Part 2 Karen's fingers were shaking as she held the photograph, checking for the third time that she had brought it as she waited for James to answer the door. She could have made a copy, but she had ripped it straight out of the wedding album. It felt like more of an offering that way, a sacrifice, and token of obeisance. Richard would not notice it was gone, not for a long time. Perhaps his mother would be the first to notice, she always liked to look through the albums when she came. She looked down at the photo, the happy couple. Richard beaming proudly, Karen slim, white, innocent. No hint of what the future held for this marriage, for this couple. The thought excited her somehow. The beautiful contrast between the innocence of the picture and the wicked destiny she was leading it to, the sordid design which had held the tingle in her panties ever since she had taken it from the album and secreted it away in her handbag while she waited for the summons from James. It had only been four days as it turned out, but those days had been torture more than ever before, now that she had seen a glimpse of James's world. Who was he with? How far was he going with his hobby this time? Karen felt her knees weaken and hurriedly pushed the picture into her bag as James opened the door. He moved aside to let her enter, then slammed the door. He said nothing. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. She knew what that command meant, and sank to her knees, shuddering. "James, I ... " He placed two black fingers over her mouth, the inside skin white and hard against her lips. "Don't talk, bitch. Later." His hand moved to his fly. She knew what he wanted. He seemed impatient, he had a need to be fulfilled and as always Karen was thrilled to think it was her that he wanted to please him. The sharp crackle of the zip as it lowered rang loud in her ears. Time seemed to stand still. Now she was the impatient one. Her breasts moved under her heavy breath as she waited, kneeling, her tongue sliding about involuntarily inside her mouth, salivating at what she was about to receive. The heavy, heaving bulge on the black lycra. Dormant power. Her eyes were fixed on the thing, her mind empty of everything, giving itself to worship this thing. Her body, knees digging into the carpet, her full, sagging breasts, her stretchmarked belly, her moistening cunt, all of it had but one purpose which was to serve this thing, to worship it and give it pleasure. This cock. How much of every day did she spend thinking and dreaming about it? What a slut, what an air-headed bimbo she had become, thinking only of this black man's cock all day. But it felt so right, so natural. When she let her mind wander, this was where it wandered to. Why resist nature? He reached into the lycra shorts and took the thing out, letting it swing down heavily in front of her face. "Oh God," she gasped involuntarily at the sight of the beautiful black organ. Her heart thumped, she was breathing heavily as she opened her mouth and let her tongue extend to lick it. The hot touch of the cock against her tongue was just as magical as the first time. She licked, lovingly, with the tip of her tongue, all along the immense length of it, worshipping with all the restraint she could muster. She knew he liked it slow like that. She licked down the growing shaft to his huge black balls, and applied her tongue lower down, all around his crinkled dark globes of pure manhood. His first groan of approval sent shivers all over her kneeling body. How she loved to please him! The mighty cock was stiffening now, growing in length and girth to what Karen knew to be a quite awesome full size. Sometimes she found herself laughing out loud when she thought of the comparison with her husband's floppy little thing. Karen knew what James liked. She continued to lick along the shaft and under the bulbous round head, tickling it with her tongue, until the moment that James gave the unspoken command to suck. After several minutes of devoted tongue-ing from her kneeling position, the command came. He grabbed the hair on the back of her head into his fist, almost forcing her mouth wide open. Obediently she opened wide, took the black cock head into her mouth and sucked, eyes up on James as if for approval, she knew he liked that too. The head was quite a mouthful, not much smaller than a tennis ball, and she sucked it gently while stroking her tongue along the taught groove underneath. My oh my. Now she was groaning with pleasure too. Her cheeks tightened with each sucking motion, but the cock filled her mouth so much there was little movement, just the tightening of the little muscles in her cheeks. Slowly she worked down, extending as much as she could of the huge thing down into her throat. She had practised at home for him, wanting to do better for him, give him the pleasure he deserved. She had bought a huge black toy (her husband had seen it and made no comment), which of course had multiple uses, and practised until she was now quite accomplished at taking such a large thing into her throat. She could see that it was pleasing James as she took it almost all the way, up and down. Like a real whore. His married white whore. Karen knew she had competition and wanted to get the edge however she could. She felt the cock penetrate her throat, avoiding the gagging that would spoil his pleasure. It was so deep that she felt the wiry, black pubic hairs brush against her nose, inhaling their musky, manly smell. Her pretty face, the face in the wedding picture, just an orifice, just a cunt for