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From: Night Writer <night_writer99@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Persephone in Winter - Chapter 3 (Wife, cheat?, MDom, Fsub)  Night Writer
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Date: Sun, 08 Apr 2007 11:10:01 -0400
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                          Persephone in Winter
                            by Night Writer


                               Chapter 3


She sat some ten feet away from Simon in the walnut-paneled library.
Glasses of brandy rested on identical cherry tables beside each richly
upholstered wingback chair. He was unusually quiet this evening,
taking time to savor the rich, dark drink, allowing her to nearly
finish her own generous portion.  She expected he would talk of her
husband, and was apprehensive about betraying her love for him, even
with unshared thoughts. Instead, he sat and watched her, his fierce
eyes drinking in her slim body, harboring clues to her fate later in
the night.

"Do you love me?"

His first words startled her, both with their suddenness and their
content. She hesitated, trying to guess the answer he wanted from her.

"Simon - I..."

"Do_you_love_me?  A simple question - four words - none more than four
letters."

His eyes were locked on hers - dark with savage intensity. Her hand
trembled as she reached for her brandy, only to find the glass empty.

"I love my husband. I love your cock."

He stiffened suddenly and leaned forward in his chair, dark eyes
narrowing.

"Such language from a pretty wife. The day will come when I tire
of your hungry, young body.  Poor little thing, hanging on my gate,
used and discarded."

He had never spoken to her like this.  Would he turn her away for
giving just one wrong answer? Should she beg? Play indignant, or
proud? What did he want from her?
His fierce stare melted into a wide smile.

"But how could I possibly discard such a thirsty young woman who knows
so well what she wants, and loves. Oh, I did very much like the sound
of that - what was it again?"

Now she trembled for a different reason. She felt the coolness between
her legs where her juices pooled, wetting her inner thighs.

"I love your cock, Simon."

His smile faded a bit, his eyebrows arched, then after a few thoughtful
seconds, he tilted his head to the side with lips pursed.

"I love your cock, Simon," she purred slowly, letting her heat warm
every word.

He poured another drink, then rose and went to her, half-filling her
glass as well. She drank it in gulps, not stopping until it was gone.
When he reached for her the empty glass slipped from her hand,
shattering with a pop on the hardwood floor. Without flinching, he
began to open the dress; one button, then two, three, lingering
deliberately before going to the next, savoring the trail of tender
skin left behind as the front of the dress parted. It seemed to take
forever, and by the time he had undone the last button, she was
breathless and limp. She slid lower in the chair over the slick
fabric of the open dress, until her hips passed over the edge of the
seat, supported only by her splayed legs stretched out on either side
of him.

"Are you wet?"

"God yes, Simon. Can't you see?"

The dress had fallen away from her belly and legs. He studied the
swelling slit between her legs with a puzzled frown.

"Show me."

She struggled to hold her cunt open to him, her fingers slippery with
the fluids that poured from her. She had never felt more naked, 
morevulnerable. But that's what Simon did. Why did it feel so good? 
From
what dark corner of her imagination had this maddening addiction freed
itself? Her husband was just fifty yards away, waiting for her
to return to him, knowing that she would give her body to Simon in ways
that would forever remain her secret. Was at least a sliver of the
excitement from knowing her husband agreed to surrender her, and would
likely do so in the future? Was it really his strength, his compromise
to keep them together, or some perverted sense of power over him that
made her dripping wet so quickly tonight?

"Play with yourself. I want to watch your face as you cum."

"Please Simon, I -"

A sudden ripple of disappointment shot through her. Her first orgasm
was always the most intense, and riding it out without his cock in her
was something she hadn't expected.

"Well, well. You are a spirited little thing tonight. You've never
hesitated for a second at one of my requests - always eager to play
the slut so unbecoming a prim and proper wife."

"I - I want you inside me when I cum."

"So. We regress. Remember how we play? Simon says..."

She sank two fingers deep inside, then drew them out slowly, one along
each side of the hard, wet button of flesh. Cradling it between them,
she eased both fingers along her swollen clit, circling over the
sensitive tip every so often with a trembling swirl.

