FIVE WORDS

 

by Velvetglove

 

 

STANDARD DISCLAIMER AND COPYRIGHT

 

‘Five Words’ is a fictional story. Neither events nor characters portrayed are based in reality and any resemblance with actual persons is entirely coincidental. Copyright is claimed by the author.

 

 

Part One: July

 

“Does your offer still stand ?”

 

Five Words.

Just Five Words. The five words that changed his life. The handful of words that turned him from a husband, father and successful businessman into something else entirely. This is the true story of a man who really did live the dream that many male submissives think they would like to turn into reality. Ignore that baloney about it all being fiction in the disclaimer above. Kelly and Mart are actual people and the events certainly happened, pretty much exactly as laid out here.

 

It was the first evening of the rest of their lives. Their daughter had left home and moved to Los Angeles to live with her American boyfriend. They were alone together in the big house on the south coast of England that they had purchased with the proceeds of the sale of their company. Kelly was still only 38 and Mart was 42. They were both dynamic enough, rich enough and young enough to do exactly as they wanted with the rest of their lives.

 

“Does your offer still stand ?”

It referred to an offer he had made her six years earlier. It was after a role play session they had managed to squeeze into their busy schedule of business entertaining, social engagements and looking after their teenage daughter.

A bit of Fem Dom suited both of them. Nothing heavy, just a bit of mild bdsm fun. Mart was much keener than her. He would have liked to play their games as often as possible, but Kelly had been happy with play once every four to six weeks. He wanted to push on to a deeper level, while she said she was apprehensive of where it all might lead.

Above all, Chantal, their daughter, was around most of the time. It was only those occasional Saturday nights she spent with grandparents or friends that created the opportunity for ‘fun and games’.

 

“When she’s grown up, we could live like this twenty four seven.” Mart said once, only half joking.

“Be careful what you wish for.” Kelly replied, basking in the hazy afterglow of alcohol and endorphins.

“I mean it.” He said, suddenly serious. “I want to be your slave. No limits. Full time. You can have it all.”

“Is that an offer ?” she giggled.

 

After that, it became their private joke. Each New Year’s Eve, they’d kiss and she’d whisper in his ear.

“I’m still mulling over your offer you know.”

Gradually, their sex life had evolved. They had met when she was 18 and he was 22. She was a virgin, he was inexperienced. The early years were typical; plenty of missionary sex, some oral and a bit of experimentation with the likes of blindfolds, dirty movies and, once, golden showers.

The next decade was predictable too. A decline in frequency and quality, as work, parenthood and over-familiarity got in the way. Mart pushed about twice a week and Kelly did her wifely duty.

Role play was something they only got into relatively late. At first, it was always Mart topping from the bottom, although Kelly learned what she liked. She realised that sex was better if it was about her needs.

Somehow they fumbled along, sticking together, still in love.

And after “the offer” was made, Kelly very gradually began to take more control.

 

“Does your offer still stand ?”

Five Words. They hung in the sultry air. It was a warm evening. Saturday, 8^th July 2006.

They’d both already shared almost an entire bottle of pink champagne.

He gulped, staring into her mischievous brown eyes.

“Er … sure.”

“This time, I mean it.” She said. “Now Chantal’s gone, I want to be your Mistress. No limits. Full time. I want it all, just like you said.”

He looked at her, then finally exhaled a long breath. Phew.

“No limits ?”

She shook her head, then pushed her brunette hair back off her shoulders.

“None.”

The atmosphere was humid, thick and tense. He suddenly realised she had prepared for the occasion; a sexy linen dress that accentuated her curves and cleavage, more make up than usual, and her hair done up.

“Wow !” he chuckled nervously.

“This isn’t a game, Mart. I’m not playing. This is your one chance. We can carry on as we have for twenty years and forget this whole conversation. Or we can do it. But we can only do things my way. And you may not like that.”

“You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you ?”

A pause. “Yes.”

She held out her empty glass and he got up to fill hers. Then he went to top up his own.

“No.” she said firmly. “No more for you.”

She’d been nagging at him to cut down on the booze and step up the jogging for a couple of years. He’d pretty much ignored her.

“Is … that a test ?”

“Hardly. I’m afraid ‘tests’ will be much harder than that ?”

He tipped the remainder of the champagne into her glass instead and put the empty bottle down.

“Fetch me a bowl. The big red salad one from the lower cupboard.”

On autopilot, he obeyed her. When he returned, she had hiked up her summer dress and removed her thong. She was standing with a crooked grin on her face.

“Hold it for me.”

They had done a golden shower once before, years earlier. But never in his face or mouth. It wasn’t something that turned him on so he’d never suggested it. Nor had she until tonight.

“Kneel.”

He got down and held the bowl under her thighs as she opened her legs and lowered her hips. He fixed his eyes on her labia.

“No.” she said. “From now on you don’t even peek at me there unless you are invited. Look up into my eyes instead.”

He raised his head and stared intently. Her eyes were like deep, moonlit pools. Her expression was amused, loving but … different.

He heard a hiss and then the sound of her urine spraying the bowl. He felt a fine mist of splashback settling on his skin. The scent was strong, recognisable. The fluid sloshed as she kept filling the bowl.

Eventually, after over half a minute, she was finished.

“Now decant that all into the empty bottle.”

 

From that evening onwards, he only ever drank alcohol ‘second hand’. It was one of the many small ways she tormented him. Mart had always enjoyed a drink and he had steadily built up a pretty good cellar of fine wines. Serving bottles of vintage Bordeaux and Burgundy to Kelly, and her friends and visitors, hurt a lot, even after he had become used to a totally alcohol free regime. Meanwhile, there were always a dozen or so bottles of ‘golden nectar’ brewing in the cellar for him, alongside the wines he had collected.

 

“Yes. My offer stands.”

She nodded slowly.

Was this what she really wanted ?

Yes, the honest truth was, she did. For too many reasons to go into now. But it was still a strange moment. A step into the dark. What awaited her ?

“Then I accept.” She replied.

They chinked glasses. She smiled at his expression, as if he’d eaten a lemon, toasting his imminent slavery in her still warm, frothy and sour urine.

“Er … how do you want to … you know … start ?”

“Right away.”

“This minute ? Tonight ?”

“Yes.” She said. “But first I want you to know a bit about what you are getting into. A few rules.”

She watched him dry-swallow, his sexy green eyes wide. She’d always loved his eyes. They were the first thing she’d noticed about him all those years ago. They’d never changed, even while his biceps had softened, his waist had thickened and his curly hair had thinned.

“You are going to live a one third, one third, one third life. What I mean by that is that you will spend one third - or eight hours a day - doing domestic work for me, another eight hours at work in a job somewhere, and you’ll have eight hours for sleeping, washing, and the rest. And that will be your routine seven days a week from now on.”

He was obviously shocked.

“But … we don’t need money. I can stay here all day.”

She took a long swig of her champagne.

“This isn’t going to work if you query every single one of my decisions. I know we don’t need the money. For that very reason you are going to do a manual labour job on a minimum wage. It’s to get you out of the house.”

He shut his eyes in a long blink.

“As I said, this isn’t a game, Mart.” She kept her voice as controlled as possible. Quiet but firm. “I’m not playing a role this time. But we have to do things my way and I warned you that you might not like it. Now I’m going to ask you one last time. Do you want to do this, or not ?”

He was beaten. And he knew it. So did she.

“Yes … please.”

“Right. I need space. So you are going to do a job afternoons and evenings. On at least six days a week, usually seven, and most weeks of the year unless I take you abroad. As I said, it will be a minimum wage job, and we’ll find a use for the pittance you earn soon enough.”

The words were flowing more easily now. She felt confident. This was going to work. She felt a flush on her neck, and moist down below.

“Get down on your knees, Mart.”

He didn’t leap to obey, but he did as she told him.

“Lift my dress and remove my pants.”

She took her weight on her arms so he could lower her thong. They had done this several times, in role play and at other times, but she had never, ever ordered him to do it with such calm assurance.

“Do me while I talk.”

She parted her thighs and shivered as his tongue split her gummy folds. For a while, she didn’t speak, just shut her eyes and sighed.

“In the mornings and early afternoons, you’ll do all the house and garden chores. And drive me about, run errands, that kind of thing. Seven days a week. Understood.”

It wasn’t really a question at all. She didn’t encourage him to respond. Instead she hitched her knees up over the sides of the chair so she was splayed wider and her buttocks shifted forwards.

“And you will also go running and follow a fitness and diet regime set by me. I like my men to look young and fit, Mart.”

She tugged his curls, shifting his mouth to where she wanted it. Yesss.

“Most importantly of all, my love, your days of masturbation are over. You think I don’t know what you get up to in your office at night !”

She pulled at his curls, making him wince and gasp. She was humping his face now, grinding her swollen clit onto his tongue.

“And I know the idea of chastity is something that turns you on. Well,” she gasped, “… let’s s … see if real ch … astity can … mmm … be used to turn you off as well !”

She mashed her hips excitedly, enveloping his lower face.

“Kiss my ass.”

His lips circled her rim and his stiff wet tongue made her squeal out loud.

 

From that evening onwards, analingus went from being something that she had previously only enjoyed during their role play, having bathed and scented herself, to become the basis of their foreplay instead. It was amazing how taking up his offer of a 24/7 relationship, unleashed in her desires and kinks she would never have thought possible. It was his mouth – via rigorously brushed teeth four times a day, and gums swilled with mouthwash before and after sex – that now bore responsibility for hygiene. Her bottom was, after all, required to perform its natural bodily functions and she couldn’t always be bathing and perfuming herself just because she fancied a bit of anal worship.

 

“May I ask one question ?” he asked, after she had recovered from her climax. He had never seen her orgasm as completely and noisily as that.

Was this what he really wanted ?

Yes, the honest truth was, it was. Nevertheless, it was one thing to fantasise. It was quite another to try and make it reality. And it was something else again to carry it through, no strings, full time, forever.

She looked down at him in a half-smile and slowly nodded.

“Ask away.”

“Is this like … er, permanent ?”

“Yes. Well, maybe when we’re in our seventies we’ll call it a day ! Who knows ? But until then, yup, it’s permanent.”

“How …”

She put her finger to her lips, telling him to shut up.

“I’ve given it a lot of thought. You need a threat hanging over you. So I’ve drawn up divorce papers and an agreement giving me all our assets and money. We’ll both sign the documents tomorrow and I’ll keep them undated in the safe. I won’t abandon you Mart. But the only way you’ll get out of our arrangement is by starting life again from scratch. Poor and alone.”

He shivered. His ultimate fantasy. But … she was making it reality.

She was evidently awaiting an answer.

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Is that all ?”

He had so many questions but he was afraid to ask.

“Do you still love me ?”

She frowned. He saw genuine confusion in her shadowy eyes. She’d obviously expected him to ask anything but that.

“Sure.” She said finally. “Do you love me, even though you want … this ?”

“More than anything in the world.”

“Exactly. Well I still love you. But it won’t always seem that way. Are you ready for that ?”

Her smile was soft. He looked at her, dreading what he was getting into. He realised that he would no longer just be able to reach out and touch her, fondle her breasts, stroke her butt, kiss her mouth, whenever he liked.

“Yes. I think so.”

“Stand up.”

He rose to his feet, standing to attention in front of her.

“Drop your pants.”

He undid his belt, unbuttoned and lowered his trousers and briefs.

She smiled at his semi-erection.

“This conversation exciting you, Mart, or making you afraid ?”

“A bit of both.”

“Undecided, eh ?”

Her long, slim beautiful fingers reached out and one hand cupped his balls.

“You will never masturbate again, Mart.” She said. “Never. Not so long as you stay with me. Do you understand that ?”

He didn’t comprehend. Couldn’t. But he bowed his head in acceptance anyway.

“I may masturbate you instead. Very occasionally. But more likely we will make love. The more you please me, the more we might do it. But from now on every release will have to be earned. Earned the hard way.”

And boy was he hard.

She ran a teasing finger up the underside of his shaft.

“Do you want to come ?”

“Pl … please … yes …” He could barely speak.

She chuckled.

The longest they had played this tease and denial game so far was 36 hours, during a long weekend the previous summer when Chantal was staying over with friends. It had nearly driven him mad.

She started to pump him casually, up and down, in a too-slow rhythm.

“I should come quickly if I were you. I may get bored.”

He shut his eyes, concentrating, willing his balls to explode.

“Look at me.”

He wrenched them open and focused on her amused expression.

He had jacked himself off the evening before. A quick, sordid jerk off on the toilet. It served no purpose other than to feed his habit. Mart knew he was a masturbation junkie who needed a regular fix.

And now ?

“If you come, I want you to know that it will be the last time for at least one month, probably much longer.”

He whimpered. His knees were trembling, his thighs felt like jelly.

“My arm’s tiring.” She said, hand slowing further.

Please !

“I … I …” he gasped.

And then he felt the marvellous moment of no return. Yessssss.

She pulled her fingers away as he stiffened and grimaced.

“Nah … plz … gnng …”

His erection jerked and he humped thin air, seeking any sort of friction. He raised his right hand but she slapped it down. A single jet of semen spurted straight upwards and then fell in a raindrop at her feet. But there was no follow through. A second globule gathered at the tip of his twitching penis and slowly oozed onto the floor. No more appeared.

There was a silence of over thirty seconds while he composed himself.

“Now.” She said nonchalantly. “Let’s get you locked up, shall we ?”

 

She had secretly purchased four different chastity devices in preparation; Two were for day to day use, reputedly 100% secure, but more comfortable and discreet. Two were for wearing at home, both made of steel, one designed to inflict pain in the event of even the slightest erection. In future, they kept his genital area shaved and creamed to prevent chafing and she unlocked him most days for cleaning, hygiene and depilation with her leg hair remover. Further chastity devices were soon to follow, two fitted to size, until she was totally happy with her entire array. Mart’s cock and balls belonged to her !

 

It was just after ten that night, when she closed the guest room door. He was tied naked to the big brass bed, wrists and ankles cuffed to the four posts. He wasn’t going anywhere, that was for sure.

“Goodnight.” She whispered, opening a window. “Don’t let the bugs bite.”

“Goodnight.” He replied. “Mistress.”

She turned and smiled, puckering her lips in a kiss.

“We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” She switched on a bright lamp by the open window. It wouldn’t be long before the mosquitoes and bugs were attracted to the light. And the tasty flesh on display. She didn’t enjoy hurting him. But, if the insects did her dirty work, well …

She shut the door and leaned against it with a sigh.

Phew. She needed a drink.

Downstairs, she poured herself a small brandy. She rarely drank spirits but tonight was an occasion for exceptions. After taking a sip, she fetched her cell phone from inside her bag and dialled.

Voicemail picked up.

Kelly waited a moment for the beep.

The message she left was brief. Just five words in fact.

“Hi … I have done it.”

 

 

End of Part One

To be continued in Part Two (“August”)

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE

 

I would like to thank all those readers who have posted reviews or emailed feedback. My original intention was to post one Part per month over a year but due to the strong response to this story, I have decided to speed up the process. Parts Two, Three and Four will follow before the end of July 2007. I’m afraid that I know I will not be able to please everybody in the months to come; some want cruelty, others romance, many like cuckolding, some do not, quite a few want lesbianism. Please feel free to keep sending me your thoughts and ideas.

FIVE WORDS

 

 

 

Part Two: August

 

 

 

The first four weeks were, in several ways, the most intense of all.

 

As July turned to August, the long days and sultry nights allowed both of them time to absorb the changes in their relationship. Each day brought with it something new; sometimes subtle shifts and nuances, other times blunt and shocking events that were like doors slamming on their past.

 

The restaurant was on the edge of their nearest town. It was the best place around and they’d eaten at it several times before; romantic atmosphere, French-Asian fusion cuisine, exciting chef-proprietor, great wine list.

Kelly sat in the back while Mart drove. She was dressed in a long T-shirt dress that barely covered her thighs. Her legs looked amazing.

By car, it only took them fifteen minutes.

But, of course, Mart would have to travel there every day on foot and by bus. The journey would take him a ten minute walk followed by a twenty minute ride on the rickety village coach.

“I figured out a cover story for you.” She said, peering over her sunglasses.

He glanced in the mirror, listening.

It was still only the day after “the offer”. Was it really only the previous evening that she had asked him if his offer still stood ? Was it less than 24 hours since he had been a normal husband, father, man ?

“I told Alain you’re researching a book you’re writing. I said it’s about a guy who washes dishes for a living. You can make up the rest if anybody asks. Alain was cool about it.”

Mart changed gear. The shifting motion made him aware of his new chastity tube.

“Sure.” He replied.

