Stained Sheets by Lizbeth Dusseau
Pictures don't lie! As Carlton Darrow sifts through dozens of photographs of his beautiful but cheating wife, Marni, he turns to his PI friend Charlie Nash, making a bold announcement. He wants Charlie - a Dom with a nasty sadistic streak - to transform his wife into the perfect submissive. What neither man realizes is that Marni is driven by a lust for dark and dangerous sex that began at eighteen, during a rough incident in a foreign country that sparked these savage desires. Charlie's task may be harder than he expects!
As soon as Marni meets the ever-charming Charlie, she falls under his charismatic spell, finding herself eagerly submitting to the outrageous acts he demands. The mesmerized Marni follows this sexy stranger into an alley where he has her strip naked and fucks her against an open stairwell. Afterwards, she's led half-dressed to his car, and rides through town naked and masturbating on his command. She may be ashamed by her bad behavior, but she cannot stop herself.
In the days that follow, Charlie pops up out of nowhere, engaging the willing Marni in semi-public sex, nudity, spanking, bondage, punishment and finally a trip to Percy's SM Dungeon where suddenly, without warning, Carlton appears announcing that Charlie Nash can have her! If she wants her marriage back, she'll become a proper submissive wife under Charlie's relentless instruction.
To save her marriage, Marni submits to Charlie's firm control. She follows Charlie's orders to the letter, learns his grueling postures of submission, and wears a devious device to ensure her chastity. When she misbehaves, she is soundly punished.
Marni takes to her training with some enthusiam, sure that she'll soon have her husband back. But just when Carlton is about to reclaim his wife, Marni's obsession for risky sex takes her down again and Charlie catches her with another man. Will a true confession about her dark past be the answer? Will more punishment help? Is there any hope that Marni can save her marriage and find the love she so desires, or will Carlton and Charlie decide that there is no way the incorrigible slut can be redeemed?
A passionate story of love, sex and treacherous sexual need. Includes piercing, electrical play and a wide variety of sexual situations.
The ropes were untied and my limp body was lifted from the bed. I walked, hobbled and drunk-like from the desolation of my dark room to the terror of another room filled with loathsome men in long robes.
“Let me see her…” The voice inside the robe was thick with a Middle Eastern accent. The face was hidden, so I could only see the man’s lips move, not his eyes for they were buried in the shadows of his garment. At his command, the man who’d taken me from my room, pushed me forward in the direction of the voice and there I stood, naked but for my panties and bra.
“Turn, slave!” came the sharp command.
I turned, my hands clasped together in front of my body in a failing effort to cover my private parts. My dark, mussed hair fell over my face, half hiding my eyes and smelling of sweat. Had I been able to see their eyes, their stares, the exhibition would have been more difficult; even so, I trembled with every breath, every miserable half turn, every bit of tit and ass and crotch exposed. After making my 360 degrees, I saw the voice-man nod toward someone behind me, then seconds later, my arms were grabbed and pulled back; the added exposure diminishing me further.
A dark, bearded man in military garb moved in, bearing a knife that he grazed along my neck.
“Please no!” I said in an impassioned cry. “Please…”
More hot tears streamed down my cheeks.
“Please, what? Cut you?” he scowled.
“No, no no,” I shook my head.
He smiled derisively and placed the tip of his knife blade between my breasts and under my bra. I looked down, shuddering at the sight of the sharp edge and watched, awestruck as he pulled back, cutting the bra in two and exposing my breasts to his glare and the vague stares coming from the men in robes. My nipples shriveled into tiny knots as they hit the air and I recall feeling an odd flutter in my tummy that I could not identify.
The soldier’s eyes filled with lust as he viewed me. Then he sidled up to me and rubbed his chest against my naked tits. I winced and turned my head away.
“No, enough, huh?” he said, disparagingly. Backing up, he slipped the knife inside my panties and ripped through the thin strap on my left hip. He repeated the move with the blade going under the right side, then lifted the panties and held them up for all to see, chuckling at his find.
Finally, he stepped back to show off my utter nakedness, letting the others see me fully. A thick finger traced a line down my undulating belly. The terror turned my mounting fears into a painful arousal, and I knew the swarthy soldier would find that out. His finger moved further down between my labia, and pressed against the hood of my clitoris. I gasped, shaking, but was still held securely by the man behind me, so I couldn’t get away. He opened my sex, pulling back my labial lips and revealing my wetness.
“They are all alike, these American sluts,” he growled for the others. Then he began to finger my bud more vigorously, delivering me from fear to an embarrassing state of arousal, so I was just seconds from spasming whorelike. Though I was a virgin at the time, I knew what sexual pleasure felt like. With my body bared and crudely exposed, I closed my eyes, lowered my head and tried with all my might to shake off the unwanted feelings of lust. But my belly swelled with such enormous energy that I knew I’d fail. Just when I thought the orgasm was about to burst through my body, however, the soldier’s hand withdrew, and the man who held me released his hold.
Weakened, I nearly slumped to the floor, but then another hand reached out from behind and held me upright until I could stand on my own.
The hood of one man’s robe fell back and I saw a face emerge, a dark brooding Mid-Eastern face, bearded and solemn. Even the black eyes afforded no clue to his thoughts.
“Turn again, young one,” he said, “so I can see your ass.”
I turned, shuddering so deeply that I stumbled on my own feet. I held my hands over my breasts, which I think only made my crotch all the more visible to the leering eyes.
“And bend over,” he said, when my backside faced him.
I did as he commanded, feeling even more wobbly in my bent pose.
“Now reach back and grab your cheeks.”
I did that too, feeling my awkwardness grow along with my shame.
“You will not falter,” he suddenly shouted.
The soldier grabbed my hair; I feared his knife was posed to cut it off.
The man ignored my plea and continued: “Part the cheeks and let us see where we may use you, slave.”
He called me slave. Was that what I’d become?
(c) Samarel, www.samarelart.com