his cock to fuck now. Her whole head and neck like an elaborate white cunt for him. He felt it and made some slow thrusts, fucking her mouth and throat. She made a muffled groan of approval, and he grabbed her hair again and thrust harder. When Richard had tried to thrust into her mouth, early in their marriage, she had reacted with fury, throwing him off and rejecting him for days. With James it was so different. She wanted him to fuck her head like this, to do whatever he wanted with her body, she just wanted to satisfy his cock. Her face was red, there were tears in her eyes as the intense fucking and sucking went on, Karen on her knees in the hallway, James standing imperious over her, using her face as his fuck-toy. She lost her sense of time, caught up in the physical sensation of having her mouth and throat filled with cock as never before, being fucked and used so beautifully, so selfishly. Her make up that she had spent so long applying, wanting to look pretty for James in her middle age, all a mess now of cock juice and sweat and tears. It was not just physical, it was overwhelming emotionally for her. Never had she felt so subservient, such as sense of worship and gift of herself to another. Her Master. His grunting and thrusting was getting wilder, he arched his strong back and it was all she could do to keep her mouth on the thing, keep sucking when she could and stay on her knees. He grabbed her head with some violence now and held it down on his cock, deep in her throat. She braced herself and felt the hot jet in her throat, opening further, determined to take it all. She felt it pump through his cock, ten, twelve pumps, then slow, the cock mercifully relenting and softening in her mouth. A lot of cum had gone straight down her throat, now the fat cock head lay on her tongue, still oozing white essence. She savoured it in her mouth, licking the head again, then gazed up at James as she swallowed. He grinned. "Good girl," he said, the closest to praise she had had in a long time. She was still fully dressed, on her knees, face-fucked and used, full of his cum. Deliriously happy. She had never swallowed for Richard, in fact the very thought disgusted her. But for James it seemed a beautiful thing, an act of worship and devotion. Signifying something. A special bond, stronger than her marriage bond. Ownership. He lifted her by her hair, a cruel contempt in his eyes, so aware and sure of his power over her. He zipped up. "Thank you James," she said, wiping her mouth and dabbing at her mascara. "OK. Now get out of here, bitch, I got things to do today." "Wait ... please, James. I have something for you. Something special," she pleaded as he ushered her out the door. She took the wedding photograph from her bag and put it in his hand. He looked down at it, grinned with cocksure recognition, then slammed the door in her face. *** Karen felt her phone vibrate as she stood chatting to the other mothers waiting to collect their children. That name, she felt her heart thump when she saw it. James. Excusing herself from the conversation, she collected herself as best she could and answered. "James! I'm so happy you're calling me ..." "So you been pokin' round my house bitch?" "I ... yes ... James I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I was so excited. I wanted to know you better. To be better for you. Give you what you need. James you know ... I'll do anything for you James. Anything." "Get over here tonight. Nine. Your husband will understand." Then he hung up. *** It was the first time she had been to James's place in the hours of darkness since that first time she had given herself to him, and walking the dark street on the approach called it back into her mind, walking that night, shaking with nerves, compelled by her own desire and frustration to go home with this man she had only met a couple of hours before. Walking away from the pub with a black man, feeling the eyes on her, a white woman walking away from her husband, the flush of alcohol taking her inhibition away, the black man's hand on the seat of her jeans as they stepped through the door. The black man her husband had met online, cultivated and now introduced to her, how strange and twisted, yet how exciting and irresistible at the same time. A very modern way of meeting to be sure, but the mixture of fear and exhilaration, pride and shame that she felt when she looked up at this dark man, or looked at her white hand in his black hand, was distinctly un-modern. Ancient, primal somehow. More powerful than modern morality or political correctness. A feeling, a magnetism, something natural that was sweeping all before it. That feeling had only grown in power from that first night until now, as Karen obeyed his summons and walked in her evening high heels up to those same steps, those same emotions ... fear at what he might do to her, excitement at not knowing, the thrill of being in his power ... they were all still there, magnified tenfold. Trembling fingers as she knocked. The usual wait in the dark hall. The door swept open. James, she could barely meet his eyes, beckoning her inside. A camera on a tripod in middle of the living room. He looked down at her shoes. "Take your clothes off. Leave the shoes on." He left the room and she disrobed as quickly as she could so that when he returned she stood, naked and exposed, in only her high heels, like a piece of merchandise available for his use. When James returned she shivered as she glanced at his hand. He was carrying the dog collar and chain, and what looked like a riding crop. "So