“I said you wanted to be treated just like any other member of staff. But you won’t share in the tronc. You’ll be paid just the basic minimum wage.”

The tronc was the combined pot of service charges and tips that boosted most catering staff’s earnings.

He indicated and turned into the restaurant car park.

They had arrived.

 

From that day onwards, Mart spent from 3 p.m. to 11 p.m. washing dishes; endless steel pans, pots, baking trays, thick with oil, grease, fat and sauces. Joe, the kitchen commis, was uncouth, short-tempered and ruthless in his demand that everything be spick and span, scrubbed and washed by hand until the steel shone. The previous ‘plongeur’ – dishwasher – had resigned after just three days.

Mart was certainly treated no better than any other member of the thirty strong staff of waiters and kitchen hands. In fact, he was treated as the lowest of the low. And most of the staff were kids twenty years younger than he was. Alain, the owner, was rarely around. He had delegated the kitchen to rough Joe, and the front of house to the smooth Maitre d’.

 

Kelly was waiting up for him the first night he got home. It was almost midnight. The last scheduled bus left town at 23.15 and he’d only just caught it. She was sat with a drink and her feet up, watching a chick flick.

“Tidy the kitchen.” was all she said, engrossed in her movie.

She’d made a mess. He washed up, wiped the surfaces, put stuff away.

He was still working half an hour later when she appeared.

“I am going to have the shed converted into a place for you to sleep. That way, if I want to go to bed before you’re back, I can.”

“Can’t I just have a house key ?”

She smiled and fingered the key hanging on a gold chain round her neck. It was the key to his chastity belt.

“No, dear. Only one person has keys round here.”

 

The next day was a Monday and the dreadful, harsh routine started in earnest. Kelly woke him at 07.00 and then she went back to her bed. She’d left him a written list of chores on the kitchen table. At 09.30 he took up her breakfast, ran her a bath, then made up her bed. At 10.30 he jogged and exercised in the field nearest the house while she watched him from a window. Then he showered and shaved. From 11.30 he cooked, did more chores. At 13.00 he served her lunch, then ate a cold salad himself. At 14.15 he left to catch the bus to the restaurant. At around 23.45, he got home. Exhausted.

The back door was locked. There was a note. Only five words.

‘Go to the small shed’.

 

There was no electricity. Just a half candle in a saucer and a box of matches. He lit it in the moonlight. There was a thin mattress on the floor that he didn’t recognise, and a sleeping bag he did; it was Barbie pink and only about four foot in length. On the floor there was a chipped mug that they had used to keep pencils in. His brush and tube of toothpaste stood in the mug. By the side stood a full bottle. It was labelled. ‘Today’s Brew !’.

 

At 7 a.m., he was woken by a shrill ringing. He found an alarm clock that he hadn’t noticed the night before.

And a handwritten list; ‘Garden Chores’.

There were two sheds. The small one and a larger one with gardening equipment in it. He dressed in what he’d been wearing the night before and did over two hours of early morning pruning, cutting, tidying. Then he fired up the mower and did the main lawn. The day was going to be a hot one. The sky was clear blue and there was no breeze.

Sometime later, he saw her watching him from her bedroom window.

She waved. He grimaced, then gave an embarrassed wave back.

Was this really what he wanted ?

Sadly, yes it was.

 

 

Kelly waved down. It was almost ten o’clock.

She watched him frown and give her a little wave back. She stood in admiration as he continued mowing neat lines on the grass. Her husband was such a talented man. Everything he did, he did well. She chuckled. Well, almost everything !

And now his many talents would be put to use for her benefit.

She turned back to the bed and smiled at Alain.

Her lover.

Well, thank heavens she didn’t actually love him. This whole thing wouldn’t have worked if she did. That would have been much too complicated ! But the hunky 28 year old Frenchman was no more interested in loving her than she was him. The French understand affairs better than anybody else. This was hot, sexual lust, that’s all. Passionate, naughty, romantic even, but certainly not true love.

She opened the window. The buzz of the lawnmower and scent of freshly cut grass invaded the room. She let her robe fall open and walked slowly over to the bed.

He smiled sleepily up at her. His handsome Gallic features, long black hair and morning shadow excited her. He was only the second man she had ever slept with. She’d been a virgin when she met Mart and faithful throughout two decades. She had a bit of catching up to do !

He reached out to her and pulled her to him.

She gasped as his hands explored her, his lips on hers, then his mouth kissed her throat, her chest, her stiffening nipples. Her robe fell off and she moaned, taking his hard shaft in her hand, admiring its bulk. There’d been nothing disappointing about Mart’s penis, but she had struck lucky with Alain. To feel full again after motherhood and all this time was an awesome sensation.

Outside, the lawnmower chuntered up and down in a steady rhythm.

Inside, she climbed on top of Alain and hissed excitedly as he started to push up and into her in an equally steady rhythm.

 

Mart put the lawnmower into idle and wiped the sweat off his brow. The sun was beating down and he had huge wet patches under the arms of his shirt. He glanced up at Kelly’s open window. She’d gone. Probably to have her bath.

He’d had no breakfast yet. The bottle labelled ‘Today’s Brew’ stood in the shade. He could have drunk water from the garden hose but he knew she wouldn’t approve. It was another test he had to pass.

He unscrewed the top and lifted the bottle to his lips. Moments before he tasted it, the stench hit him and he gagged. But he fought through the reaction and glugged back several mouthfuls. It was lukewarm and bitter and it left an after burn lingering in the back of his throat. You could only say one thing for it.

It was fluid.

He put the top back on the bottle and belched. A hint of acid and garlic repeated on him, making his eyes water. Wearily, he put the mower back into gear and got back to work.

 

Kelly bit her lip to stifle her cry as she climaxed yet again. Multiple orgasms were a new one on her ! Then she heard the lawnmower start up again and allowed herself to cry loudly; yesssssssssssssss.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want Mart to know eventually. He’d find out soon enough. One of her ambitions was to have affairs openly, not behind his back. But she was enjoying this too much to share it yet. It had only started three weeks before. A lovely illicit affair while she got the confidence to cum clean, so to speak.

Alain groaned beneath her and she smiled, putting her finger to his lips.

She felt him thrust one final time and then he came too. She let herself collapse like a wet rag onto his perspiring chest and started giggling into the pillow.

 

“Look !” she shrieked at him. “That’s not straight.”

It was noon, and she had taken a glass of iced lemonade into the garden.

Mart stared down at the lawn. The stripes he had mown were almost perfect, except for an awkward area by some rose bushes.

“I’m sorry.” He replied, staring at the slight kink in the grass.

She shook her head, running her fingers through her just-washed hair. Beyond the neat lawn and borders, through a statuary arch, there was a secondary garden, run amok with trees, wild flowers, overgrown bushes and an old vegetable patch.

And down a small path there was a dense clump of ‘urtica dioica’.

“Let’s go for a wander.” She said, leading the way, until they reached a rusted seat next to the nettle patch.

They stood by the fronds, standing tall and still in the breezeless air. Urtica dioica is the European stinging nettle. It grows up to 6ft tall and contains three chemicals; a histamine that stings the skin, acetylcholine that causes burning, and serotonin that stimulates the other two chemicals to perform.

By September, the serotonin has started to become less effective with the onset of Fall, but in mid-August it is still at its most vigorous. As a result, the sting, burning and itching are intense !

“Take off those sweaty clothes.”

She sipped her drink as Mart slowly removed his soaking shirt and other damp clothes, until he was standing totally nude before her, except for his chastity tube.

The ice made a sucking sound as she finished her glass of lemonade.

“Do you remember once when Chantal was three of four and she stung herself badly ?”

He looked up into her eyes and nodded silently.

“You said to her then she had to be brave. Remember ?”

She had him now. Nervous as hell.

“I do.”

“I’d expect a forty two year old man to be brave too, right ?”

He nodded again.

“So pluck one of those nettles out with your bare hands.”

She watched him blink, then step slowly towards the threatening fronds. He stretched out an arm and twisted a stem between his thumb and index finger. It stood strong, unbroken, and she saw him wince, biting his lip.

“Use your whole hand. Come on … be brave.”

He curled his fingers round the shoot and broke it in half. He was now holding a 3ft long, stinging cane in his palm.

“Now, rub that all over your front.” She said. “Legs, chest and, don’t forget er … you know where !”

Their eyes met in unspoken combat. There was only one winner.

She watched him apply the stick of green leaves with their serrated edges and silver hairs all over his front. In seconds, his skin was bright red with tracks of welted, goose-bumped stings. His green eyes became moist.

“Aw, diddums.” She teased. “Make sure you cover your scrotum.”

“Atch … ow …” he moaned, shaking his hand in pain. He was starting to move from one foot to the other as the chemicals filled his bloodstream.

“Now wipe your bottom with it.”

She wondered whether he’d obey. At any moment she feared he might throw it to the ground in rebellion. It was a risk she had to take. To find out just how far this whole thing could go.

Remarkably, green eyes narrowed in determination, he bent over and rubbed the remaining uncrumpled leaves all over his anus and buttocks.

“Good boy.” She said, like he was a begging dog. “Now stand to attention for half an hour while the sensation dies down. That was an easy test. The next time we come out here will be much harder !”

She settled down on the rusted seat and watched him, arms by his side, legs straight, as he somehow managed to resist scratching or soothing his blazing skin.

It seemed as if she could go a lot further yet !

She raised her face to the sun and shut her eyes, enjoying its heat. Fumbling with her fingers, she unbuttoned her top, so that the rays could warm her skin.

And so that her husband could see what he couldn’t touch.

 

Early that evening, Mart was in the back of the restaurant kitchen, scrubbing away at the pile of saucepans and utensils when Alain appeared. The owner was a lazy sod. He seemed to be one of those new type of ‘celebrity cooks’ who think that putting their name to a place and coming up with a menu constitutes being a chef.

He spoke with Joe and several other staff then looked over at Mart.

“Ola”

Mart nodded in response, wiping his hands.

“Non … don’t stop.” Alain said. “Keep drying.” His English was fluent but he spoke with one of those annoying, cliché French accents.

Mart picked up a scouring pad and a new pan with a stubborn treacly sauce stuck to the bottom.

Alain smiled and slapped him on the back.

“Nice work, mon ami. I hope you are enjoying your job here.”

Mart watched him walk away with a supercilious sneer on his face.

Fucking frog.

 

Later that evening, Kelly drained her glass and pouted.

“Let’s go to bed.”

It was only ten thirty but she felt horny again. She had gone from feeling hot about twice a month, to being ready for sex twice a day. In fact, more than ready ! Embarrassingly, she’d even started masturbating herself again, something she’d almost never done since her teens. This past week not even frequent sex with Alain had been enough.

He gave her a Gallic shrug and wicked smile. Pourquoi pas, eh ?

They got up from the table. The kitchen was a complete tip from where he had cooked her dinner. She blew out the candles. It wouldn’t take Sherlock Holmes to detect that it had been a romantic dinner for two.

“I’ll just go and check the door.” He said.

“No.” she shook her head. “Leave it unlocked.”

It was time to move things on. First, she picked up the white wine bottle that Alain had been using all evening to empty his bladder. It was full and labelled ‘Today’s Brew’ in her writing. Then she took a sheet of paper from the sideboard. It was a message she had prepared earlier.

“Pin this to the door for me would you.”

 

The bus was running late and it was after midnight when Mart arrived home, fearing another night in the shed. The air was clammy and warm and he still had several itchy mosquito bites from the night she’d left the window open, although that day’s nettle rash had thankfully died down.

He was relieved when he had read the piece of paper pinned to the door.

 

I hope you had a fun evening, darling.

I’ve had an exhausting day and

I’m now a little worse for wear so I’ve turned in.

Tidy up the kitchen and make sure you lock the back door.

You can sleep in the guest room tonight as a treat

and lie in until I wake you in the morning.

Sleep tight, K

 

He stared at the mess in the kitchen. He’d just spent eight hours washing frigging pots and pans and she’d left him a bunch more ! The central table had been laid for two. There were the remains of candles, cheese plates and dirty glasses, plus a couple of empty bottles of wine. On the counter, more used plates were stacked by the sink for washing.

He frowned. It must have been some ‘dinner a deux’.

He wondered which of her friends she’d entertained and how she’d explained his own absence. Most of her close girlfriends still lived in London and her local mates were pretty much all married. In the past she and Mart had always socialised as a couple in the evenings.

He turned the hot tap on and started clearing away. It would take him a half hour at least to make a proper job of the disarray. But there was something much worse than yet more domestic drudgery.

His dick and balls ached. He was starting to feel very frustrated indeed.

 

At 12.50, he trudged upstairs. He paused for a split second outside her bedroom door. Silence.

He blew a silent kiss at the wall and crept along to the guest room. She had thoughtfully put his toothbrush and paste in the same chipped mug by the basin. He smiled. Only somebody who cared, deep down, would have remembered to fetch them from the shed. The inevitable bottle of today’s brew stood by them.

He squeezed toothpaste onto his brush and turned the cold tap.

Nothing.

The hot tap.

Nothing.

He tried both the bath taps.

Nothing. Not a drop.

She must have had a plumber disconnect this bathroom from the tank.

He shook his head in reluctant admiration. Nasty.

With a shiver of distaste, he poured some of her pee into the mug, and used it to swill out the toothpaste from his mouth.

 

He was still asleep at half past eight when Kelly silently slipped into the guest room. She watched his face, and his chest rising and falling. A stab of tenderness pricked her conscience. She hoped he was getting as much out of all this as she was !

She sat on the bed and he stirred, opening his green eyes.

“Shhh.” She said. “Put these in. I want to concentrate your senses.”

They were earplugs. Wedges of rubbery foam that cut out all sound. He made a face as he corked first one, then the other, into his ears.

“Now let’s put this on.”

It was a PVC hood. She’d bought it online with the chastity devices.

He obediently held his head still while she pulled the hood over him. It covered everything down to his neckline except for his nostrils and mouth. She zipped it shut at the back and clipped it tight.

She smiled at his appearance.

“Can you hear me ?” she asked in her normal tone of voice.

He sat up, motionless, deaf.

She pushed him back down onto the sheet and stretched out his limbs gently, using the wrist and ankle cuffs to spread eagle him on the bed.

Then she walked out of the room.

 

She brewed a pot of strong coffee and took a tray of grapefruit juice and pastries up to Alain. After they had eaten, he slid his hand over her plump breast and licked her nipple until it hardened.

She opened her thighs to receive him. She was loose and soiled from the previous night and he penetrated her easily, despite his girth. She bit his shoulder and pushed her hips up to meet him.

It felt sooo goood. She was becoming a nymphomaniac !

She looked up at him and smiled.

It was true. At this moment, she only really had eyes for the man in her bed. But just as she had hoped, a bit in the back of her brain was still thinking of the man in the guest room bed. Weird as it sounds, she was fucking one, but making love to the other ! That was the only way this whole fucking thing could work.

And, for once, she didn’t climax. Alain did his usual skilful stuff but the triggers didn’t fire and she was happy when he quickly lost it and filled her with urgent, spurting thrusts.

Talk about creaming the fish pie !

 

Once Alain had dressed and left the house, she sat on the toilet and peered between her legs as the thickest part of his load drooled from her labia into the pan. Oh well, there would be other times for Mart to savour a full helping. This time she would nevertheless be soaking and spicy.

The coffee had done its stuff and she felt her guts churn. She picked up an interiors magazine and flicked through it while she emptied her bowels. Then she wiped her bottom with a single piece of tissue. She stared at it and then threw it in the pan. With a shrug, she used one more sheet of tissue. She looked at it and smiled. That was enough.

Mart’s senses would be overwhelmed, scrambled and confused.

Just how she wanted him.

 

He lay in the dark. He was stretched out fully but not uncomfortably. It must have been an hour since she left him like this. He couldn’t see or hear. There was nothing to smell or say or feel. All his energies were focussed on his sixth sense.

And suddenly he sensed somebody in the room with him.

Kelly.

His body dipped with the mattress as she clambered onto the bed. He sensed her fingers straightening the sheet on which he lay and then another shift in the mattress as she manoeuvred herself into position. Her skin brushed his ears and he realised she was sat astride his head, facing his feet.

A solitary wet finger brushed up the inside of his right thigh to the chastity cock-cage he was wearing. Her hands teased his tight scrotum.

He was suddenly aware how strong his sense of touch and smell were, now he was locked in the hood. He realised how sharply Kelly stank. He could distinguish a pungent blend. Maybe she had passed gas and he hadn’t heard her ? She exuded a ripe scent of sexuality too. He realised how excited this whole scene must have got her.

