Take My Wife by Jack Norman

Take My Wife

(Jack Norman)

Take My Wife Extract

Sir Edward took hold of Tonya’s hand and led her up the impressive sweeping staircase of white marble, taking her to the first floor, along a corridor, and into a strange long, narrow room. It was like a corridor, only 3 meters wide and some 15 meters long, and high, flanked from floor to ceiling in crimson velvet drapes. There was a rectangular-backed Sheraton chair placed near the door. Sir Edward sat down and positioned Tonya next to him, retaining his hold on her hand, and Richard stood some feet away.  Tonya looked down into Sir Edward’s eyes, feeling the steely grip.  A hard glint in Sir Edward’s astonishingly pale blue eyes made Tonya blush and avert her gaze, unable to hold the icy, haughty stare.  Yet she could somehow feel his eyes remaining upon her, lingering, appraising her as if she had no will, no feelings, as if she were an animal to be judged and assessed.  Involuntarily, Tonya sucked in her stomach and stood as well as she was able.

“You understand the implications,” she heard the deep, cultured voice say at last.

“Yes,” Richard replied, his voice thick.

Sir Edward nodded.  He looked up at Tonya for long seconds, and then, squeezing her hand, he said: “And what about you, Mrs Swanson?  Do you agree to cooperate fully.”

“Yes, Sir Edward,” she said. 

“Then we have the beginnings of a deal...  I will first need to inspect Mrs Swanson to see if she’s worth my while.”

“That wasn’t mentioned,” Richard pointed out irritably.

“May I strip your wife?”

Richard hesitated, glancing at Tonya.  Seeing her almost imperceptible nod, and what appeared to be excitement glittering in her eyes, he finally answered with undisguised reluctance: “Very well, if you must.”

“Oh!” Tonya gave a start and stifled a squeal as, quite unexpectedly, Sir Edward stroked her bare arm.  His hand was icy cold and surprisingly soft and, looking down, she saw that the long fingers were pale and delicate.  She meekly allowed him to hold her arm outstretched, stroking the tips of his fingers along the inside of her slim wrist, maybe feeling her pulse.  Then he slipped the right strap of her dress from her shoulder.  As if transfixed, her wrist still held, she allowed the man to push the left strap down to leave it dangling down her bare arm.  Then, he turned her and she felt the release of the zip fastening, and the silky fabric sagged loosely.  In alarm, she looked at Richard, but he turned away.  With a sudden swift movement the man stripped Tonya to the waist.  Tonya gasped and the grip on her wrist tightened as if to prevent her from covering her naked breasts.  She hadn’t worn underwear, as Lady Oakley had demanded.

Statue-like, staring straight ahead, Tonya felt the silk dress being pushed downwards to rest momentarily on the curve of her buttocks, and then it was pulled over the flare of hips and allowed to slither down her legs to form a pool around her feet.  Manoeuvred by the grasp on her wrist, she stepped from the dress, and stood stark naked.

“Shall I leave now?” Richard said, and Tonya's heart skipped a beat.

“No,” Sir Edward said, turning Tonya so that she faced him.  His free hand reached forward to caress first her right breast, hefting, weighing, stroking and then rolling the small nipple between thumb and forefinger until it became turgid and rubbery beneath his cool fingers.  Then he transferred his attention to her left breast.  Tonya could hear herself breathing.  “Describe the sensation of what I am doing,” he said to her.

“I don't understand.”

He pinched the soft flesh underneath her breast, causing her to cry out.  “You must address me as 'My Master',” he said, stroking the tingling flesh.  “Now, describe the sensation as I touch you.  Name the parts of your body as I caress them, use your own terms, tell of the pleasure or the pain.”

Tonya's eyes were wide, hunted. She felt the thumb and forefinger meaningfully gathering a goodly piece of soft flesh beneath her breast again.  Yet she couldn't speak of her feelings in this way, especially with her husband present.   “I can't,” she said.

Sir Edward cruelly pinched her again and she squealed.  He looked deeply into her eyes.  As he did so she felt his fingers on her nipple again, teasing, tickling, slightly twisting the rubbery flesh.  “Tell me,” he said.

“It- It's painful,” she stammered, and the fingers persisted, manipulating her nipples and stroking her breast.

“‘My Master’,” he corrected, pinching her breast again.

“It’s painful, my Master.”

“That's better.  Tell me more.”

“My breast is stinging from your pinch, and the tips, the nipples are now very tender and sensitised.  I feel intensely humiliated.”

“‘My Master’,” he chided.