He stood between her outstretched legs and watched with satisfaction,
then raised the half-full glass of brandy in the air over her, tilting
it slightly just above her upturned face.

"Simon says, 'Open'."

Her mouth fell open just in time to catch the ribbon of burgundy that
fell from the rim of his glass.  He smiled down at her as he kept it
coming, soon filling her mouth faster than she could swallow it. As it
overflowed across her chin he followed with the glass, pouring a thin,
steady stream over her breasts and belly, until it funneled between her
legs, mixing with her own sticky nectar, finally trickling into a
building puddle on the floor below.

"Decisions, decisions. What should I do with such an anxious young
lady? Should I grant her her wish and stick my cock in her? Although,
I haven't really heard her beg convincingly for it this evening.
Perhaps I should bring her husband inside. We could watch her face
together, her body twitching as she fingers herself to orgasm in my
library."

He turned his back to her and walked slowly toward the door. Would he
do it - even after he had promised not to push her husband hard enough
to endanger their marriage? He was going too far - she couldn't allow
it - but she was so wet, now suddenly much closer to the brink, still
without his prick filling her.

"Simon, please! I can't - can't hold out - much - much - longer. I
need you, Simon. I need - your - cock in me. I - need - your - cock -
I need - your - cock - I -"

He wore a pleased grin as he turned to face her.

"Ahh, you have such a way with words - convincing words indeed."

His chair was only a few steps away. He went to it, sat, unzipped the
front of his pants, and pulled his erection through the opening. Her
eyes were glued to it - so hard and thick, like a bar of bronze
sculpted into a warm likeness of the perfect cock.

"Simon says, 'Over here'."
She slid over the edge of the chair until her knees touched the floor,
allowed the dress to fall from her shoulders, then crawled to him on
hands and knees, slowly, with her head down, the way she knew he would
want her. Stopping between his parted legs, she waited for the sound
of his voice. He withheld it until he could see her shiver, knowing
that her need to be filled grew with each agonizing second. He watched
in silence as the small of her long, smooth back arched, her ass rising
and falling almost imperceptibly in a futile effort to bring relief to
the ache between her shaking thighs. 'How long would she wait?' he
wondered. Hours? - Days? - this fragile, loving wife, cowering, naked
on the floor below, silently begging to be taken by a stranger...

She watched her breasts hanging and quivering, engorged nipples
straining toward the floor, and through the space between them the
small tuft of hair matted and dripping with her juices. In time she
closed her eyes, knowing that the sight of her body's response to him
would only excite her more. Soon her eyes were clenched tight as she
struggled to concentrate, to become whatever he wanted that night,
at whatever cost.

Her body shook in rhythmic spasms. Ridges of muscle rose between her
shoulder blades, and her inner thighs flexed and relaxed in an
uncontrollable cadence. He waited for a sign - something new,
something not easily surrendered. When her tears fell from within
the tangle of hair that covered her face, landing with tiny splats
between his feet, he spoke.

"Look at me."

Elyse raised her head slowly. Thick waves of hair parted to reveal her
tear-streaked face.

"Interesting. What brings tears to the eyes of a wife as she sluts for
another man? Is it shame, an overpowering disgrace born from the
incapacity to control her own desires? Or is it simply pure lust, her
body's final desperate mechanism for dealing with extended deprivation,
fired by a ravenous carnal appetite? Of course, a true slut could
never feel shame. A true slut would abandon everything for a good hard
fucking, never stopping to think twice about her future, or the future
of those she loves. So which is it? Tell me, are these the tears of
a slut or sinner?"

She searched his eyes for some small hint that this was just a game,
hoping that he would break into a sympathetic laugh, scoop her up in
his arms, and take her to his bed. Soon she understood her answer was
required, a necessary part of their evening together. But which
answer?

"Both. I'm both, Simon."

Her voice cracked and wavered. She could taste the salt of her own
tears.