Her soft hairs and hot flesh tickled his eyelashes and nose and he knew she was sitting down on his face. But instead of supporting her weight, he realised she had sunk right down, utterly enveloping his nostrils and mouth. He couldn’t breathe. He panicked.

Mmpphhff … he tried to speak.

Her nails dug into his thighs and raked his skin.

Somehow he guessed what she wanted and stuck his tongue out as far as he could. It tasted coppery and he drove it up into her bottom. Almost immediately, he felt her taking some of her weight and he was able to suck in a lungful of air.

Her skin felt incredibly slippery against his chin. She was sodden. He gasped as what felt like a wet fish slapped him in the mouth.

For the first time he realised something.

 

Kelly sat like a bucking bronco and drove herself to a manic climax. She was owed one after sex with Alain hadn’t got her off. She was using her left arm to brace herself and her right hand to strum her clit, while sliding her sopping gusset all along Mart’s face. She kept peering down and snatching glances at the glistening slime oozing out of her.

She also enjoyed looking at his enclosed dick. Looking but ignoring.

How many of their early years she’d spent putting the priority on him, on his satisfaction. Worrying that if she didn’t compare with his couple of previous girlfriends he might dump her. Sucking him until her jaw ached. Putting out night after night when she wasn’t in the mood. Even faking orgasms to get his humping weight off her.

Well now it was her turn to get satisfaction, his turn to worry about her boyfriends. His turn to get jaw ache. Above all, his turn to experience the frustration and long waits between sexual fulfilment.

Oh, she loved him alright. Loads. But the sex ? She could finally grade him now. Er … give the lad a C minus, please.

 

She left him tied there, while she took a long and luxurious shower.

It was time. The cuckolding bit was not the sole purpose of all this. Heck, it wasn’t even the main purpose. But it was an essential stage to be got through. Soon she’d be able to get to the point.

She took out a sheet of their expensive cream stationery and her fountain pen. She wrote him a very short note and put it in a matching envelope, with an instruction for him not to open it until he was on the bus and almost at work.

It would be best to give him eight hours of hard labour at the restaurant ‘sink’ in order for the reality to ‘sink’ in !

She smiled to herself. The note contained just five more words.

‘Yes, dear. It has happened !”

 

 

End of Part Two

To be continued in Part Three (“September”)

FIVE WORDS

 

 

 

Part Three: September

 

 

 

“Please, Ma’am. May I go to the toilet ?”

 

Kelly glanced up from her magazine. Then she carried on reading. She could sense Mart standing there, in his new lycra gardening top and pleated skirt.

“Have you finished everything ?” she asked finally, not looking up.

“Yes.”

She sighed. “And you are one hundred percent certain I’ll be satisfied ?”

He hesitated. “I think so.”

“You think so ?” She looked up. “Well go and make absolutely sure. And in an hour’s time we’ll see about you going to the toilet.”

He blinked and nodded. “Yes Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am.”

 

In the 1960s, an Austrian psychologist named Walter Mischel conducted the “Marshmallow Test” on 4-year-old children; they were given a marshmallow and told they could eat it at any time. But if they were able to resist temptation and not touch it for 15 minutes, they could then have two marshmallows instead. Some simply “grabbed” their marshmallow and ate it. Others managed to exercise enough “self control” to wait fifteen minutes and earn a second one. Interestingly, longitudinal research via follow up studies showed that the “grabbers” later suffered low self esteem and grew up to be envious, stubborn and easily upset. Meanwhile the “self controllers” became competent, trustworthy, dependable and successful. The latter group on average scored 210 points higher on their SATs !

 

Kelly had embarked on an intense program of training Mart in ‘self control’. He hadn’t had a drink of alcohol since the July evening that their new relationship began. His current diet was strict, healthy but meagre, and generally unappetising; his weight and body fat levels were measured three times a week to manage them downwards; his exercise regime was steadily being cranked up in intensity.

Lately, she had commenced teaching him to rein in his visits to the toilet and control his bladder and bowel movements. There were so many interesting ways that a grown man could have his self esteem challenged when it came to use of the toilet.

Watching TV, reading newspapers, particularly sports gossip, viewing any sort of pornography, eating ice cream and candies, kicking back and relaxing; all these and more became things to be restricted, rationed or prohibited altogether.

Above all, orgasms. The chastity devices ensured Mart’s physical obedience. But Kelly wanted to modify his behaviour and guarantee his mental submission too. She wanted him to get to the stage where he voluntarily focussed entirely on her. Where he would go weeks, even months, without thinking of gratifying his own base urges. Only her wishes.

Entirely through self control.

Life for Mart had become one big marshmallow !

 

That night he returned from working at the restaurant had been the most important of all.

Mart knew.

The note had contained just five words. ‘Yes, dear. It has happened.’

She might as well have written five pages. No further words were necessary. He knew the truth; that he had become a cuckold. He didn’t know when, how or who, but she had taken that vital step which turned their D/s relationship from a private two-person Mistress and slave marriage to something else entirely.

He’d asked for it though. He deserved everything he had coming to him. No limits. He’d mentioned hot wives, and wife watching, and cuckolding enough times to her over the years.

And now his fantasy was her reality.

That night there’d been a tense atmosphere when he returned. She was up waiting for him at almost midnight. Her hair was dishevelled and she was sipping a brandy in her dressing gown. The key to his CB hung round her neck.

“Come up to bed.” was all she said.

He followed her into her bedroom. She motioned for him to strip off.

While he undressed, she lay down on the double bed. It was unmade, covers on the floor, sheets askew. She parted her robe.

“Now that you know what you’re licking, I want you to do it again.”

He stood by the bed and she turned the key in his padlock. She was very matter-of-fact, like this was something to be got through, to be negotiated like a tricky driving manoeuvre, before reaching the open road ahead.

“And I want to see you hard while you do it.”

He removed his Gerecke device and climbed onto the bed and hunkered down between her thighs.

She was freshly creamed. Her neatly trimmed pubic triangle was matted and damp, emitting that slightly rancid, post-sex aroma.

“That’s less than an hour old.”

Her fingers entwined in his hair, not roughly, but firmly.

He’d dreamed of this moment. But seeing her now, he realised that reality and fantasy were always going to be different things. This was the virgin he had met and married all those years ago. The faithful wife and mother. Crammed full with the spunk of another man. He suspected she’d betrayed him before she had accepted ‘his offer’. She had been unfaithful. But could he really blame her ? One measly cock – his – her whole life ? She deserved so much more; quality and quantity. And what of himself ? He’d fantasised, jerked off, cruised websites, hoping he’d join the stats as just one more cuckold. And now, at last, he had. Yes, he felt disgust at what he was about to do. Another man’s come was emerging from his wife’s slit like a slug from under a rose bush. Yes, he felt jealous, confronted by the undeniable liquid evidence of her straying. But above all he felt excitement twang in both his dick and his head; in his guts and in his soul.

There would be no turning back.

This was part of his future.

She looked so beautiful, lying there. Beautiful and wanton. Her tousled hair spread out on the pillow, her long limbs relaxed, knees askew, her full breasts in good shape despite motherhood and her 38 years. Her lipstick and mascara were not fresh but still neat, lips pursed sexily apart.

Slowly, he stuck out his tongue and lapped at her swollen labia. In spite of everything, he could feel an instant hardening in his uncaged groin.

“Mmm …” she exhaled. “Good boy. This is the way it’s going to be from now on, Mart. I don’t want my sex life to come between us. On the contrary, I may want you to play a big part in my sex life again … just not in the old way.”

She opened her thighs as wide was she could, squeezing her stomach muscles. He started nudging his face into her more enthusiastically.

It was suddenly like a new drug to him; consuming, dangerous, addictive, hallucinogenic. He could picture a whale’s mouth opening wide and sucking him and a million psychedelic cartoon-like tadpoles into its gullet.

“He was here.” He heard her murmuring softly. “In this bed, our bed, fucking me. Do you want to know who he is ?”

There was a deafening silence. Then he managed to conjure up a simple ‘mmm’ sound. Did he ?

“Was that a yes ?” she giggled. “Well I’m not ready to tell you yet. But I can tell you that he’s younger, fitter, bigger and, yes, a better lover than you Mart. Not a better man, but a better lover. I cum easily with him. And often. And with just his dick, Mart, not fingers, like it used to be with you.”

She hauled his face up so they were looking at each other.

“Show me yours.”

He sat up so that she could look at his jutting, frustrated erection. He knew he wasn’t small. But in no way did he consider himself large. His was a standard size dick; average, moderate, mediocre, medium-sized, premium economy, super-coach. All those words designed to make the guy in the middle of the plane feel as if he’s in first class. When he isn’t.

“My ! We are excited by all this, aren’t we ? Go on then. Put it in me.”

With a whimper of excitement, he mounted his wife. His newly toned body insinuated itself against hers until they were touching noses.

He felt proud. He’d lost ten pounds, built up muscles and honed his shape back to how it had been more than a decade earlier.

And yet she had still found someone fitter and stronger.

“Sloppy seconds.” She whispered into his ear. “That’s what you cucks call it, right ? How does that feel, my love, good ?”

He kissed her neck. “Th … thank you … so … mmm … good.”

“Don’t you dare come, Mart. Self control ! But you can try and make me come. Just like my lover did right here an hour ago.”

He took his weight on his elbows and began thrusting, first slowly, then building a faster rhythm. She stared intently into his eyes without speaking.

She felt so wet, so loose, so … unimpressed.

“Ngh … ngh … ngh …” he pistoned. “Is … that … okay ?”

She smiled, with a shrug. “Okay ? Er … yes. It’s okay.”

“Might you c … come ?”

She shook her head. “No, Mart. Not even if you kept this up for hours. You miss the point.” She reached and stroked his cheek kindly. “But you can learn. We’ll find ourselves a teacher for you. And it is nice to have you inside me again briefly. To feel close to you.”

He stopped pumping, disappointed, and pushed up on his arms.

“Am … am I that, you know … bad ?”

She pushed him off her, so his erection slipped out.

“Put it this way. You’re lucky I didn’t know how … ordinary you were until recently. Now, go and take a cold shower. If I don’t get to cum, then you certainly don’t. So I want to get that thing locked up again.”

 

The next morning, he held a plastic funnel over an empty wine bottle for her, while she sprayed out her morning bladder-full. It was dark, reddish gold, aromatic. He put the stopper in the top and saw how cloudy the contents were, with little bits of crusty sediment floating in her urine.

“I adore beetroot but not what it does to your insides.” She chuckled.

As if you care, he thought, surprising himself at the stab of resentment he felt. After all, whose fault is this, Mart; yours or Kelly’s ? It was probably the frustration of his unused testosterone making him tetchy.

He labelled it with the date and put it down in the musty cellar. There it would fester for a week or so before being brought out to accompany his lunch, while she sipped a chilled Pinot Grigio.

“You always did like a nice pink champagne.” Kelly added, beaming.

He spent the morning doing house and garden chores, desperate to use the toilet. It grew increasingly uncomfortable, and he had to cross his legs and deep breathe several times to prevent an accident; self control !

 

“Please, Ma’am. May I go to the toilet ?” he asked her a third time.

He waited as she took another sip of her iced coffee and then she shrugged. They were on the terrace overlooking the lawn.

“Remove those.”

He pulled the baby blue lycra gardening top over his head and unzipped the pleated, frilly skirt she’d made him put on that morning. He was no transvestite and he knew that Kelly got no real kick from feminising him either. It was just another test, designed to push both their frontiers.

“Squat down over that.”

She was pointing to a tub with geraniums and lobelia spilling out of it. He carefully planted his feet on either side and crouched. The flower heads tickled his inner thighs and bottom.

“Okay. Hurry up and pee.”

He had been controlling himself so long that it took a few moments to relax his grip on his bladder. But eventually, at last, it came.

It felt so goooood.

He was wearing a Gerecke ‘twister’ chastity tube. Made of best German steel, it was a totally secure, but light, see-thru cage for his penis that was so far wearable 24/7. She had used a depilation cream to remove every pubic hair from his waistline round to his anus and also applied Vaseline grease daily to prevent chafing.

Inevitably urine splashed onto his groin, legs and feet but most landed in the tub.

Eventually, he opened his eyes and saw her watching him with an amused expression.

“Finished ?”

He nodded. “Thank you, Ma’am. Er … ?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Ma’am. I need to … you know … do the other kind as well.”

She tut-tutted.

“Honestly, you’re always wanting something. Can I do this ? Can I have a piss ? Can I take a dump ? How high must I jump ? Whatever next ? You’ll be asking me if you can have an orgasm soon !”

Oh, yes pleeeaaase.

“I’m sorry Ma’am. It’s just …”

“No !” she shouted, suddenly fierce.

“I won’t have your foul waste polluting anywhere on my property. You can wait until you get to work and go there !”

He hung his head in obedience.

“Now, let’s inspect how well you’ve done your chores.”

 

She found several infractions. Worst of which was a layer of grimy dust missed underneath the piping behind the toilet in the basement lavatory.

“Bend over and clutch your ankles.”

They had come back out onto the terrace. It was not overlooked but, nevertheless, there is something about bdsm activity outdoors that heightens a sub’s feelings of vulnerability.

He felt her hand on his lower spine, adjusting his position to her liking. She had a way of handling him now, like a piece of meat. He gripped his ankles as sweat trickled from his forehead onto the stone tiled floor. His buttocks were stretched tight and his anal crack felt open to the fresh air.

“I don’t get a kick out of thrashing you, Mart.”

Her voice was scolding, firm; like she used to talk to Chantal when she was growing up.

“But when I ask for jobs to be done, I expect them to be done properly. This isn’t some fucking game ! Is that understood ?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He was shocked by her use of the word ‘fucking’. She rarely used swear words.

“So why didn’t you do them to my hundred percent satisfaction ?”

“I’m sorry. Ma’am.”

“Sorry ? Hmm … you soon will be.”

He heard her swishing the bamboo through the air in a couple of practice strokes. It was a standard garden cane but it made an evil ‘whooosh’.

‘Nggh.’ He grunted in pain at the first blaze of fire across his bottom.

A second.

A third.

Please no more. He dug his fingernails into the skin of his legs and ground his teeth together. Fuck this. This wasn’t what he wanted.

A fourth stroke, the hardest of all, slashed his flesh.

Unable to take any more, Mart stood up, rubbing his buttocks.

Kelly’s eyes shone at him with yellow specks of anger.

“What do you mean by standing up ?” she screamed.

Suddenly he realised what he’d done. He stared at her open-mouthed.

“You …” she stammered with rage, “… pathetic wimp ! You don’t want to be my slave at all. Full time you said ! No limits you said ! Blah … blah … blah. Well, too late Mart. It’s that … or those divorce papers you’ve already signed. Which is it ?”

“I’m sorry. Please. I …”. He dropped to his knees. “It’s just it hurt so much. But you’re right. I said no limits. Please forgive me.”

She stared down at him, anger slowly dissipating, her breathing gradually returning to normal.

“I know it’s hard, Mart. It’s meant to be. I can’t do this any other way. It’s my rules or not at all.” She pouted in a half-grin, half-sad expression. “I warned you that you might regret it. But there’s no going back now.”

He stared down at the floor in surrender.

She was right. You can’t put the genie back in the bottle.

“Good.” Her voice was lighter again. “Now, where were we ? At four, I think. But I’m not sure, so we’d better start again.”

 

At just after two o’clock, he set off for the restaurant. He watched her briefly standing on the front step as he left, before she turned and shut the door. He wondered what she had planned for herself over the next ten hours or so. He realised that she really could do exactly as she liked. Not just without hassle but with a clean conscience too.

He sat in the back row of the bus and prayed he could make it the whole way. His buttocks felt sore against the hard seat but his desperate need to void his bowels was a bigger problem.

At one stage, he unavoidably passed wind and had to keep a straight face while his foul aroma filled the bus. A little boy two rows ahead commented to his mother about the horrible pong.

Eventually he made it, and was leaving the seedy staff toilet in the basement, when Joe, the kitchen commis, cornered him.

“Phew. That’s a stink you’ve left in there.”

“Sorry.” He mumbled.

“You washed your hands ?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well you can dirty them again. I want you to give this shithole a thorough cleaning. Scrub the pan, the floor, behind the piping, everywhere. Got that ?”

Twenty minutes later, Joe was back to inspect. He lifted the lavatory seat, bent down behind the plumbing, ran his finger under the basin rim.

“Okay.” Joe held out a brown envelope. “Open it.”

