich wimp just the same!"
Randy chucked, then reached into the back seat and slapped me across the ear.
"So...you want to be treated like shit, eh? Well okay, you fat, fuckin' wimp: you're gonna get exactly what you asked for!" Monica giggled, then leaned over and gave him a kiss.
It really started going downhill after that.
When I told Monica about my submissive nature, I hadn't planned on becoming Randy's slave, too. But that's exactly what happened.
Monica insisted that I buy Randy a new car. He picked out a $60,000 sport-utility vehicle. It was so humiliating to watch them tooling around in their new cars...cars that I paid for!
I'd been paying all Monica's bills for months. Now, she informed me that I'd have to start giving Randy money for his bills as well!
All my life I've had fantasies about a beautiful woman whipping me and abusing me. But now it was Randy who did most of the whipping. What I thought was going to be a fantasy come true backfired on me! Randy went out and bought a plastic whipping rod, and he delighted in turning my ass into hamburger while Monica looked on and laughed.
I hadn't bargained for all this...but I didn't say a word. After all, Monica was now my fiance, and I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that.
That fall, Monica and I got married by a Justice of the Peace - but not before I'd signed a prenuptual agreement which effectively put everything in her name: my house, my business, all my stock holdings and my savings accounts. Material things. They mean nothing next to my Monica, I remember thinking.
What a sap! I can see it now - why couldn't I see it then?
I went out and bought a new suit for the occasion. Monica showed up with Randy, wearing a pair of jeans and a leather jacket. I don't know which I was more upset about: the fact that she'd brought Randy along as a witness, or that she didn't think enough of the occasion to dress up a little.
After the ceremony, my new wife packed a suitcase and her new American Express Gold card and took off with Randy on a month-long cruise to Australia. I stayed home and pined.
Some honeymoon, huh?
On the day they returned, Monica announced that Randy was moving in with us. Just like that. When she told me he was moving in, I began to second-guess myself for ever marrying this woman.
But by then, of course, it was too late.
All my old friends eventually lost respect for me over the way I let her treat me. "She's a bitch," they would tell me. "She's only after your money. Why do you put up with it?" I had no answer for them - then or now.
These days, I have no real relationships with anyone from the outside world. My world now exists here, inside what used to be my home, waiting on my knees in the bedroom, watching the candle flicker and hoping my mistress and her evil "special friend" will be too tired to torture me tonight.
* * *
I could see it in their eyes as soon as the bedroom door opened. They were horny - and part of their foreplay was going to include me, unfortunately.
Randy plopped down on the bed and shimmied out of his pants while Monica stood in front of the mirror, unbuttoning her blouse. They didn't notice me for a few minutes. I knelt there in silence while my wife and her boyfriend undressed.
"Whew, its hot in here!" Monica told Randy. She turned to me. "Go turn up the air, asshole, I'm burning up in here!"
I shuffled on my knees as fast as I could manage. As I left the bedroom, I heard Randy call after me, "hey, lard-ass! While you're up, go grab me a brewski!"
"Make that two beers, lard-ass!" my wife added.
I hate it when they call me that. Okay, maybe I am a little overweight - but do they constantly have to rub it in my face? Sure, they both have perfect bodies, but so what? Is that any reason for them to call me these terrible names? It really hurts my feelings.
But what in the world was I ever going to say to them? By now, I knew exactly what my role was in this household - and it certainly didn't entail talking back to my superiors, even if they were in the wrong.
When I returned to the bedroom, my wife and Randy were on the bed, making out like two teenagers at a drive-in movie. I knelt by the side of the bed for a minute, balancing the two cans of beer on the serving tray.
I kept my head down respectfully as they kissed, but I couldn't help sneaking a peek once in awhile. I hated the way Monica moaned when Randy touched her. I loved her so much, with all my heart and soul - but to her I wasn't even in the room.
To her, Randy is a god. He can do no wrong in her eyes. Even when he whips to within an inch of my life - which is quite often - she laughs about it, giggling at the faces I make every time another terrifying blow hits home. Randy breaks out his wicked plastic rod for any infraction, perceived or real, and my wife loves it.
One time, Randy gave me 200 awful strokes with the rod for - in his words - "not being respectful enough while serving dinner." Respectful? I had slaved over a hot stove for three hours getting their supper ready, and then Randy told me he didn't like it. He told me to order a pizza, and all I did was sigh. Just a sigh; that isn't really being disrespectful, is it?
For that little transgression, I couldn't sit down for a week!