“My Master,” she confirmed, gasping as his hand slowly coursed downward over her body.


Tonya contorted her face when his fingers, still very cool, separated the shaven lips of her sex, finding and pinching the hooded nubbin, which she knew was already enlarged.  She closed her eyes, swaying slightly, her left wrist still gripped by his other hand.  Her voice was a husky whisper when she spoke:  “Your fingers, my Master, are now touching my clitoris, it is hard and tight.”


 “My pussy… your finger is inside me, pressing high…”

She suddenly remembered Richard standing nearby and a hot blush suffused her face and spread over her breasts, but Stir Edward was continuing with his manipulation of her body.  His index finger was now hooked into her sex, pulling her forward, making her arch her back.

“Oh!” she said as finger pressed against her anus.  “No, please, not there..”

Sir Edward responded by suddenly jabbing the finger into her anus.  She grimaced in pain and humiliation, doubly impaled, squirming on the fulcrum of his twisting, thrusting fingers.

“Who am I?”

“My Master,” she said, twisting in pain but unable to escape the degradation of his grip.

“For today, at least,” Sir Edward said and smiled.  He held her thus for some time, maybe half a minute, his fingers at once probing and holding the core of her, literally holding the very essence of her in the palm of his hand.  All the time, he held her other wrist and stared into her face, watching her every reaction. “Good,” he finally said, lifting upwards and causing Tonya to rise up onto the very tips of her toes.  “She is acceptable.”

“I will leave,” Richard said, turning.

“No,” Sir Edward said sharply.  Then he extracted the invading digits from Tonya's sex.  He stroked her face with his still-damp fingers, and she smelled her own musk when he put his fingers on her chin to tilt her head.  Looking into her eyes, leaving no doubt that he was addressing her, he said, “On the table between the windows, there is a rod.  Go and get it. Walk on your toes.”

Tonya inhaled deeply, suddenly terrified.  She turned and walked towards the windows, walking on tiptoe, as commanded, almost as if his fingers were still inside her.  The high narrow table had oddly-shaped candles and other, strange artefacts upon its polished top. A long, tapered crop lay amidst a carefully orchestrated clutter of phalluses, iron rings, manacles and chains.   She took up the crop and was surprised by its weight and balance, and the way it felt, its inherent power, so unnatural to her, as the butt rested in the palm of her hand.   Tonya ran her fingers uneasily along to the slender, flexible tip.  She turned and returned down the curtained aisle and offered the crop to Sir Edward, but he remained stony-faced and made no move to take it.

“Interesting that she should have chosen that particular implement,” he said to Richard.  Richard merely glowered. “Take the crop back to the cabinet and replace it there carefully,” Sir Edward ordered Tonya. “This time, select the rod and then remain by the cabinet and await my further instructions.”

Confused, Tonya bit her lip and she then turned, bemused, to walk back down the corridor-like room.

“On the tips of your toes,” Sir Edward instructed sharply. “And pout your lips, and push your tongue out, until I tell you otherwise.”

She quivered inwardly, knowing this was a bizarre punishment for misunderstanding his previous instruction.  She rose up on her toes and turned her head to look at Sir Edward Oakley.  A flicker of rebellion burned in her eyes for a moment, but it died instantly died.  After the merest hesitation, Tonya  pouted her lips and pushed her tongue forward until the moist tip protruded. This, she realised, effectively gagged her.  It humiliated her, too.  She returned to the cabinet, the calves of her legs taut, hips pushed forward and buttocks tightened by the stylised and controlled dancer's walk forced upon her by the demand that she moved on her toes.  At the cabinet, Tonya carefully laid the crop among the artefacts.  She then surveyed the array of instruments in bewilderment, looking for anything that resembled a rod.  Seeing none, she turned, bewildered.  Still on the tips of her toes, tongue still thrust through pouted lips, she was very self-conscious that her husband was watching her ordeal.

“Find the rod, Mrs Swanson,” Sir Edward said.

Tonya looked down and saw a large black phallus, maybe 9 inches long and the girth of her wrist, expertly fashioned with bell-end and veins.  She could see nothing else among the paraphernalia upon the cabinet that resembled a rod.  Hesitantly, Tonya reached for the phallus, the finger and thumb of her hand not quite reaching to span its girth as she lifted it, steadying it with her other hand beneath the bulging testicles at the base.  She raised it up towards Sir Edward and she was inexplicably grateful when he smiled slightly and nodded.

“There,” Sir Edward said to Richard, “is her real Master.”