you want to be my bitch Karen? Not just a fucktoy, a real bitch, like those whores you saw when you poked around here? You think you're up to that?" "Yes ... oh yes James. Anything ... please let me ... be your ... bitch." It felt strange saying that word out loud. Strange but thrilling. "A bitch needs training. You ready to be trained?" "Yes James. Please train me to be your bitch." "First of all I gotta punish you. Don't ever snoop around my place like that again." "S...Sorry James. I won't, I swear." "Bend over, bitch." She bent over and touched her toes, exposing her ample, fleshy middle-aged bottom to him. She had bent for him before, but this time was different. Before she had felt the intoxicating anticipation of feeling the huge tip of his cock touch her pussy lips from behind. Now she waited for something else, something painful, something she had never experienced before. If anything the fear she felt brewed up an even greater excitement, as though something life-changing was about to happen to her. She was wet between her legs, and a bead of sweat dripped from her forehead, flushed from her upside-down posture. The seconds ticked by. James knew the power of making a woman wait. She knew something about what was coming, but didn't quite know what or when. For a split second she heard the swish of the crop through the air, then felt a ringing, stinging pain as the first blow struck her. She couldn't remember a sharper feeling of pain, different from the agonizing ache of childbirth. She cried out, agony and ecstasy. "You like that, bitch?" "Y... Yes James. Thank you." Another whiplash, without warning. Tears in her eyes now. Then another, and another in quick succession. She had never been physically punished before. Through the pain and tears she could feel a kind of liberation, a glorious submission that took her outside of her humdrum self. One more savage blow, he was merciless now, enjoying his mastery and power. Then the hardest blow, and he appeared to stop. Karen was holding back the tears and the stinging radiated from her behind now as he left her there, bent, naked, exposed, punished, humiliated. She felt a drop roll down the back of her thigh, the part she could never quite shed the cellulite from ... was it sweat? Blood? "On your knees now, bitch. Kneel." She sank to her knees and looked up at him, mascara running down her cheeks. "Anything to say to me before we start your training?" "Th ... Thank you James." He smiled, then dropped the crop. He retrieved the dog collar from his belt. "You gonna take the collar now bitch. Bow your head for the collar." She did as he commanded and lowered her head, exposing the back of her neck to him. Her whole body tingled with pleasure as she felt the cold metal of the studs on her neck, James's black fingers wrapping the leather around and fastening it. It felt mesmeric to feel it around her, on her knees for her Master, accepting the collar as a symbol of her status and role, her glorious submission, more than just a physical restraint that would facilitate his use of her. "Down bitch." She looked up at him, confused ... she was already on her knees. "Right down. Kiss my feet." She obeyed and stooped at his feet, feeling the tug of the leash on her neck as she did so. Her cold, trembling lips touched his black shoes and she puckered and kissed. "Lick." She extended her tongue and without a thought began this ultimate submission and abasement, licking at his shoes. She felt the reverence, the worship, the primal exchange, and wallowed in it as she licked. All her love for her Master was playing out in her lapping, her leashed body giving utterly to him, so deserving of this. *** Karen was sore as she crept back into her own bed. Richard was asleep, or at least pretending to be. She looked at the clock ... 04:38. Her training, a thrilling adventure, flashed through her mind. Being led around like a dog on all fours, leashed and collared. The perverted photos James had taken for his album. James standing, holding the leash, Karen on her knees at his feet, eyes on the camera. Another, with his huge flaccid cock draped over her shoulder ... a display of ownership, the cock owned her. Perhaps he would use that one opposite the pretty wedding picture she had given him. Then finally, the reward, he had given his bitch what she came for, his cock ... he had never fucked her so hard. She had never been drilled and pounded like that, so intensely, for so long, losing all sensation and thought til she felt that being fucked was all that existed. Then when he flipped her around, a new experience, something she had never felt before as he forced the huge cock head into her smaller, drum-tight hole. Pain, mixed with pleasure, just like the whipping she had taken, the cheeks still raw and sore from that as he pushed further into her. She wanted to accommodate him and finally she did as he thrust gloriously in and she felt his pubes touch her scars. His muscular thighs slapped against her as he buggered her mercilessly. Then hot cum inside there, another new sensation. Now she ached with pleasure, felt the soreness in her cunt and behind, kept in her panties as she lay back in her own bed, too excited to sleep, thinking of her new life as James's bitch, used and happy. How far she had come. She felt pride as she delicately traced her fingers along her scars as she lay in bed, there on her now, for her husband to see the next day perhaps, as she climbed out of the shower, a sign to show him how utterly she was owned by another, a kind of branding. The mark of her Master.