Slut Boy Mega Collection Volume 1

Chapter Nine-1

Chapter Nine

Triple Play

Hi there. My name is Luani. I’m of Hawaiian ancestry, but this isn’t really about me. It’s about my marriage, and where it’s going.

My husband Jon and I have always been fascinated by the fetish lifestyle.

Unfortunately we’ve both proved too inhibited to take the initiative. We both want to play the submissive part. Neither of us can frankly even imagine taking on the dominant role. Finally at Jon’s urging we’ve arranged for some professional assistance.

She calls herself Mistress Chantelle, and we met her on the internet. She lives right here in the city, and we’ve arranged for her to visit tonight.

She refused to speculate on which of us would eventually come out on top in our marriage, saying only that the experience would determine that. All she would guarantee was that we’d all find ourselves supremely satisfied by the outcome. That was enough for Jon and me. And so here we are, moments from her scheduled arrival.

As ordered, we are both waiting naked in our small studio apartment. Other than the king sized bed, there are few furnishings in that main living space except the TV, a small coffee table and two easy chairs. Sitting in these we keep eying each other apprehensively, wondering which of us will end this night owning the other. We also can’t help ogling our respective bare bodies. Less than a year of marriage hasn’t begun to dull our lust for each other.

I know I’m attractive. My body is of average height and weight, but it’s perfectly proportioned. My waist is small, my tummy tight, my ass and legs great and my t**s a bit too big for my frame. My skin is that deep, burnished gold of my ancestors, my hair a long bushy black and my face particularly fetching. And while Jon isn’t as traditionally hot as me, I still find him absolutely beautiful.

Barely more than a boy, he’s clear skinned, blonde and blue-eyed. But that’s about it for the Nordic ideal. He’s no Thor, I’m afraid. Yet despite the fact that he’s my own height, and rather slight with a shallow chest and narrow shoulders, he still has a very respectable c**k on him. I have simply adored f*****g, sucking, and playing with his seven slim inches for the last 8 months. Even now it is cockily erect, eager with anticipation, and I grin hungrily looking at it. But then the agreed upon sequence of knocks comes, the door swings open, and Mistress Chantelle enters at last.

She is older than us by ten or so years – late twenties or early thirties I would say. And she is fabulously arousing and intimidating down to the last detail.

She’s tall for one thing, towering way over our mutual five foot-six. And while some of this due to the four-inch heels on her thigh-high boots, the rest is just pure pulchritude. She is simply big-bodied, well-muscled all over and with huge breasts both uplifted and barely contained by the tight black corset she wears. Her face is strongly boned to the point of severity, her chestnut hair done up in a bun, and the overall frowning effect is that of a contemptuous teacher facing a pair of particularly troublesome students. Most intimidating and arousing of all is the big black dildo already strapped erect about her leather-clad crotch.

She knows from our correspondence that this particular fetish is particularly compelling for us both. She relishes our awe at her appearance, dropping one gloved hand to slowly stroke that darkly fascinating erection. Then she sweeps the door shut behind her and greets us at last.

“Good evening, slaves. By morning one of you will be a Master or Mistress. But until that is determined, you both remain slaves. And as such you will do whatever you are f*****g told. Understood?”

“Yes, Mistress!” we both respond.

“Good,” she smirks. “Both of you rise, and precede me to the bed. You boy!” she points imperiously at Jon. “You bring the strongest, hardest, simplest chair you have. And you girl, bring my bag.”

This is black leather, large and quite heavy. Shivering at the thought of what must be inside this I lug it to the bed and heft it up there, as Jon drags over one of our very spare kitchen chairs, and positions it as ordered facing the foot.

“Sit, boy!” Mistress commands right away. Jon silently complies. “I am going to tie you both up now,” she ominously intones. “Or at least I will tie up one of you. You girl, will bind this slave for me. Let’s just see if you have any innate affinity for this delightful task...”

She pulls several coils of tough rope from her bag. Then she brusquely beckons me forward, and together we close in on my shyly squirming husband.

“Tie his legs outside the chair legs at the ankles and knees,” Mistress commands. “Use the entire length of rope. This will keep his legs spread out and helpless no matter what we choose to do to him.”

Luckily I was in the girl scouts. It’s not only the boys who learn knots after all. Quickly I lash Jon’s legs so inescapably to those of the chair that Mistress strokes my head approvingly.

“Beautifully done, girl. I think I may have found my Mistress already. But let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. You both still have so very much to get through tonight. Let’s see to the rest of this slave’s bondage now!”

Under Mistress’ instruction I then pull slave’s arms behind him over the back of the chair and tie his elbows together. Jon (no, slave, I remind myself) cries out at this, and I can’t help but hesitate,

“Tighter!” snarls Mistress.

“But I’m hurting him!”

“That’s the whole idea, girl! His pain is your pleasure!”

“Okay,” I tremulously reply, and yank slave’s arms even further behind his back.