Mart fumbled it open and found his first payslip; four weeks of minimum wage at £5.05 per hour. A measly forty pounds a day, or £1,311 for the calendar month. Before tax. By the time the Revenue had taken their slice his take home pay was just over eight hundred quid, for working 7 long days a week !

Smiling at Mart’s shocked expression, Joe held out a waiter’s uniform. “Change into these. Tonight Guillaume is ill. You can take his place waiting tables.”

It was the first time that Mart had been allowed anywhere but the kitchen sink. The Maitre d’ gave him a crash course in serving etiquette. He learned which side to serve, how to clear plates, how to stack them along his arm.

By 8.00 p.m., the restaurant was almost full. It was known as the best place in the area. Most of the tables were small, for two to four diners, with just a couple of round ones for parties of six or eight. The atmosphere was romantic, with low lighting, and little candles on each table.

Mart was assisting by serving vegetables, pouring water and wine and clearing plates. The Maitre d’ and another senior waiter took all the orders.

Shortly after eight, Alain, the proprietor arrived. He stood at the small bar with a glass of champagne surveying business. Mart nodded hello as he scurried by with a stack of dishes but Alain looked straight through him.

Five minutes later, Mart gasped with shock.

Kelly walked into the restaurant.

She had never been to visit him at work since the private meeting with Alain on his first day. She looked sensational, in a figure hugging dress he’d never seen before. The gold chain hung round her neck.

Alain walked over to greet her and they pecked each other on the cheek. Mart watched him lead her over to a corner table and hold out her chair for her to sit down. The Maitre d’ hovered around them.

“Psst.”

Mart realised a senior waiter was hissing at him to stop dawdling and get on with his job. He tore his eyes away and went into the kitchens.

“I see Alain’s got his mistress in tonight.” Somebody was saying.

“Nice looking lady.” Another person replied, brushing past Mart.

“I hear she’s married.” He heard a third voice say.

“Ze best fucks all are.” Said a French sous-chef, passing Mart two dishes for Table 11. “Zeir husbands cannot cope.” He added, winking at Mart.

He spent the next thirty minutes in a daze. Rushing to and from the kitchen, serving, trying his best not to gawp at his wife with Alain, and to ignore the ribald conversation in the kitchen. It was evident the staff didn’t know that Kelly was his wife.

“Take these vegetables to Table One.” He was told.

He followed the senior waiter over to Kelly and Alain’s table. She had ordered the sole and he was having lamb. Then Mart came forward with the peas and spinach.

Her brown eyes rested briefly on Mart, scrutinizing, but not acknowledging him.

Meanwhile, Alain reached across the table and put his hand on hers, telling her some joke. Her face sparkled with excitement in the candlelight as she listened.

She laughed at the punchline, leaning to one side as Mart served her.

Then Kelly patted Alain’s hand.

He clearly heard her say five words.

“So, will you teach him ?” she asked.

 

It was midnight when Kelly heard Mart arrive.

She and Alain had left the restaurant at ten thirty and driven home. He fixed them both nightcaps while she put on an album of sexy jazz songs, one of a stack she’d purchased to replace all Mart’s old rock CDs that she’d given to a charity shop.

They were slow dancing together in the living room when Mart peered round the door. She gestured to him over Alain’s shoulder.

“Take your clothes off.” She said over the music.

They carried on dancing and kissing while Mart undressed. She smiled at his embarrassment until he stood totally naked. Then she broke away and sat down, patting the sofa for Alain to sit behind her. She lowered the music volume right down.

“So, Mart. As you will have gathered, Alain is giving me the sex I deserve, until you learn to do it properly. Or rather, … if you learn to do it properly. Tell me, Mart, what did you used to call your teachers at school ?”

“Er … ‘Sir’.”

“And what are you going to call your new teacher now ?”

“Sir.”

“Correct. Come and stand here.”

She waited until he was in front of them, in nothing but the device caging his penis. Alain smiled at her, obviously not at all phased by the scene.

Just a she hoped, he was striking just the right balance so far. She wanted a dominant man, who could play the part convincingly, enjoying himself, but not a guy who would try to take over. This was her game, not his.

“So, I am to be his sex teacher, yes ?” Alain said, in his French accent. “In how to satisfy his wife.”

“Mais oui.” She replied. “Say please.”

“Er … please …” Mart paused, “… would you be my t … teacher.”

“And I think you should offer to pay Alain some school fees.”

“H … how much ?”

Alain shrugged.

“How about eight hundred pounds ?” Kelly suggested.

Of course, she knew that was almost the exact amount that Mart’s labours in the kitchen had earned him for a whole month ! All to be handed back to Alain. Although, of course, eventually the full amount would actually end up in her own pocket.

Mart looked back from one to the other of them sheepishly.

She knew that he’d realised she’d calculated the amount for maximum effect. Not that it was the money itself. She had several million, all now in her sole name. But it was still a currency between them. A month’s truly hard work equated to … whatever she now had in store for him.

“Yes, Sir. I agree to the fee.”

Alain nodded. “It will be a hard course for you, I think.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“So we must begin by seeing at what level you are at now ?”

Kelly smiled as Alain rose and went to the cloak cupboard in the hall. He returned carrying a woman.

A full size, pink, plastic blow-up doll !

Kelly pulled the gold chain over her neck, lifting the key from her cleavage, and leaned forward and unlocked Mart’s Gerecke.

Alain laid the doll she’d purchased face up on the floor. She watched him pause to admire the red and yellowing bruises on Mart’s backside, before sitting down.

“Okay, mon ami, first we must give your girlfriend a name. Tell me, what should we call her ?”

Mart shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Aw, monsieur come on ! You will be very close to this woman; chatting her up, dating her, seducing her, making love. You must have a name for her.”

“What about Martina ?” Kelly suggested.

“Good idea.” Alain said. “Say hello to Martina.”

“H … hello, M … Martina.” Mart mumbled.

“Oh dear. Not like that. You must be self assured when speaking to a woman. Now, again, boldly. With charm. Say hello to Martina.”

“Hello Martina.”

“Better.”

 

For five minutes, she and Alain tormented Mart with requests and instructions for humiliating dialogue. Then they made him kneel between Martina’s plastic thighs and ask her if he could start by licking her out.

“Umm …” Kelly replied, in a high-pitched squeak, imitating Martina.

Mart shifted lower and began lapping at the entrance of the fake vagina.

She tongue-kissed Alain while they watched Mart, and she reached down to unzip the Frenchman’s trousers, releasing his superb manhood.

“Now, lick her behind.”

They watched Mart lift the doll by the hips and bury his tongue in its imitation anus. Meanwhile, she began slurping noisily on Alain’s real erection, loud enough so Mart would definitely hear.

Way back when, in their early days, Kelly had enjoyed giving head. She’d even tried swallowing a couple of times before she got Mart up the aisle. But it had been a long old time since she’d given him any more than a cursory lick. Many years. And she hadn’t realised how much she’d missed it in a strange sort of way. It made her feel young, raunchy. And she liked the control she had when she did it. But most of all, it was the trade off. The quid pro quo. You give me exciting sex and I’ll give it you back. Alain’s cock deserved its reward. So did her puss. Now she liked giving it to Alain and receiving it from Mart.

“Now, you may start to fuck Martina.” He said in his sexy French accent.

In spite of, or probably because of, his humiliation, she could see that Mart was excited now. He clambered up the doll and plunged into its vagina.

She smiled encouragingly.

After a few seconds, Mart paused, then gasped.

Earlier, she had lined the inner recess of the doll’s vagina with a generous dollop of Deep Heat, a muscle unguent similar to Ben Gay, which burned sensitive skin. She gave him her best smirk.

He gasped again and looked up at them uncertainly. His face was turning bright red and he started breathing in short, fast wheezes.

“Zere is a problem ?” Alain asked, with his hand gently guiding Kelly’s head.

“It’s …”

“Make love, boy ! In … out … in … out … in …”

Mart tried desperately to obey, plunging, groaning and gasping.

“Is that the best you can do ? Look, Martina isn’t reacting at all !”

“So, you can … mmm … shee … my … pwoblem …” Kelly mumbled with her lips sliding sensuously along Alain’s dick.

“I can see he is useless. Get out at once !” Alain barked.

Mart pushed himself up into a kneeling position. His penis quivered, throbbing and hot, and – best of all – deflating. There’s a point at which discomfort ceases to be erotic. That point had obviously been reached.

She watched him grimace and try to rub the glistening gel from his shaft.

“Stand up !” she said, pulling her lips from Alain’s equally throbbing and hot, but still inflating penis. “To attention. Hands behind your back.”

“It is time for a demonstration !” said the teacher.

 

Mart sat in a hard-backed oak chair, his wrists tied to the arms and his ankles fastened to the chair legs. It was past one a.m. but the lights were still bright in what had once been ‘their’ bedroom.

He watched in awe as his wife shrieked in ecstatic climax again. Alain was now pounding her from behind in the doggy position, both of them seemingly oblivious to Mart’s presence.

He would have scratched his head if he could. There was nothing he could discern that Alain was doing any differently to how Mart had tried. Sure, like a dancer, he moved more confidently and rhythmically than Mart’s clumsy attempts. Nevertheless, he really couldn’t see any reason why Kelly was going off like a box of fireworks.

He had been put firmly in his place.

Still at least he had five simple words to comfort him.

‘Things can only get better’.

 

But Mart had no idea how wrong he was.

 

 

 

End of Part Three

To be continued in Part Four (“October”)

FIVE WORDS

 

 

 

Part Four: October

 

 

 

It wasn’t promiscuity that drove Kelly in search of new men.

 

Of course, we all lie to ourselves. Sometimes we don’t even know we’re doing it. We imagine we’re being entirely truthful in what we tell ourselves about something but hey, deep down, well …

Like, how much do you drink a day ? Just one glass of wine ? A single chilled beer ? One vodka and tonic. ? Yeah, sure. Or how many hours of TV do you watch a week ? Or how many cigarettes do you smoke ? How often do you jerk off ? Really ? The honest truth ? Have you counted ?

Or take a more subtle question. You ever play that game, I think it was called ‘Scruples’ ? Like, if you found a fifty buck note on the sidewalk, would you (a) try to find the owner, or (b) just quietly pocket it ? You know how many people say they’d look for the person who’d dropped it ? About 95%.

And you know the real percentage, right ?

Much, much lower.

 

I’m telling you this so that you know the truth about Kelly. Those of you interested in her thought processes mustn’t expect perfection. She’s spent two decades thinking like a responsible wife and mom. Suddenly her life has turned upside down. She’s no fool and she isn’t consciously going to try to fool herself – or you – but, as I said, we all lie to ourselves. She’s no better, no worse, than you or any one of us.

 

She had hugely enjoyed her first three months of exciting new cock. In raw sex terms, she was having the best time of her life. In one sense, Alain was as good as it gets; his dick in her puss and Matt’s tongue in her ass was a combination that she could imagine herself enjoying for a long, long time.

But in another way, her Frenchman had opened her eyes – and thighs – to the thrill of what this modern world of ours offers a hot wife.

And yet, it wasn’t promiscuity, or even sex, that made her … how shall we put it … ‘available’, at all. It was love. Her relationship with Alain had soon reached the point where it either had to wither. Or deepen. And whilst the fantasy of him moving in permanently with her, relegating Mart to a life in the basement was sexually arousing, it wasn’t what she wanted most of the time. She still loved her husband.

And that was the truth.

 

Kelly had never found black men attractive. It wasn’t that she considered them unattractive either, but with the exception of a few music and movie stars, the ones she’d seen or met in her life weren’t her type.

Until James.

He was educated, middle class, 35, single, and damned gorgeous. Just as it had with Alain, it started out as an illicit affair. She met him one afternoon at the local tennis club where she had started playing in a ladies doubles twice a week to pass some of her free time.

After she succumbed to his charms, she began taking on two cocks virtually one after the other, several times a week; Alain in the afternoons, and James in the evenings, or vice versa.

She had three weeks of the most incredible sex and orgasms of her life. But it started to become too much of a good thing ! And it wasn’t only her sore pussy that gave her concern. It was the deceit.

Neither Alain, nor Mart, had a clue what was going on.

 

Sexually, Mart was very much relegated to third place. As the Autumn leaves changed colour and the nights closed in, her husband’s life was dominated by his relentless drudgery at home and at work. He seemed gradually to be coming to terms with the build up of testosterone in his frustrated bloodstream. He at last appeared to accept that analingus and massage were simply duties in themselves and not some means to try to persuade her that he merited release. Anyway, for the moment, she almost never used him – even orally - for her own sexual relief. James and Alain were too hot, horny and hung for her to bother with her husband’s cunnilingus, however keen. The fact that she virtually denied Mart any type of access to her vagina had become an implicit fact of their lifestyle.

 

One evening, she came clean – so to speak.

Actually, come to think of it, she was not clean, but rather dirty. Mart arrived home a little before midnight. She had just retired to her bedroom and was brushing her teeth when she heard him trudging up the stairs to the guest room.

“Mart !” she called out.

There was a knock on her door.

“Enter.”

He looked tired, with dark rings under his eyes. She’d finally let him move back into the house for the winter. He hadn’t been sleeping well in the shed. He was also seventeen pounds lighter than he had been in July.

“Have a good evening ?” she enquired.

He shrugged. “Busy. The restaurant was full.”

She smiled. “Tell me. Do you enjoy your new career ?”

His green eyes widened. “Er … the truth ?”

“Yes. The truth.”

“I hate it. I know it’s your choice and I accept that better now. I’ll do whatever work I’m told. But … I do hate it.”

What a delicious thought.

“Then we must choose your next job very carefully.”

He stared at her.

She walked through to her ensuite bathroom and he followed.

“Yes. I have decided that you need a new challenge.” She continued. “Nearer to home.”

His expression brightened and she smiled inwardly.

“You like that ?”

“Yes. That sounds great.”

There was a pause while she opened her robe and sat down on the toilet.

“How long since you came, Mart ?”

“Twenty seven days.”

“Oh … is that all ?”

He looked at the bathroom floor. “Yes.”

She suddenly chuckled. Actually she remembered it well. It had been another ‘ruined orgasm’, where she had masturbated him to the point of ejaculation and then let go. She’d timed it perfectly. She had pulled her hand away a couple of seconds earlier than the previous time and watched his cock bob in the air, as nothing spurted out. He whimpered as very slowly his semen had drooled from the tip. Gradually his erection softened while he stood still and she mixed herself a cocktail, returning to see a puddle on the floor between his feet. She loved the sense of control but, above all, she loved the game. It amused her greatly to pit her wits against him.

“Come here.” Her tone was soft, beckoning. “Kneel.”

He knelt between her open knees, looking up at her.

She sighed and swept her robe fully apart, so the two parts hung down each side of the toilet. She too had lost weight; a couple of pounds. Though not from dieting but from a surfeit of exercise ! She hadn’t bathed in twenty four hours and a pungent fishy odour wafted up as she parted her legs wider.

“You may kiss me.”

Mart’s nostrils twitched and his lips opened, revealing his pink tongue.

She shut her eyes and settled back.

 

She had always been funny about the lavatory. Not peeing. That was fine. But pooing had embarrassed her as long as she remembered. She detested public restrooms. Those lines of stalls with ladies only a thin partition away from each other. So undignified ! The sounds of defecation. Not just occasional hisses and farts, but grunts and groans. Kelly had been through periods of irregular constipation in her life and she often had to sit on the toilet for ages, squeezing as silently as possible. In private, she was invariably noisy ! And the splashes. Oh how she disliked making, and listening to, the plops of falling logs. Worst of all for her had been the office restroom at the company she and Mart had owned and run for 15 years. She would have installed an executive toilet ! But oh no, Mart said that would be a waste of company money and set a bad example to the staff. So she used the same damn ladies room with four stalls as all the other female employees. She hated emerging from a cubicle having defecated next to somebody, finding that colleague still washing her hands or touching up her makeup in the mirror, knowing that a person who worked for her was now aware what Kelly sounded like on the john. Of course, living with Mart, it had been a little different. Spend twenty years sharing a bathroom with somebody and you can’t be too pernickety. But strange that, now she had the ensuite all too herself, she was more prepared than ever to let him witness her ablutions …

 

She drifted back into the present as Mart’s tongue curled over her clit.

“No …” she murmured, pushing on his head. She wanted him lower.

She knew what was coming seconds before he did !

 

Mart felt Kelly’s hand on his head, pushing him lower.

He could tell she wanted him off her clit and kissing the over-ripe hanging fruit of her vagina instead.

Damn, she was musky, sopping wet with a rancid tang. Alain had obviously really given her a good seeing to that evening. Mart could feel his own dick straining against the 3 ½ inches length of its cage. 27 days and counting. Kelly got to enjoy everything, while he got nothing.