But what could I do? I love Monica, so I guess if I'm going to keep her, I have put up with Randy's sadistic ways.
Besides, Monica tells me it makes her horny to watch Randy beat me - as if that makes it all right!
Now, as I knelt before the amorous couple, holding their beers on a silver serving tray, I felt as if I couldn't get any lower. I sadly watched Randy's hand slowly move up and down my wife's crotch, her breathing keeping time with the strokes of her lover's fingers. Every time Randy would hit her "spot," she would gasp out loud and bury her face in his chest.
It was depressing to watch.
After about 10 minutes of patiently waiting on my knees, Monica and Randy finally broke their passionate clinch. They each propped up on an elbow as I carefully raised the tray to allow them easier access to their beers.
Monica guzzled a few swallows, then looked me right in the eye. "Go pick me out something sexy to wear, lard-ass," she said.
"Yes, Monica," I said respectfully. She answered me by belching loudly, causing Randy to chuckle.
I chose Monica's purple teddy and presented it to Randy. He rubbed his chin for a minute, studying the lingerie while I stood at the foot of the bed, holding it up for him. "Noooo..." he mused, "Im not in a purple mood tonight. Try something else."
I returned with Monica's black silk teddy. "That's more like it," he remarked. "Bring it here."
He snatched the teddy from my hand and handed it to Monica. "Now, you go make yourself real puuuurrrty for me, okay sweet cheeks?" Randy pinched her butt. "Hey, dickhead," he called to me. "Make sure my girl is looking hot when she comes out of that bathroom, now, you hear?"
"Yes, sir," I whispered, and followed Monica into the bathroom to help her get ready for her lover.
* * *
I SHUFFLED ON MY KNEES behind Monica as she re-entered the bedroom. I saw Randy's face light up. She looked gorgeous in her teddy! I looked at my wife's behind with a heavy heart. She started wiggling her hips for Randy. I put my hand down to my crotch and started touching myself as I watched Monica do a slow, sexy dance for her lover.
"Hey, what the fuck - " My blood ran cold as I heard Randy's voice, and realized the awful truth: I was busted! "The fuckin' worm's playing with himself, Monica!"
She turned around and slapped me silly. "Yuck! Nobody wants to see you playing with your little weenie," she hollered, kicking me hard in the chest with her spike-heeled pump. Her blue eyes narrowed. "You're dripping from the end of your dick! That's disgusting!"
Randy sat up on the bed with a sinister, happy glint in his eye. "Well, now...it looks like I'm going to have to whip a few pounds off that fat ass, ain't I?"
Monica jumped onto the bed and nuzzled up to Randy's hairy chest. "Uh-oh," she said in mock horror. "Looks like someone's going to be on the wrong end of the rod tonight! Better run, asshole! Hide while you can! Randy is PISSED!"
I was frightened for my life and she was making the whole thing out to be a joke - but then, I guess it was just a joke to her. I was about to be thrashed by Randy, and my excruciating pain would be no more to either of them than an evenings entertainment...like watching a movie or something.
"Go get it, you fat piece of shit," Randy spat at me.
I quickly returned with the dreaded rod and assumed the position: on my knees with my head to the floor. "Get that chubby ass up in the air!" he ordered. "Higher"
"Wait, honey, I want to see his face," Monica clapped her hands like a little girl. "Turn him around."
"Turn around so she can see you," Randy snapped. I scooted in the opposite direction so Monica wouldn't miss the fun.
And then it began.
The rod is horrible. It cuts like a saber, leaving grotesque marks that last for weeks. Randy showed no mercy tonight, either. While Monica reclined on the bed, her chin propped up in her hands and a wane smile on her face, Randy laid into me, one after another. Eventually, through my tears, I could see that Monica was getting horny. She rolled onto her back and began playing with her pussy. She was obviously getting off watching me get whipped.
"Do it harder," she kept whispering to Randy. "Make him squeal like a pig."
Finally, after more than 100 strokes, I heard Monica moan, "Okay, Randy, goddamn it, I can't stand it any more. I need you inside me!"
With that, Randy took his foot off my neck and roughly shoved the thin plastic rod up my ass, causing me to yelp. He cuffed me upside the head. "Shut up, lard-ass! Keep quiet while me and Monica take care of business here."
So I knelt there at the foot of the bed, slobbering into the carpet and listening to the taunting sounds of the squeaking bedsprings above me, trying not to think about the fire in my bottom...or the fire being generated by my wife and her "special friend."
PART 2...COMING YOUR WAY SOON!
- Next: Their World ch. 02