Again he cries out, and damn it, Mistress is right. Suddenly I’m more excited than ever in my life. Again I yank his arms even tighter together, again he cries out and again my p***y responds. Finally I tie off his elbows nearly touching each other, and following my mentor’s orders lash his wrists up just as tightly, leaving a yard of cord hanging free. By this time I know intuitively what this is for, and without instruction I loop the rope under the support strut linking the back legs of the chair. Then I yank it as hard as I can, pulling my boy’s hands and arms as far down behind him as possible before tying them off. This leaves him stretched way back with his chest thrust out and all four limbs utterly unable to escape or even function.

“Wonderful, slave,” praises Mistress. “Despite your initial innate weakness, I sense a natural dominatrix within you, just begging to be coaxed out. And I am definitely the one to do that! Now then: let’s just give slave some real distractions to dwell upon. He’s going to need them once I tie you up too, and f**k you madly right in front of him!”

Whoa! That wasn’t ‘in the brochure’! Strap-on s*x yes, but right in front of my husband? He’s so insecure! Still, I can’t help but be secretly excited even more by the thought. And this excitement grows even worse when Mistress reaches into her bag and pulls out an intricate harness constructed around a blue plastic sphere that is absolutely huge. Nearly the size of a baseball, Mistress presses the whole mess into my hand. Then she gives me an order I suddenly can’t wait to carry out.

“Push that ball far into his mouth, girl. Then strap the harness tightly about his head. He has no need to speak ever in our beloved presence!”

My poor husband! Tied to a chair and utterly unable to resist me! Still he doesn’t even shake his head as I begin forcing that ball in, although his eyes bug alarmingly out as his jaws are finally forced almost beyond their limit for the second it takes for that ball to pass his teeth and then become firmly lodged behind them. Then those eyes just roll pathetically as I follow Mistress’ orders by snugging up and buckling tight the straps that pass under his chin, bracket his nose and wrap up tight about his entire head.

Seeing slave like that – naked, helplessly bound, and with his jaws stretched outrageously out by a locking head harness – I truly begin to get into the spirit of this endeavor. His bulging, pleading eyes especially (offset by his ridiculously erect c**k) make me more ready than ever for what comes next.

Mistress rummages in her bag, and produces two devices that are at first an absolute mystery to me.

The first is a pair of small, transparent plastic cups linked by a short chain. With these is a curious little pump. Following Mistress’ instructions I place a cup over slave’s n****e and use the pump to evacuate all the air inside. With that the cup is stuck tightly to his chest, and the n****e within drawn out hard and distended by the constant suction. Slave whimpers a bit, and I can’t help but giggle as I treat the other n****e likewise. Then I turn back to Mistress, eager for the next step in my education. She is quick to provide it.

“You have a vacuum cleaner, yes? The floor model kind, with a hose?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I reply. “In fact it’s brand new, very powerful and yet remarkably quiet. He bought it for me, and I absolutely love it.”

“Excellent. Roll it out here, girl. Plug it in and push it right up between his legs.”

With an inkling where this is going already I hurriedly obey. Once all is ready, Mistress proceeds to exceed my anticipation.

“Now, force his testicles into the end of the hose.”

Slave’s eyes widen again at hearing this, and he groans beautifully as I comply.

The fit is very tight indeed. I don’t need to be told what comes next, and I flick the switch. Immediately the motor purrs into life, clamping that hose to his body and pulling his balls far down its throat, stretching his scrotum mercilessly out. Slave doesn’t just whimper at this, he cries out, the sound delightfully distorted by that big blue ball. Again I just have to giggle, and this time tease him.

“What’s the matter, honey? You’re always after me to suck on your balls. Well from now on the vacuum cleaner you bought me for my birthday can do it for you. Don’t you like it, slave?”

Tears standing out in his eyes, slave shakes his head vigorously.

“Then how come your c**k is still hard?” I laugh, running a sharp fingernail up and down the sensitive underside, smirking at his eagerly bobbing response. “You’re as big as you ever get my brand new property!”

“Yes,” confirms Mistress from behind me. “I think we’ve definitely determined who will dominate and who will be submissive already. But as I said, we all still have a long night ahead of us. Here, take these.” She passes me a large handful of black plastic clothespins. “Clip these all over his p***s, not neglecting the head of course. Then prepare yourself to get wonderfully f****d!”

Oh my goodness how exciting! I feel a twinge of pity for my poor slave as I festoon his pretty erection with all those clips – he bleats most piteously, and struggles with his bonds most especially when I pinch the last one right onto his tenderest tip. But the thought of being f****d by a strong older woman, and right in front of my jealous, suffering husband, is already just so titillating that I squash that weakness with ease. Grinning salaciously at him, still amazed at how easily I’m taking to domination after all my earlier qualms, I flick the tip of his nose hard with my index finger.

“Enjoy the show, slave!”

I turn, and see Mistress setting out several more coils of rope on the bed.

“And now for you,” she declares. “Kneel up in the center of the bed, facing your slave. You’ll want to look him the eye as you’re f****d!”

As soon as I do so she spreads my knees out wide, and ties a rope about each one. These ropes are pulled to the edge of the bed and tied off. Next Mistress spreads my ankles even wider, and ties each one to the corner of the bed up by the head. Then she goes ahead and ties my arms behind me just as she had me do to slave, with the forearms pressed together from elbows to wrists and the shoulders severely strained.