"I-I'm your slut-your slut, Simon. And-and sinner-and worse, in my
husband's eyes."

Leaning forward, he ran his fingers lightly over her face, then cradled
it in his strong hands. She welcomed the gentle pressure as he drew
her closer, stopping just inches from his towering erection.

"You may be many things in his eyes, but *you've* made this a refuge
from such things, a refuge from all things proper and respectable.
You've asked him to bring you here, and beyond that, to wait in the
wings as I use his wife's body in ways that must test the limits of his
imagination."

He paused, his fingers working their way under her hair, circling the
small, delicate contours of her ears, then trailing lower, caressing
cool bare skin at the back of her neck.

"I'm not interested in the sinner. The world is full of sinners. So
don't waste my time with words. Actions speak with much more
conviction."

She sat up, rested her hands on his thighs, and took the solid, golden
head of his cock into her mouth. Closing her lips tightly just over
the jutting ridge of the glans, she attacked the meat of it with the
tip of her tongue. She could feel the beat of his pulse as she tested
the hard ball of flesh, pushing hard against it, swirling around the
edges, then gently probing the eye at it's center. Each precious
droplet teased from him arrived warm and sweet against the back of her
throat.

"I don't think I've ever seen you suck me with such abandon, or for
that matter, any wife so willing take another man's cock in her mouth.
Are you as eager to take your husband's in the same way?"

She stopped and looked up at him.

"We don't - I mean, not like this. It's different with him."

"I see."

He sighed, showing his frustration with her evasive answer.

"Please, don't..."

"Come now. Whining doesn't become you, my dear. Tell me. I insist.
Just how different is this husband of yours?"

She lowered her eyes. Her nipples seemed to reach out to him,
embarrassingly hard.

"It's more - more, comfortable with him, I guess. It's safe, calm,
warm, wrapped around each other in our bed. I could never - I mean,
it's just not the same. He'd think - "

"You may be surprised what he thinks. Must a wife who does her whorish
best by night forsake the lady she's become by day? You think nothing
of offering your body to me for whatever amusement I might invent. In
fact you flaunt your lust, so desperately, so ravenously, for what you
could easily have at home."

"I don't understand it, Simon. It's not as simple as you make it. I'm
not proud of this - I know I'm hurting him deeply. Do you think I enjoy
that?"

"Do you? There is a certain exhilaration in exercising one's
power over another, even if it's someone close to your heart. The
liberation from feelings of powerlessness can be a stimulating
awakening. And, as horrifying as you might find it on the surface, the
pain you deliver with a newfound weapon can be both empowering and
arousing."

A sudden chill shook her, causing her hands to tremble as she moved
them along his thighs. When her hands found his erection she closed
them gently around the firm shaft. She could feel the heat it radiated
before touching him, and imagined it flowing into her fingers, along
her bare arms, then into the core of her body, finally chasing the
chill back from where his words had summoned it.

She found herself crying again - suddenly, unexpectedly sobbing,
despite the comforting warmth that poured into her.

"Please stop, Simon. Why can't you leave him out of this? Why won't
you just fuck me? I'm begging, Simon - oh God, I'm begging you..."

He rose and went to a desk at the far side of the room. From the wide
center drawer he retrieved a coil of thick, heavy cord. Her heart
raced when she saw it, partly from fear, partly from excitement. He
ran a portion of it through his fingers, now careful not to look at
her. It was woven of black silk, thick as his finger, but hollow at
its center. Looping it loosely around his hand several times, he
tightened it slowly, feeling it collapse slightly as its suppleness
conformed to the contours of his knuckles and palm.

She was on her knees by his chair when he returned. He reached for her
hand, she gave it, and he helped her to her feet. Gently but firmly,
he brought her wrists together, circled them three times with the cord,
then once more, passing it between them, finally tying the knot between
her palms. He again looped the remaining length about his hand and
headed for the wide, open stairs that led to his bedroom. She
followed, two short steps behind, as much as the rope would allow, her
cunt open, red, and flowing with juices from an hour's torment.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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