Just what each of them deserved.

But, damn it was hard !

He dabbed his tongue in the bottom of her pussy and licked upwards in a slow, teasing wipe, then lowered his face again to repeat the motion.

Suddenly, he heard a long, hushed hiss of a fart.

Kelly giggled above him and her hand pushed down.

“Lower still, darling.”

Her butt scooted an inch forwards on the pan and her hips lifted.

He put his tongue to the cleft of her buttocks and licked. He heard her exhale a long sigh and then another fart cracked into his face. It was shorter, louder, a more typical ‘pop’. With a strong aroma.

She giggled again; a naughty, schoolgirlish sound.

“Kiss me, Mart. Give me some tongue.”

He stabbed right in, until his lips were kissing her damp rim, and did his best to ignore the strong stench.

He heard her grunt, straining, and sensed her muscles tightening.

“Unngh …” she groaned impatiently, “lick Mart. Help me, damn you.”

He ran his tongue to and fro along her crack as far as his head could fit, moistening her cleft with his saliva. Suddenly there was a long, loud expulsion of gas.

“Yes !” Kelly hissed through gritted teeth.

And then her dry stool emerged bang in front of his chin. He automatically withdrew his head a fraction, baulking at the reality of what he was doing.

Her fingers pulled his hair back until he was looking up into her face. She slapped him across the cheek.

“Don’t you dare pull back your head, Mart !”

He stared at her a split second then silently lowered his gaze in apology.

“Get your face down in the pan.”

She opened her thighs and he rose higher on his knees so he could get between her and stare right down into the dark toilet. The thick, glistening stool was still hanging, emerging ever so slowly, before it finally split off and tumbled into the water.

Her fingers played with his hair, more softly, as they both rested like a strange classical statue; she sat stroking his head while he knelt abjectly before her, his head lower than her waist.

She sighed and without warning a second, much smaller stool splashed into the pan, wetting his forehead with spray.

Still he waited, as she showed no sign of finishing. He heard a rustle and realised she had actually started reading a magazine, resting it on his head.

After an uncomfortable few minutes, he felt her shift on the seat again.

“Okay.” She said, in a dreamy voice. “Now my clit. Make me cum.”

 

Kelly dropped the mag and started cupping her own breasts, pinching her nipples. She looked down, watching Mart’s well-practised tongue and lips worshipping her gaping maw. It would have been the ultimate indignity for her to defecate in front of any other person. But with him it was different now; in oh so many ways.

Eventually she climaxed. Nothing special, a little whimper and a nice sleeping tablet of an orgasm. She’d already enjoyed three, or was it four, whoppers throughout the day.

But the fun wasn’t over yet.

She let Mart wipe her bottom. Just one sheet of tissue.

She stared at it with him, admiring the lush tyre mark on the white background.

“And remind me, Mart. How long did you say since you came ?”

“Twenty seven days.”

“Mmm … I guess you wouldn’t want to earn an orgasm by licking my bum now, would you ?”

His green eyes widened and his mouth fell open, making her laugh.

“Haha. I guess not, hah ? Oh well, there’s no rush. None at all.”

“No. Please. I would love … to lick your bottom.”

Oh to be so utterly adored !

“Would you, darling. Alright then, get to it.”

She stood, bent over with her hands on the toilet cover.

Let’s be truthful here. Scatological games did little for her sexually. She had a sensitive bottom and she liked a wet tongue or finger there, but that was about it in pure sex terms. No, what she was doing was about power, pure and simple. Throughout their marriage, Mart had always held the power. She never realised how much she’d resented it until recently. Being the sweet, docile wife and junior partner in their marriage and business ! Well now she was the one in charge and what better symbol of the new arrangement than having him attend to her on the toilet ?

His nose nuzzled in between her buttocks. She felt his wet tongue.

“No dear. Reach up and gently open my ass with your thumbs first.”

She smiled, imagining the view. Then closed her eyes in bliss as his tongue started slaving away at the scene of the crime. There was surely still a bit of evidence for him to gather.

Five minutes later, she closed the guest room door. It was gone twelve thirty. Phew, that little scene had taken over half an hour. Still, it wasn’t as if she had anything particularly arduous planned for the next day !

Mart was tied safely behind the door to the big brass bed. Teeth well brushed, mouth rinsed with antiseptic wash, face scrubbed.

His cock and balls still unrelieved.

She had a challenge for him in the morning !

 

The next morning came a miracle. A minor one, but a miracle none the less.

She slept soundly. Couldn’t remember her head touching the pillow and already sunlight was streaming through a gap in the curtains. 10.04.

Time to wake Mart so he could serve her breakfast.

He brought her a tray of coffee, juice and sliced fruit, which she ate while he tidied her bedroom and hung up her clothes. Afterwards she took a piss.

She was in a heck of a state. By now, the body odour she exuded was heady and stale.  In the past twenty fours hours, she’d stolen a quickie with Alain, done yoga, played two sets of tennis, fucked James twice before dinner at the tennis club, made countless visits to the toilet, not had a proper wash since the previous morning and now, to cap it all, she’d begun her period !

So, what harm would it do ?

She returned to the bed and motioned to Mart to fetch her necklace with his key from the dressing table. Then she smiled, unlocking his padlock, splaying her body out on the bed.

“A treat.”

He stared at her. Obviously expecting to be jerked off at best.

She smiled, reading his mind.

After only fourteen weeks, they had already reached the extraordinary point where her husband was thrilled simply to be given third turn in her fetid puss, after a month’s long wait ! Not that he even knew he was third. He didn’t know about James … yet.

“I meant it when I said we would mainly make love, Mart. I think your dicklet has already known quite enough masturbation in its life.”

She reached down, fingering herself open.

“Kiss me there.”

He dived below to lick her fishy folds briefly, ungluing her.

“Now … put your … thing in me.” She moaned, strangely excited.

They kissed, at first on the cheeks, then locking tongues. For once, Mart didn’t plunge in. He managed to take his weight on his muscled arms and nuzzle his cockhead just inside her, stirring her soupy mixture.

She looked at him in surprise, then shut her eyes as he kept making contact with her most sensitive bits. A minor miracle.

Well maybe all those times watching her and Alain weren’t just about humiliation ? Maybe the frustrating press ups on Martina hadn’t all been a waste of time ?

She climaxed ! Quickly. Not gloriously. It wasn’t the best she’d ever had. It wasn’t even the best in the past twenty four hours ! But it was a proper orgasm … with just her husband’s cock. No lips like last night, no vibrator, no fingers as it had been for so many years.

He was looking down into her eyes in amazement.

She reached behind his neck and pulled his ear down to her mouth.

There was only one way for this to finish !

“Pull out of me, darling.” She whispered.

His face fell but he immediately obeyed, sitting back on his haunches. She looked at his glistening, blood-streaked erection, waving hopefully.

“You are getting better. If you do it like that, we can make love more often. But you have to learn not to come; how to satisfy me but then tuck yourself away without making a nasty mess. Would you like that ?”

“Y … yes.” He stammered, blushing.

She could tell he was confused between the thrill of pleasing her, the renewal that having sex still gave to their marriage, the disappointment and frustration of being denied an orgasm and, deep down, the masochistic buzz that her casual treatment of him engendered.

“Let’s go shower.” she said. “I’ll have a hot one and then you can get in and I’ll turn the water down to freezing so that stiffy of yours goes away”.

Later that day, on the bus, Mart opened the note she had given him.

It was brief; another five words.

‘I have a new boyfriend’.

 

One week later, both Alain and the restaurant job were history. There were no bad feelings on either side but Kelly had decided that her relationship with her French stud had run its course.

To be honest, Mart was relieved. He’d never liked the frog. On the other hand, precisely because he didn’t like him, or his damned job, it had been the most amazingly intense experience. His first cuckolding had been every bit as humiliating, awful and exciting as he had hoped and feared.

Alain had enjoyed his role in their ‘triangle’ and been a good stud. But James was in a different league altogether. Where Alain enjoyed, James ‘relished’, where Alain was good, James was ‘immense’. Alain was a talented chef and entrepreneur with his own restaurant aged 28.

But, aged just 35, James was already one of the most successful sports agents in the UK. He was a qualified lawyer and he employed 60 people, representing, managing and promoting some of Europe’s top soccer, golf, tennis and athletics stars. He had personally handled some of the largest transfer deals in Premiership soccer history. He had three homes, a powerboat, four cars, and his everyday runabout was a Ferrari.

And his penis was in proportion to his success.

 

“I’m taking Kelly to Rome.” He said, his white teeth bright against his chocolate skin in a handsome smile.

Mart nodded, waiting. He was now doing 8 hours a day of secretarial work for James, who had set himself up an office in the small room that used to be Mart’s study. The room where he once used to work … and masturbate.

Kelly came into the room, freshly showered, a towel round her hair, holding up a set of sexy lingerie in each hand.

“These … or these ?” she asked.

James thought a moment. “Those.”

Mart looked back down at the pile of paperwork he was sorting.

“You’ll be coming with us.” James announced, matter-of-factly.

 

Mart squeezed into seat 37E between an overweight Italian momma and a teenage kid with studs through his eyebrows, nostrils and lips.

An air steward began the departure procedures. Up front, Mart knew that James and Kelly in seats 1A and 1B would already be sipping drinks and reading magazines. Only a few months ago, he had travelled Business Class with Kelly all the way to the Caribbean.

Now he was grateful even to be tagging along at the back of the plane. The security controls had been tense because he was worried they’d discover his plastic CB but, fortunately, he’d come through unscathed.

‘Bag carrier’ is often used as a term for a junior colleague who goes on a business trip to assist the senior person, say, making a sales pitch.

But in Mart’s case the term was more specific and accurate. Throughout the journey he struggled under the weight of Kelly’s suitcase, separate cosmetics box, James’s holdall, their duty free purchases, and his own overnight bag.

Kelly waltzed along carrying just her new Prada handbag and James kept grip of his own leather briefcase.

At Rome’s Fiumicino airport, they split up. James and Kelly set off in a taxi straight to dinner at the restaurant he had booked. Mart waited for the airport bus that shuttled tourists to the hotels in the downtown area.

The hotel was Rome’s finest; floodlit exterior, red carpet, huge marble entrance hall, you know the kind of thing.

He handed over the note James had given him.

The Receptionist smiled appraisingly. “Aha, si. You are Senor James’s assistant ! Welcome. You may go straight up. Room 666.” He handed over a room key but made no offer of help with the luggage.

Mart lugged the bags up to the sixth floor and opened the door of the suite.

Then he sat and waited.

 

Kelly had drunk a bit too much but she was sober enough to enjoy it. Although she had plenty of money of her own now, this was glamour and excitement on a different scale !

The Italian was, without doubt, the sexiest footballer she had ever seen. Most players she’d seen on TV looked like medieval thugs but Alessandro had the classic features and sculpted body of a renaissance statue.

And he knew how to use his beautiful cock while she sucked on James’s.

They were on the hotel bed, a massive four-poster, and she was loving the first threesome of her life. One young man pounded her pussy from behind and another gently held her head while she showed off her oral skills. She’d just finished her period and this was always the time that she was at her horniest. Even during her ‘old life’.

She could see Mart in the background, blurred and out of focus against the Roman night sky, as he stood meekly in front of the open curtains. He had been allowed to guide the Italian stallion’s cock between her legs.

This was sex as it was meant to be. Pure lust, without all the emotional paraphernalia of love, relationships and marriage. To think she might have reached old age without once trying a threesome ! Mind you, Mart would never know what two women at once would be like. Shucks ! Of course, this would be a one-off. She wasn’t a slut. But James had said he wanted to show her ways to make up for twenty years of boredom.

She knew that she was probably being used to help lubricate some transfer deal that James was trying to set up but, frankly, she found that exciting too. Playing a whore. After all, she was using them too, for her own fun.

Everybody was using everybody.

Even Mart was, in his own forlorn way.

James’s big, black cock throbbed hotly against her cheeks and she cradled the crown with her tongue. She had become so much better at giving head these past three months. Through the corner of her eye she could just make out Mart’s expression as her mouth made a particularly obscene glugging sound.

Well, suck on that husband, ‘coz that’s the nearest you’ll get to a BJ.

Alessandro was clearly as skilled at putting his dick in a chick as he was at putting a ball into the net. From behind, he caught her in just the right spot.

aangng … mmm …. yessssss …. mmmmmmmm

She watched as sparks seemed to fly in the starlit sky as she moaned in release. Thirty seconds later, he was grasping her boobs tighter, and she felt him jerk, uttering some delicious Italian phrase or other.

He was using a condom and it felt strange as his wetness was contained inside it. Strange but sensible. This was just a one night stand.

James murmured a warning that she appreciated. He knew she was not a swallower. But she decided to anyway, partly as a reward for the warning and partly because Mart was watching and she wanted to taunt him.

A huge load of bitter-sweet sap hit the back of her throat and slid down it before she had time to worry. She tasted further spurts on her palate and tongue and mixed them with her own saliva before gulping it all down. There was a discernible aftertaste of pineapple she was grateful for.

‘La dolce vita’.

Sweet life.

 

The three days they spent in Rome marked a new stage in Mart’s downward spiral. Ironically, Kelly had finished with Alain to protect her marriage. But with James, she had lost control. It had become more than sex. The future would simply have to take its course.

James happily took over the keys to her heart and the lock to Mart’s cage.

“I’ve got nothing against you, man. But this is my house now, and Kelly’s my lady. You got that ?” he juggled the key in his palm nonchalantly, before calmly pocketing it.

“Yes, Sir.”

“We’ll have a half dozen bottles of the 1996.” James said, early that evening, so that ‘the butler’ would know what to fetch from the cellar for dinner. Mart was dressed in a tailcoat, waistcoat, pinstriped pants, collar and tie; the traditional butler’s uniform. The table was laid for twelve people.

“Yes, Sir.”

The doorbell rang at eight fifteen. Mart opened it and cringed.

Nick and Naomi had been their friends for years. Naomi and Kelly had both been at school together. It was obvious they’d been forewarned.

“Hi !”

Both of them stared at him and Naomi put her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.

Mart heard Kelly’s voice over his shoulder. “Hi Nao’. Hi Nick.”

“Kelly ! You look terrific.” Naomi exclaimed, walking past Mart.

Over the next fifteen minutes, the hall was a constant buzz of arrivals, greetings, kisses, laughter, coats for him to hang, drinks for him to serve.

Four more couples arrived; the other three members of Kelly’s tennis foursome with their male partners and then, last to arrive, was Dylan, Mart’s oldest friend and best man at his wedding to Kelly, along with Dylan’s latest hot date.

Mart wanted the ground to swallow him up.

 

Kelly was surprised how well it was going. Surprised, and delighted.

The blurred candlelit faces round her dinner table were all smiling, relaxed and accepting. This dinner party had been James’s idea, not hers.

‘Her cumming out party’ he called it !

With Alain, she’d sacrificed her social life for the sake of her affair. And of course, the shame of … well, what she was doing with Mart.

But James made her realise that was nothing to be ashamed of. Not for her to be ashamed of anyway. This was her life. They were her friends. All being well they’d like the new arrangement.

Even Dylan.

Especially Dylan !

She watched Mart carefully topping up Ingrid’s wine glass. She was usually Kelly’s tennis partner in their ladies doubles. Kelly watched Ingrid’s blue eyes and white teeth sparking in the candlelight as she smirked at Mart. Again, the butler’s uniform had been James’s inspiration. The first half hour or so had been a bit awkward but once the alcohol had begun to flow, everybody was treating Mart as a servant. No more, no less.

Suddenly, she heard the ching of a spoon tapping on glass, and a hush descended on the dining room.

James was smiling at her down the length of the table. He raised his glass.

“Ladies and gentlemen. If I may ?”

All eyes looked at him, especially Kelly’s.

“Don’t worry.” He laughed. “No speeches. In fact, I can say all I have to say in just five words.”

 

                                          End of Part Four                    

To be continued in Part Five (“November”)

 

 

 

 

 

FIVE WORDS

 

 

 

Part Five: November

 

 

“Kelly and I are engaged !”

 

There was a stunned intake of breath and hushed silence.

Faces turned from James to look back towards her. She blushed, shocked as anybody. Mart’s expression was a picture.

Suddenly James burst into his deep, uproarious baritone laugh.

“Not literally.”

The tension disappeared, rapidly everybody was smiling and chuckling.

“No.” James continued. “She is legally married to Mart and a very nice couple they make too. But Kelly has invited me to share her home and I have accepted. In that sense, we’re engaged to each other. So, a toast, please.”

Everybody raised their glasses, big grins on their faces.

“To us.”

“To Kelly and James” echoed round the dining room.

Kelly glanced over at Mart who was stood quietly holding a bottle.

“Mart. I think a few glasses need refilling.”

“May I ask a question ?” Naomi said, loud enough for the table to hear.

“Ask away.” Kelly replied.

“We’ll be having our usual New Year’s Eve party. Should we invite you and James this year, or you and Mart ?”

“Oh me and James, please.” She replied. “But if you need help in the kitchen, or parking cars, why not book Mart for the evening ?”

Everybody laughed.

“How much is he an hour ?” one of Kelly’s tennis partners asked.

“No charge for friends, dear ! In fact, I shall be looking for employment to keep him occupied during daytime hours so if any of you needs a domestic servant, please just say so.”

“My place is a complete tip.” A man’s voice said.

It was Dylan. Mart’s oldest friend. He’d been best man at their wedding and closest mate in the early years of marriage. But Dylan was a serial womaniser and he’d made one too many passes at Kelly. Once, at Chantal’s fifth birthday party, Mart had caught them kissing. It was her only fleeting moment of infidelity until Alain. From then on, Mart’s relationship with Dylan had cooled and, eventually, all but died. How weird that he could fall out with a friend over a kiss and yet now, years later, he could accept another man taking over his wife and home.

“But you live an hour’s drive away, Dyl.” Kelly replied.

Dylan shrugged. “I’ll pay fuel. You can’t get good help in my area.”

She smiled. “Mmm … I see. Okay, let’s discuss it after dinner.”

“Mart !” James voice boomed. “Everybody’s having a great time. Go back down into the cellar and fetch some more bottles of this excellent 1996.”

 

“Can we see ?”

It was past one a.m. One couple had left but the remaining guests showed no signs of leaving and the alcohol was doing the talking. Jazz music played quietly in the background.

“Sure.” Kelly replied. “Anybody up that end of the table mind ?”

James and the two women sat either side of him broke off from their conversation and smiled. “Not at all.”

“Strip off.”

Everybody watched as her husband slowly removed his butler’s uniform. Eventually, a blushing Mart stood naked, but for his Gerecke tube.

“Does it hurt ?” Dylan’s young date asked Kelly.

“No.” she replied. “Not unless he thinks naughty thoughts.”

She smiled at all the faces ogling Mart’s embarrassment.

“How long since he … you know … ?”

“Since he had an orgasm ?” she asked. “I’m not sure. Mart ?”

“Er … f … forty seven days, Ma’am.”

“There you are. Forty seven days.”

Phew. Dylan whistled. “Almost seven weeks !”

“Why don’t you let him now ? You know, jerk himself off.”

The speaker was one of her tennis partners. Ingrid. A stunning blonde with incredible almost albino hair, white skin and very long legs. She was half Swedish and had something of the air of a female Nazi officer about her.

“James keeps the key now.”

Everybody looked at James, who shrugged.

“Kelly has a strict rule that he can’t masturbate himself. He used to make love to her once in a while or she did it with her hand. But she hasn’t done that since I came on the scene.” He rolled his eyes. “I get jealous !”

There was a silence.

“I’ll do it.”

Ingrid.

Kelly looked at Ingrid, then at Will, Ingrid’s date, who didn’t seem to mind. Finally at Mart who was puce, shining with sweat. She winked at James. Why not ?

“Okay.” James said, teasingly brandishing the key in his fingertips.

 

Mart stood to attention as the blonde jerked him off in an offhand manner.

Please. A bit faster.

She was casually holding a conversation with several others while she did it. They were discussing, inevitably, masturbation techniques, about why people do it, the best ways, stuff like that. At one end of the table, Kelly and Dylan were in a deep tête-à-tête but still smiling and watching him, while at the other end James was serving himself more wine.

Ingrid removed her hand to lift her coffee cup to her lips.

“Don’t you hate that ?” the guy who was Ingrid’s date laughed. “Women who stop mid-stroke.”

Ingrid looked up into Mart’s eyes mischievously. Hers were ice blue.

Dangerous.

“I think he’s super grateful for anything. Aren’t you ?”

Mart breathed in. “Yes, Ma’am.”

She slid a teasing red fingernail under his bursting scrotum.

“It looks a bit sore there. Where it’s rubbed.”

Kelly broke off from whispering to Dylan. “No, that’s fine. We’ve never had a problem. I just had to change it briefly to a plastic one a couple of times in the early days back in July and August.”

Ingrid smiled. She started milking him again, using just two fingers slowly on the ridge of his helmet. Totally blasé. Pre-cum wept from the tip onto the floor.

Please. Go on. A bit more effort. Yes.

She accelerated her hand, suddenly pumping him properly.

“Get an empty glass ready.” She murmured to Naomi.

Mart let out a whimper he couldn’t control. His knees went weak.

Oh yes. He was going to come. At last. He really was. It had been so long. 47 days and nights. Who knew when he’d be allowed to again. No, don’t think like that. Just enjoy this moment. They’re all looking at me. What ? A mobile phone. Somebody took a photo ! Unghh … cummmminnng ….

Ingrid recoiled as he squirted pulse after pulse into the tilted glass.

“My !”

Everybody was laughing, one or two studied him in fascination.

His penis quivered, drooling.

It hadn’t been ruined on purpose. It was better than that. But she hadn’t finished him properly either. She took her hand away much too early.

“He looks a little pissed off with you.”

“Ungrateful sod.” Dylan called out.

“Well …” Kelly drawled five words.

“That’s enough until Christmas.”

 

“Can I ask you a favour.”

They were in the ladies locker room. It was three days after the dinner party and Kelly and Ingrid and their two partners had played three close sets of ladies tennis. Afterwards they’d all had a giggle at the photos of Mart ejaculating into the glass and then drinking his ‘shot’, which Alice had saved onto her cell phone.

Now there were just the two of them.

“Sure.” Ingrid replied.

“It’s quite a big favour.” Kelly said.

Ingrid shrugged. “Ask away.”

“James has to go to America on business. He’s asked me to go with him. We’re going to New York and then he’s got to go to Chicago and San Francisco while I can spend time with my daughter in L.A. Then he wants us both to have a vacation in Hawaii.”

“Wow ! Go for it.”

“It’s three weeks in total.”

“And you want me to look after Mart ?” Ingrid’s blue eyes danced.

Kelly smiled apprehensively. “You got it ! Would you ?”

Ingrid looked her straight in the face, suddenly pensive.

“Er … yeah. Sure.”

“William won’t mind ?”

“Will ? Oh no, he’s just a mate. Kind of friend-with-benefits thing. He doesn’t live with me.”

Kelly relaxed. ‘Aloha !’ She could already hear the surf and see the palm trees.

Ingrid’s blue eyes looked concerned.

“Kel’, you’re okay aren’t you ? You’re not in love with James ?”

Was she ?

“No.” she replied, a little too fiercely. “Of course not.”

“Promise ?”

“Cross my heart. But I’ve spent twenty years married to one man. You’ve divorced two in eight years ! I’m just having my turn.”

Ingrid’s expression was inscrutable. “So you want me to have Mart.”

“Please.”

“You want to give me some guidelines ?”

“I haven’t really got that far. I was too worried you’d say no.”

“Hey, you needn’t have been. Actually, I’m … amused by the idea.”

“Well in that case, I don’t want him to cause you any trouble. You’ve got a nice house. Have you got somewhere you can keep him locked up when you’re not using him.”

“Actually I have just the space. In the basement.”

“Perfect. You see … I really see this as an opportunity, not a threat. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve enjoyed the past four months a lot. More than I thought. But dominating Mart is exhausting. Not physically, but emotionally. I need a break. I want to recharge, that’s all. In the meantime, I think it would be interesting for … us all, if Mart experiences something new.”

“New ?”

Kelly took a sip of water from a plastic cup.

“Yes.” She looked at Ingrid. “I’m not sure what. I leave it up to you. I saw you the other night, you know … fucking with him. That’s why I thought of asking you. I want you to … push him.”

“Push ? How hard ?”

“Oh don’t hurt him. Not much anyway. Not like that. Just push a bit further than I seem to be able to  … I guess I mean, so that he appreciates me more when I return !”

“You mean you don’t want him to enjoy it too much !”

“Exactly” she laughed.

Ingrid smirked. “My dear, you asked exactly the right person !”

 

“Bye babe.” Mart said. “Sorry I can’t make it this time. Enjoy your time with mum. Love you.”

Mart blew a kiss down the phone to Chantal and then handed it back to Kelly. His conversations with his daughter were few and far between. She had her frantic, fun new life in L.A.

And he had his new life.

“Right.” Kelly said. “Get in the car.”

He drove her for twenty minutes to a large Victorian detached home.

Kelly handed him over, with his small suitcase. She exchanged a few words with Ingrid and climbed back in the car.

“You forgetting something ?” Ingrid asked.

Kelly looked blank.

“The key to his thing.”

Kelly laughed. “I nearly forgot. James has it. Do you need it ? We’re only going for three weeks.”

“I think I’d better have it in case of an emergency.”

Kelly nodded. “Yes. I’ll mail it. Got to dash. We have an early start tomorrow.”

“Bye Kel. Have a lovely time !”

“Ooh dear. Don’t worry, I will.”

 

He stood nervously, in silence, in front of his new ‘owner’.

He had only met Ingrid the once. She was a new friend of Kelly’s from her tennis club. At least that made her less embarrassing than, say Naomi, or another longstanding friend. But she was a frightening woman. Apparently only 30, yet she’d gone through two husbands and reputedly broken several more hearts. She was stunningly beautiful; athletic, fit, short blonde hair, with prominent breasts, a slim waist, and long legs. Yet there was a butchness, an aloofness, about her that wasn’t sexy.

“So …”

Her English was infallible but if you listened hard, she had a slightly clipped accent. More South African than Scandinavian.

“ … alone at last.”

She grinned. Or, at least, she curled her lips and bared her perfect teeth.

“How does it feel saying goodbye to your darling wife ?”

Terrifying.

“Er … kind of sad to see her go.”

“Kind of sad, huh.” She mused. “Boy I wish my first husband had been like you. He caught me fooling around and that was that ! But you see your wife depart for three weeks fucking in the sun and all you feel is … kind of sad. Have you ever sucked her boyfriend’s cock ?”

No way, Jose.

“No … Ma’am.”

Ingrid chuckled. “No limits. That’s what you said to Kelly, right ?”

“Um … yes. That’s correct.”

“You know what she said to me ?”

He shook his head.

“She asked me to push your limits. Way further than she can herself.”

Mart bit his lip.

This time she let out a full blown laugh. “Yes. We’re going to have ourselves a whole lotta fun !”

 

The cellar was down a stone, spiral staircase. During World War II, when several officers had been garrisoned in the big Victorian house, four ‘lock up’ cages had been built for storing their suitcases and private possessions. Three cages were the same size and the one at the end was smaller.

Ingrid had inevitably chosen the one at the end !

It had a stone and brick floor, ceiling and three walls. The front wall of the cage was made of steel rods, like a prison cell, with a doorway cut into it. The door itself was made of the same rods and there was a rectangular, mail box sized opening next to the bolt and padlock. The opening was originally so any unforwarded letters or packages could be posted into the officer’s cage ready for his return.

“Welcome.” She said to him. “Get in.”

He stooped through the low door. The cage was about 6’ x 6’ square and about 5’ 6” high. He would have hit his head if he stood up straight. There was a bright light bulb in the ceiling with a protective wire tube round it.

“Strip naked.”

She watched him dispassionately as he removed all his clothes.

“Hand them to me.”

He passed her the bundle of sweater, pants, shirt, socks, shoes. He shivered. It had to be only a few degrees above zero down here. He was dressed in his Gerecke chastity device and that was all.

He heard her turn the key in the heavy padlock on the door.

“Stand to attention.”

He put his feet together and looked straight ahead.

She pulled a camcorder on a tripod out from the shadows and set it up facing him. He watched her fiddle with a couple of wires.

“I can check up on you at any time with this. I can watch from any one of three televisions upstairs. You are being recorded on DVD. Smile !”

He grimaced for the lens as she adjusted the focus.

“You will stand to attention exactly like that unless I say otherwise. Is that understood ?”

“Yes … Ma’am.”

“Do not move. Do not speak. Don’t even scratch your nose. I understand you are … toilet trained ?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“So do not do anything but stand there until I return.”

With that, she was gone.

 

After about ten minutes, he started feeling ridiculous. He was stood under the bright bulb, staring out through the bars at the lens, and beyond into an empty cellar. He could see the little red recording light on the camera but had no idea if she was watching him or when she might return.

After about thirty minutes his legs started to ache.

After an hour he was bored stiff and his whole body ached.

After maybe two hours his stomach started to growl. Kelly had only allowed him an apple for lunch because he was busy ironing her clothes for packing. Also, he could have used a piss.

After another hour or so, he couldn’t help moving about a bit to stretch his limbs and get his blood circulating. He figured it had to be about eight o’clock in the evening by now.

In seconds, he heard clacking footsteps of her heels on the stone stairs. She was carrying three identical steel bowls, stacked one on top of the other.

“Why did you disobey me ?”

She must have been watching him.

“I got too stiff. I’m sorry but I had to move a bit.”

She put two of the bowls down on the floor. The third was full of what looked like stew. It smelt good and steam was rising off it.

She posted one empty bowl through the letterbox in the door.

“Your toilet.”

He took it and placed it in the corner of his cage.

She passed him the second one.

“Your drinking bowl.”

He took it. It was empty.

She held up the bowl of stew and looked at him through the bars.

“It is much better to obey me.”

Her hand turned 180 degrees and she emptied the entire contents of the bowl onto the stone floor outside the cage.

“Oh dear. My arm got too stiff.” Her imitating voice mocked him. “I’m soooo sorry but I had to move it a bit.”

She posted the bowl through the letterbox. There was a smear of gravy left.

“Enjoy !” she said. “And then you may go to sleep”.

He watched her turn on her heels and walk up the stairs.

In seconds, he was plunged into darkness.

 

He had no idea what time it was when the light came back on. It might have been midnight, 4 a.m. or morning. There was no sound and she didn’t appear. After a couple of minutes, lying curled on the stone floor, he stood up and assumed the sentry position looking at the camera.

Just in case.

It was hours later when he heard her on the stairs.

“Good boy.” She said, smiling. Or what passed for her smile.

She was dressed in a silk robe and fur slippers.

“Pass me your drinking bowl.”

He handed it to her, knowing what was coming.

She disappeared round a corner into another cage. He heard her call out.

“Kel tells me you’re not too fussy about what you drink.”

She seemed to be waiting for a reply. “No Ma’am.”

“That’s good.”

He heard the sounds of her urinating into the bowl.

Moments later, she reappeared and passed it through the hole.

It was plentiful, dark, almost egg-yolk colour, stinking of cabbages.

“Whoops, I forgot.” She shrugged. “We are what we eat ! Too many veggies last night.”

He stared down at it.

“No rush.” She sneered. “Just drink it when you get thirsty enough.”

She waited while he placed it on the hard floor, then opened the camcorder, extracted the disc and inserted a new one.

“Today, you really will stand to attention for the camera until I say otherwise. Is that understood ?”

He snapped into position, feet together, arms stiff, eyes in front.

“Yes … Ma’am.”

“If you wish to eat tonight, do not move or speak. Clear ?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“So do not do anything but stand there until I return.”

And with that, she was gone again.

 

The hours crawled past.

He found that he had two choices; either he blanked his mind which made the time go incredibly slowly, or he thought about stuff – mainly sex in some shape of form – which passed the time but increased the frustration levels in his balls. It was only six days since he’d had an orgasm at the dinner party but already he was climbing the walls. Six days ! Only a few months ago he almost never went more than 24 hours without some sort of release. He felt tired, uncomfortable, his armpits stank and his breath was fuggy.

Down in the cellar the world was a different place. Was it morning or afternoon ? Day or night ? Was she in, or had she gone out ? The camcorder’s red light, its probing lens and his own boredom were all he had for company.

He thought about the past four months. The evening when Kelly asked him if his offer still stood. And everything that had happened since. The restaurant. Alain. The chastity. The chores. The fitness regime and his diet. The things Kelly had made him do. James. The trip to Rome. The footballer. The dinner party. Dylan. And Ingrid. Was this really what he wanted ? Had it gone too far ? How was it all going to end ?

Finally, who-knew-when, she appeared. She was carrying another steaming bowl. It gave off a delicious scent of curry.

“I’ve spoken to Kelly. They’re in New York. Staying at the Mercer. She’s loving it. She didn’t even ask about you.”

Mart nodded. Frankly he was too thirsty, famished and tired to care.

“I see your drink is not to your liking.” She observed.

He glanced down at her curdled urine.

“I … I didn’t want to move. You said to stay standing still.”

“Did I ? Oh no. I wanted you to drink that all up.”

He started to kneel down but heard a splatter on the floor. She had again tipped the entire contents of the bowl of curry onto the floor.

She shrugged. “You’ll get it right in the end.”

He couldn’t think straight.

“But …”

She didn’t even bother to post the smeared bowl to him.

“Go to sleep.”

Moments later, he was plunged into darkness.

 

He barely slept; cold, starving and sore as he was.

He assumed it was morning when she woke him. This is not fun, lady. But he dragged himself to his feet to face her chirpily.

“Good morning Ma’am”.

She grinned. She was carrying another bowl of curry. Curry for breakfast ? Yuk. But he was so hungry he could eat a log.

“Good boy.” She sniffed the bowl exaggeratedly. “Mmmmmm !”

“Please …” He murmured, unable to prevent himself begging.

She glanced down approvingly at the empty drinking bowl. He’d lapped it completely clean during the night.

“I see I need to refill your drink. Well, eat this first.”

She passed the brimming bowl carefully through to him. The oily brown sauce was hot and spicy. She’d even garnished it with a leaf of parsley.

He looked at her. “How shall I eat it, Ma’am ?”

“On the floor, of course. Like a dog.”

He crouched, set it down, then knelt in front of the bowl.

“May I start, Ma’am ?” he asked, looking up at her.

She smiled at him enigmatically. “When you like.”

Pieces of meat and vegetable floated in the spicy sauce. It was too hot to eat. He blew on the surface to cool it. He heard her lips tut-tutting.

“I haven’t got all day you know !”

He blew hard then slurped up a mouthful of sauce. It was scalding. Too hot to taste. He burnt his tongue and throat and choked it down.

“Hurry up !”

He blew and slurped, blew and slurped. Gradually it cooled slightly and he could taste more. The aromatic spices overpowered the other ingredients.

“Finished ?” he heard her ask, impatiently.

“No Ma’am.” He gulped. There was a chunk of gristle that he tried chewing through and spat out in disgust.

“I trust you’re not being fussy ?”

He shook his head, attacking a large sausage-like piece of something.

“Last mouthful.” She stated, hurrying him.

He vacuumed up a large piece with sauce and bit into it. Slowly, or at least in slow motion, he gagged. He realised what it was. He spat.

She was laughing above him. Afterwards he reflected that it wasn’t a cruel snigger at him. It wasn’t a kind chuckle with him either. It was something in between. Like somebody might titter at a corny joke.

He spat, spat and spat, unable to get rid of it all. It was in his teeth, gums, under his tongue, at the back of his throat.

He heard her heels clacking as she walked back up the stairs.

 

Later, much later, she reappeared.

She was wearing tennis whites, slurping an iced drink through a straw. Perspiration made her top stick to her large breasts.

“Please.” He said. “I know agreed no limits. But this isn’t … fun.”

Her blue eyes surveyed him like he was something in a shop window.

“Fun ? That’s a strange word. Whoever said this was meant to be fun ?”

He baulked, scared of annoying her. “But … it needs … you know.”

“No. I don’t know.”

His instincts suddenly told him this woman was dangerous. Like Sharon Stone in whatever that movie was.

“Please …”

She started laughing. “Okay Mart. We’ll try things another way. You can be my maid. But disobey me once, just once, and I’ll lock you back down here and throw away the key. Got that ?”

“Yes.” He enthused. “Absolutely.”

“Yes, Madame Ingrid.”

“Yes, Madame Ingrid !” he echoed.

 

After a shower, shave all over, brushed teeth and combed hair, he dressed in the outfit she had purchased from an online transvestite store for him; fishnet stockings, miniskirt, padded bra, tight blouse. And an oversized pair of stiletto heels with locking buckles that kept his feet arched at an uncomfortable angle.

She waved the key to his Gerecke tube.

“I’m going to unlock you. But I’ll be watching closely. You must never touch yourself without permission. Is that a hundred percent clear ?”

“Yes, Madame Ingrid.”

“I have three friends arriving for drinks shortly. You will serve us.”

“Yes, Madame Ingrid.”

She gestured to a drinks tray, a fridge and cupboard of glasses.

“Are you hungry, thirsty ?”

“Yes. Very, Madame Ingrid.”

She smiled. “You don’t want any more of my nice curry ?”

“No, Madame Ingrid.”

“In that case do everything I say.”

“Yes, Madame Ingrid.”

“Do not touch our food or drinks.”

“Of course, Madame Ingrid.”

 

Half an hour later, Ingrid and three other women all in their late twenties or early thirties were lounging on chairs, gossiping, giggling and guzzling back drinks and nibbles. He stood in the corner, cursing the painful heels, his dick poking out underneath his miniskirt, wearing rouge, lipstick and eyeliner. He kept their glasses topped up and the plates full.

“So who’s this Kelly girl ?”

“Oh she’s a friend from the tennis club. Met her recently.”

“And she’s in the States ?”

“Yes. For three weeks. Maybe longer.”

What’s that ? Maybe longer ? Is that what she said ?

“With her new man ?”

They all laughed and glanced over at Mart.

“Yep.” Ingrid replied, giving him a wink.

“And meanwhile you’re looking after him ?”

“You could put it like that.”

Another round of laughs.

“What does he do ?”

“Er … pretty much anything. We’re just getting to know each other first.”

“Anything ?”

Ingrid shrugged and raised an eyebrow. He walked forwards as daintily as possible carrying two bottles and refreshed the ladies’ glasses.

As he was withdrawing, Ingrid reached and held his penis.

It was three-quarters erect, even though he’d tried to control it.

“Anything.” She replied coldly.

“Not the biggest.”

“Why do you think Kelly’s across the pond getting some action.”

Yet more hysterical laughter. Hah bloody hah.

Ingrid teased his shaft absent-mindedly.

“Makes you think, doesn’t it ?” One of the three women asked. The best looking. She was petite with small breasts and lovely dark eyes.

“What ?” asked the plain one; overweight with a bulging cleavage.

“Well, you know, think about what to look for in a husband. I mean, your Kelly friend did alright didn’t she ? Family, kid, company, money. And now she’s off enjoying herself, just when most women are settling for a hot drink and a comfortable seat in front of the TV.”

“Yeah. Shucks !”

“Some girls get all the luck.”

They all rolled about on their chairs.

“Too bad Kelly’s coming back for this one.” The petite one said, eyeing Mart.

Ingrid glanced up at him and then smiled at her friend.

“Actually, she might not be.”

He realised with a shudder that short, frightening sentence contained just five words.

 

It was five to eight in UK, and 14.55 hrs in New York.

Kelly stared at the bedside clock in the hotel bedroom as James pounded her from behind, both enjoying the first lazy afternoon fuck they’d managed to fit into the trip so far.

Truth was she felt a little guilty she hadn’t called Ingrid. She wanted to check everything was okay and to ask about Mart. She had this uneasy feeling. Call it an intuition.

But she also had this wonderful feeling. You spend time alone with a guy and pretty soon you know. James was sophisticated, funny, intelligent and gorgeous. He could ring her bells effortlessly as he was now. Giving her a wonderful feeling in her head and between her thighs. But he was a lover, that’s all. She didn’t love him. Never would. No threat. She loved Mart. Strange, she realised something as another man drove her to a steadily mounting climax on hotel sheets. She missed her husband.

The digital clock ticked over to 14.56.

She watched it. Now would be a good time to ring and check.

But she felt James’s breath on her shoulder, nuzzling her hair, and his strong, elegant fingers cupped underneath her hanging breasts, teasing her hard nipples.

Oh, fuck it, Mart would have to wait.

And she twisted her face up to kiss James, murmuring five words to him.

“I am going to cum !”

 

End of Part Five

To be continued in Part Six (“December”)

 

FIVE WORDS

 

 

 

Part Six: December

 

 

 

She thought she was about to cum … Whoa lady !

James jerked back so that his glistening erection slipped out of her pussy with a sloshing sound.

“Not yet, baby.” He murmured, pecking her earlobe, fingers releasing her nipples, removing all contact with her erogenous zones.

She hissed in frustration. He smiled down at the pretty curve of her spine as she arched her back and reversed into him, hungrily seeking his dick.

Time to start working for a living lady.

He grasped her shoulders and gently guided her around on the large bed so she was facing him. He kissed her, then glanced meaningfully down at his jutting shaft.

“Kiss me, baby.” He urged her quietly but firmly. “There.”

A shadow flitted across her brown eyes and for a split second her aroused smile twisted into a grimace. But she blinked and opened her lips.

“Sure.”

He watched her lower her head and scoot back on the sheets so she could take him in her mouth. For a few seconds she kind of nibbled the crown, like she was sampling it, then he impatiently pushed down on her head and felt her struggling to absorb his girth.

She hadn’t blown him since Rome. He knew she wasn’t keen. But that’s why he had to push her, test her.

Because if she wasn’t prepared to do a small thing like suck his dick, then she sure as hell wasn’t going to do a big thing like come up with the cash.

 

 

Ingrid smiled across at Lou.

In front of them, Mart was bound tightly to a metal ladder. The ladder itself was pointing almost straight up, leaning at just a slight incline against the ceiling beam in the centre of the room. Ropes secured it firmly in place.

They had tied Mart’s ankles standing on the second lowest rung, with his outstretched wrists tied to the second highest rung. Strong garden twine also bound his knees, waist, underarms, neck and elbows into a rigid standing position along the ladder.

He was now helpless and vulnerable. His buttocks and back were presented like slabs of meat at a butcher’s. And through the ladder’s slats, his face, nipples and genitals were framed by the metal squares like sculptures at an art gallery.

Ingrid studied Mart’s eyes. Green. You could tell so much from eyes. Unlike lips, eyes never lie. He was fearful and she liked that. It made her feel … good.

Both women reached out and fingered Mart’s dangling scrotum and penis. Shrunken with nerves.

“Eshtraordinary.” Lou slurred.

Ingrid smirked at her. She and Lou had this kind of open relationship. Not lesbian. Not even occasionally bi, really. But they discussed everything totally honestly with each other. Especially sex. And that had led to a bit of experimentation. Lou’s delicate, brunette looks appealed to Ingrid.

“What ?” she asked.

“How harmless dicks look when they’re shoft.” Lou was slightly drunk.

Ingrid chuckled in agreement. “Yes.”

She ran her red fingernail under Mart’s balls and watched his eyes. His dick twitched and his pupils widened.

Cute. But she didn’t want him to know that. She had already decided that Mart would make her perfect third – and final – husband. A marriage totally on her terms at last. Mart had sold one successful company. He could build her another. It was silly wasting him on minimum wage restaurant work.

And Mart was hardly going to divorce her for any infidelities, was he ?

Kelly had taken the genie out of the bottle and done her best. But now it was time for Ingrid to take over the reins.

All that was required was for Kelly and James to fall in love and then Ingrid could pick up the pieces.

She smiled down dreamily at Mart’s now hardened shaft, then gazed at the apprehensive longing in his green eyes. She turned to her friend.

“You ever heard of CBT, Lou ?”

 

 

James smiled down absent-mindedly as Kelly gurgled and salivated on his dick. He could tell it had become a question of pride for her now. She wanted to show him she could give him as good a time as some hot chick half her age. It wasn’t even about her orgasm any more. It was about his.

He pushed strands of her hair aside so he could watch his thick sausage disappearing and emerging in a nice easy rhythm.

Like taking candy from kids.

His mind returned to the important question. How to get from this point, the fun part, to his real goal, the money ?

He had until January 31^st but the weeks were racing by and this lady wasn’t a gullible fashion model like Simone. She wasn’t just going to write him a cheque for three million pounds. He’d have to extract it skilfully.

He put his finger under her chin and raised her head up so he could kiss her lips. It was time to put her out of her misery.

He eased her back down onto the bed and mounted her. He pushed her legs up high, outside his extended arms, as he took his weight above her, giving her the full deep penetration treatment. She groaned, gripping the headboard, as he fucked her. She was excited, wet, almost loose around him.

“Mmm … you’re so tight, baby.” He whispered.

He focused briefly on his task. He played her like a musical instrument, sawing in and out, eliciting a crescendo of shrieks from her gasping mouth, her head back, eyes rolling, until she’d reached not one, not two, but three successive climaxes. The real rag doll treatment !

Eventually, she descended from her state of semi-consciousness.

“You didn’t cum.” She said, nibbling her lower lip.

He smiled down at her with his mouth.

“Nor does your husband.”

She made a face. “That’s different.”

He shrugged. “Your pleasure is the most important thing.”

Another shadow passed across her uncertain gaze.

He grinned inwardly. All chicks hate it when you say that.

“What do you want ?” she asked. “I’ll try. Name it. Anything.”

He chuckled outwardly. Softly, softly, catchee monkey.

“You may regret saying that.”

Just for a moment he thought about suggesting her finishing the blowjob she’d started, or trying anal, but those treats could wait. He wouldn’t waste the opportunity on sex yet. Now he had an intro to the subject of an … ‘investment opportunity’ instead.

He was still inside her. Slowly he started building a rhythm again, like a train chugging out of a station, increasing speed.

It had been a stroke of fortune meeting Kelly at the tennis club. A few days before they met, he had thankfully been found ‘not guilty’ of fraud and taking illegal backhanders, in an investigation into several Premiership transfers he’d been involved in. However, the Revenue nevertheless required the small matter of £4 ½ million in back taxes and penalty interest on various offshore payments that had been undisclosed.

Three million pounds of which he didn’t have available.

He hammered into her, unleashing a healthy downpayment into Kelly’s MILF cunt. In a few weeks, once he’d achieved his main goal, he could start having some fun. She thought she was in control, heh ? Well, nobody bosses James Pettigrew lady. Soon enough she’d be doing some nice kinky stuff in between him loaning her tits and ass out to his clients.

And for some strange reason, as he slowly pulled his softening dick out of her squishy cunt, his mind flashed to Mart, back home, unaware that James was not only going to fuck royally with his wife.

He was going to be paid handsomely for doing so.

“What are you grinning at ?” she asked him, as he glanced down.

“Me ? Just at how lucky I am to have met you.”

 

Mart lay slumped against the ladder. His body quivered, drenched in a sheen of sweat. At last the physical pain had receded into a feeling of mere discomfort but, now he could think properly, the mental anguish had increased to compensate.

The enormous vibrator was finally switched off, but it was still wedged all the way up into his rectum, with electrical tape holding it in. He was an anal virgin no more. It was something Kelly had teased him with but never done. She had known deep down that it was a measure of his manliness.

But Ingrid knew none of that. Or wasn’t interested.

An hour earlier, she and her friend had delighted in showing him the shiny pink toy. Holding it up to their forearms so he could compare its huge size. Setting it buzzing, gyrating and sensuously coating it with lubricant.

It had taken them several minutes of pulling his butt apart, pushing it in, cajoling and berating him. He’d groaned, cried, begged, to no avail. Every muscle, every resistance point was overcome, until it was all the way in, making him feel as if he’d been constipated for weeks.

“What are you smiling at ?” Lou asked Ingrid.

Their excited faces were inches from his, studying him.

“I’m thinking that if he makes that much fuss about a vibe, I wonder what he’ll be like when it’s a real dick.”

“No !” Lou giggled. “You wouldn’t !”

“Sure I would. I was thinking Kevin.”

“Kevin. Of coursh.”

With the vibrator buzzing and churning at full speed in his guts, they had turned their alcohol-fuelled attentions to his helpless genitals. Mart shuddered when he saw the bright red tube with fiery lettering.

Deep Heat.

Maximum Strength.

Ingrid held the tube up to his face and read the details aloud to him; a cream emulsion containing 8% menthol, for the relief of muscular pain and stiffness.

“And,” she licked her lips suggestively, “the treatment of other types of stiffness too.”

She squeezed a generous dollop onto the palm of her hand and another dose onto Lou’s fingers. Then both women began massaging his cock and balls. Ingrid slowly painted every inch of his penis while Lou pushed her fingers underneath his legs coating from his prostate to his scrotum. Ingrid was careful to apply plenty to his crown and squished some into his urethra, while Lou massaged each tender testicle in turn.

In seconds, his skin had ignited, like a campfire sparking. Slowly the heat began to build, before momentum increased, and suddenly the fire was ablaze, and every nerve ending in his groin had become an inferno.

He howled, beads of sweat sprouting from his forehead. The heat was like a forest fire, travelling up his spinal column, so that he felt as if his entire body was covered in the Deep Heat cream. His eyes watered.

Through blurred vision, he could see Ingrid and Lou making faces at him, imitating his expressions. They were blowing out their cheeks, rolling their eyeballs, as if they themselves had eaten a terribly spicy curry.

He managed to peer down at his penis. He was surprised to see it was still erect, throbbing, although he couldn’t feel it. It was as if it had been cut off and a burning torch attached in its place.

“Please …” he gasped at them “stop the pain. I can’t bear it.”

“Oh but you can.” He heard Ingrid reply through the cymbals clashing in his ears. She lifted a hand to cup his cheek. “You have no choice.”

He watched them withdrawing to the sofa, where they could still see him, but in comfort. They refilled their glasses, adding loads of ice. Ingrid pressed the remote and music filled the room.

The Red Hot Chilli Peppers ! Hah fucking hah.

He screwed his eyes shut, unable to look. The continued churning of the vibrator in his rectum and the flames in his groin were overwhelming.

It was hard to breathe. Impossible to think or move. He just stood there, gasping, sweating, hurting.

For almost an hour.

 

 

It was midnight. Kelly and James had been to the theatre on Broadway. They were now finishing their spicy, after-theatre Thai dinner.

“You seem a bit distracted.” She said, breaking the silence.

In fact, he’d been a nightmare ever since their afternoon bout of sex. She suspected that he was pissed at her for not giving better head.

Well fuck him ! Mart had put up with her for twenty years including her lack of interest in the finer points of fellatio.

“Do I ? Sorry. Just a business opportunity I’m mulling over in my mind.”

She watched him sip his coffee distractedly. He had barely bothered to disguise his boredom during the play. He was a sports fan not a theatre buff, he’d explained, during the interval.

“The check, please.” He said to a passing waiter.

She glanced round the restaurant at the couples and groups around them; faces in animated conversation, laughing, listening. She remembered the last time she’d been to the theatre, in London, with Mart, back in June.

Just a few weeks before her world had turned upside down.

“Fancy going to a club ?” he asked.

It took her a moment to register what he’d said. She was thinking how she and Mart always enjoyed analysing a play afterwards.

“Um …”

“Come on.” He urged, suddenly enthusiastic. “I know a great place.”

“Er … okay.”

When the waiter came with the bill, she watched James ostentatiously remove several $100 bills from a large roll and drop them on the tray.

Well at least he wasn’t after her for her money.

 

The club was the sort of place Kelly had never much liked; too many flashing lights, too much noise, difficult to speak and impossible to hear. Sweaty young bodies crammed jiving and flirting up against each other.

James pulled her through the throng to an area that was a little quieter with softer lighting and topless waitresses wearing cat-masks.

“Great, huh ?” he shouted into her ear.

She nodded.

“Two Vodkatinis.” He said to one of the well-endowed waitresses.

The bar area was less packed than the dance floors but still crowded. A throng of beautiful people hung out, male and female; each was more gorgeous, better dressed and youthful than the next.

She couldn’t help noticing that James attracted several sly looks from young women, but in turn only a solitary middle aged, executive type had undressed her with his bespectacled eyes.

“See that girl.” James whispered loudly right into her ear.

A gorgeous black girl was standing at the bar, slightly aloof, apparently unaccompanied. She seemed to be staring straight back at Kelly.

He grinned. “She likes you.”

Kelly gulped.

“You’ve tried a two-man threesome.” He winked. “Now how about a two-woman threesome ?”

She stared at him.

“You said this afternoon, ‘anything’. Well, why not ?”

Without waiting, James gestured to the black girl.

Kelly watched the beauty doing one of those corny ‘who me ?’ acts, before finally sidling over. She walked with the exaggerated, sensuous gait of a catwalk model.

James stood up, kissing her hand, ushering her into an empty seat.

“Hi.” He said. “I’m James. And this is Kelly.”

The girl flashed them both a brilliant smile. “Hi. My name’s Simone.”

“We’re pleased to meet you, Simone.” He said. “Aren’t we Kelly ?”

 

By now, it was dawn in England, and Ingrid was fast asleep in her four poster. Mart was curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed like a dog.

A thunderstorm was rattling the bedroom windows, and occasional flashes of lightning sliced through a gap in the curtains like a white knife. A particularly loud clap of thunder woke her. She’d been enjoying a naughty dream about the first night of her honeymoon with Mart and she stared into the darkness, momentarily disorientated.

She lay there, getting her breath. She could feel the warmth between her legs and her nipples brushed against the sheet. In the dream she’d been enjoying an orgy with Lou, Kelly and James while Mart watched them all.

Up to that point, she had not considered using Mart sexually. He was a toy to play with, a potential husband and support, but not a sexual partner.

She could hear his steady breathing below her feet.

Give in to it, she thought. You know you want to.

“Mart.” She called, over the noise of the rain. “Wake up.”

She heard him stir. Seconds later she was able to make out his silhouette standing in the murky light.

“Come here.”

She threw back the covers to make a space for him. He stood by the bed.

“Still pissed with me ?” she asked, an amused tone in her voice.

“… No … Ma’am.” He eventually replied.

“Climb onto the bed.”

She shifted so he could join her.

“Kelly told me you’re good with your mouth. Is that true ?”

“… I … h … hope so, Ma’am.”

“Well, let’s see, shall we ?”

She raised her knees and parted them, making a tent with the covers. Mart slowly shuffled under them and she felt him getting into position.

Then a bolt of lightning illuminated the room as his lips zapped her moist heat.

Maybe this was the way to go after all ? She lay back on the bed, head nestled in the pillow, and gave into the sensations. He was pretty good.

Where are you Kel, girl ? Hope you’re having fun ! Cos’ I am.

 

 

“Give in to it.” James urged. “No man can do it like another woman.”

Kelly was laying back on their hotel bed. James was cradling her head in his hands, kissing her on the lips, while Simone was hunched between her thighs, teasing her with butterfly kisses.

She felt her knees being eased further apart, raising her hips. She slowly gave in to the sensations. It was no longer a woman’s mouth.

Just lips, tongue, probing, wet, skilled.

Suddenly James was no longer kissing her. She was vaguely aware of him lowering his pants and then suddenly his great slab of meat was in her face again, homing in on her mouth.

She gave in and shifted her head so she could suckle him. Dimly, she saw his hands also stroking Simone’s frizzy hair, to her shoulders. His torso glowed in the lamplight, rippling abdomen like a squared chocolate bar.

Two minutes went by as they made a noisy but wordless tableau; a slurping, gasping triangle of half-dressed, vodka-infused flesh.

Smiling, James leaned, eased his erection from her lips and nodded, as if to say; thanks for the warm up act.

She watched in silence as he walked around Simone, crouched on the bed, and mounted her from behind in one smooth movement.

Simone’s hot breath tickled Kelly’s clitoris as she groaned. The snaking tongue slithered agonizingly slowly up each millimetre of her labia. Somehow, the girl seemed able to keep her constantly on the brink of the abyss.

But Kelly also felt irrelevant, an appendage to two people fucking. She looked up at James in the lamplight and saw a different expression on his face as he teased himself and Simone with his magic wand.

They looked so good together. Like lovers, not one-nighters. He hadn’t even used a condom.

In Rome, the thrill of illicit sex had made her feel liberated. Lust as it was meant to be. She’d been glad she’d tried a new experience. But here in New York, underneath the current hazy buzz of booze and sex, she knew this was a little sordid. A nagging hangover would linger in the morning.

And then she saw something she’d never seen. James lost it. His grimace of ecstasy and agony, of disappointment and thrill, as he realised he had unintentionally past the point of no return. For ten long seconds he groaned in release.

Simone took it in her stride, glancing up for a split second at Kelly, giving her a cheeky reassuring grin, then continued her teasing licks.

Eventually James was standing by the bed again, slime glistening from the tip of his sagging erection.

“Come.” He said, gently lifting Kelly’s head.

Then he manoeuvred Simone too, tugging her waist around.

He wanted them both in a 69 position.

Simone’s slim, muscled legs nestled either side of Kelly’s ribs. Then, super-slowly, she lowered her haunches.

No, no, no ! Kelly wanted to scream.

But she didn’t. She just lay there. At least the girl was beautiful. Her dark skin smelt of lavender and musk, flesh tight in a swirl of mysterious curves and hollows. Her pubic mound was shaved completely hairless. Her wetness glistened like molten chocolate.

“Try it. You’ll love it.”

James’s smirking face was inches away from her, watching.

Then darkness enveloped her.

 

 

At ten o’clock, Mart brought Ingrid a tray with breakfast in bed; tea, juice, cereal, sliced fruit. He’d even found a small vase and put a single flower in it.

She patted the bed after he’d placed the tray down.

“Sit here.”

He’d dressed in the high heels, miniskirt, and tight top she’d given him the evening before. She chuckled at his appearance.

“I need to tell you something Mart.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“I spoke to Kelly yesterday. I’m afraid she’s not coming back.”

His mouth fell open like a fish. “But …”

“Shhh.” She said. “Of course she’s coming back. But not as planned. You see, after Hawaii, they’re going to Las Vegas. For the Christmas holidays and New Year.”

Mart nodded, apparently relieved.

She smiled at him kindly. “You ever been to Vegas, Mart ?”

He shook his head. “No, Ma’am.”

“Great place. Fun capital of the globe.”

She paused, taking a sip of her tea.

“And you know what else. It’s the wedding capital of the world too.”

He frowned. She placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Kelly is going to marry James, Mart.”

He stared at her, face crumbling, and then put his head in his hands.

“I’m afraid that, as of yesterday Mart, you are already legally divorced !”

 

 

Kelly lay awake in the dark, listening to the even breathing of James and Simone next to her in the large King bed.

The digital clock said 05.15. A quarter past ten in England.

She thought of using the phone in the ensuite bathroom to call Ingrid.

What was it that Joan had said ? Joan was an old friend of Mart’s who’d run off with a younger guy after fifteen years of marriage and three lovely kids. Six months later she’d come slinking back, asking for forgiveness. A while later, after too many drinks, Kelly had asked Joan why it hadn’t worked out with her boyfriend.

Joan replied wistfully; ‘he didn’t know the jokes’.

Point being that Joan and her husband knew the punch lines and when to laugh. They could recount a funny story or memory and collapse about giggling without any effort. They shared history, music, friends, senses of humour. But once when Joan tried to recount to her boyfriend an amusing thing that had happened to them all in Key West back when Jamie was a toddler, the guy just gawped at her.

For a while, sex with him had been great. But he didn’t know the jokes.

Now, lying in this strange hotel bed across the Atlantic, Kelly was starting to understand what Joan meant.

 

Kelly marry James ? Divorced ?

For a moment Mart thought he’d misheard. He kept his head in his hands, hoping he could control his tears but he couldn’t. His worst fears had been realised. He’d been stupid to imagine otherwise. He’d lost everything; wife, daughter, life, self respect.

“Look at me, Mart.”

He opened his fingers, wiping his eyes.

“I have one final bit of news.”

He watched her take another sip of tea, evidently enjoying the moment.

“Kelly gave you to me … for keeps.”

He stared at her. A huge thumping pounded his chest.

“Unless you’d rather be out on the street, penniless ?”

 

The next afternoon, James kissed Simone goodbye outside the deli after their quick lunch ‘a deux’.

“See you in Chicago.”

His young, long suffering girlfriend pouted. “Not tonight ?”

“Nope. She might get suspicious. Can’t take any risks darling.”

He took a Yellow cab back to the Mercer and walked to the Reception for his key.

“Any messages ?”

The clerk handed him a note. It was from Kelly. Short and to the point.

‘Do not come after me.”

Five Words !

James scowled and crushed the note into a tiny paper ball.

Damn ! Time to revert to Plan B.

 

Kelly sat in the airline lounge and dialled her daughter Chantal to say she’d be arriving in LA a day early. Then she called Ingrid.

“Hi. It’s me, Kel.”

“Hi ! How’s things over there ? All still going well ?”

“Er … fine. Just changing plans a little. How are things your end ?”

“Great. We’re getting along fine too. Mart’s well. He was a bit upset to start with but … you know. He’s coming round. You never told me how much fun having somebody like him about could be !”

“Didn’t I ?” Kelly bit her lip. “I’m thinking of cutting the trip short.”

“Oh ? You don’t want to do that. Have fun ! Enjoy those Hawaiian nights with your man.”

“Er … umm. So things are fine with you ?”

Kelly figured she could extend her stay in LA a bit.

“Absolutely. Getting better all the time. I’m doing as you asked. Pushing things.”

“Shall I have a quick word with him ?”

“He’s busy, Kel. To be honest I think it might throw him if he speaks to you so soon. Why don’t you call us again in a few days ?”

A boarding announcement drowned out further conversation.

“Okay then.” Kelly shouted. “And Ingrid, er … thanks again.”

“A pleasure dear. Bye !”

 

Ingrid clicked off the phone.

Mart was kneeling at her feet with a bowl of hot water, a pedicure set, cream and nail varnish. He had kissed and sucked each of her toes in turn. Now he was washing, clipping, filing and creaming them. Finally he would paint each one. Throughout her conversation with Kelly, his head had remained lowered.

She was naked but for her towelling robe hanging open. She felt more comfortable being naked with him now. Her breasts were visible and her thighs parted. She could tell, with satisfaction, the effect her nudity had on him.

“I think you should write to Kelly and James.”

He looked up.

“She’s obviously a bit concerned about you. You should write and reassure her. Tell her you’re thrilled for her. Thank him for making her happy. And tell them that you would like to stay with me after they’ve returned. It’s all sorted. Yes ?”

She studied him. Slowly he nodded, turning back to her little toe.

“I will dictate. You just write.”

She lapsed into silence.

In truth, she was disquieted by her conversation with Kelly. Not exactly as enthusiastic as she’d hoped. Still, she’d continue with her plan. The next few days would be crucial. Perhaps she might even fuck him ? Just once. Just to bait the hook. Who knows, she might even enjoy it. Her random blend of regular abuse and occasional kindness was designed to break Mart’s resolve. He would face a choice between staying but being abused, or leaving and losing everything.

 

“You remember Will ?” Ingrid said.

Mart curtseyed. He remembered him from the dinner party when he was first ‘outed’.

Five days had passed since the terrible morning when he’d learned he was divorced. Five more difficult days of chores and ordeals, petty humiliations and unpleasant tasks. He’d barely slept and had felt light headed, unable to get used to the idea of a future like this.

When had it all spun out of control ?

What was that phrase; ‘power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely’. Essentially saying that a person’s sense of morality lessens as his or her power increases.

He’d given Kelly absolute power. She’d handed Ingrid absolute power. And they’d used it to fuck his life. The truth was that Ingrid was exciting in a professional Fem Domme kind of way. Pay her by the hour and she’d offer any sub male punter value for money.

But there was no romance, no eros, no love, like there had been with Kelly in those early months.

And now he’d lost the love of his life forever.

 

Mart stood to attention, wrists crossed behind his back, as Ingrid flexed the plastic 12 inch ruler. Will and Lou sat of the sofa watching, interested.

Outside, wet snowflakes had started to fall, although they weren’t sticking on the ground. There were just 13 days to Christmas.

“Sing us a carol.” Ingrid chuckled. “O come all ye faithful ! Rather an ironic choice, but I like that one.”

Mart started to sing.

They all smiled at his embarrassment.

After the first line, Ingrid lashed the ruler across his bruised, scabbed, sore erection.

He whimpered. “J … joyful and tr … iumphant …”

She thrashed him again. It landed with a hot splat across his throbbing vein, making his penis bounce. A previous cut had opened and was weeping.

“O come ye, o c … come ye, to B …”

He howled, doubling over, as the plastic slapped him in the balls. Somehow he managed to control his hands from tearing the ruler out of her grip.

She waited patiently, blue eyes on him, as he got his breath back.

“Come and behold …” he gasped.

A piercing doorbell rent the air, saving him from more pain, at least for a moment. Ingrid shrugged and carefully placed the ruler down, making it clear she hadn’t finished with it.

“Excuse me a moment everybody. Won’t be long.”

He watched her rise, heard the echo of her heels going to the front door.

Will and Lou ignored him, chatting quietly together.

A wave of nausea caught in his throat. He realised just how much he dreaded the clack, clack of her heels returning in a few moments.

And then the most extraordinary thing happened.

Kelly burst into the room. She looked amazing. A bit tired but beautiful, dressed in a stunning winter coat, eyes blazing with anger.

“What the fuck is this ?” she snapped.

Perhaps the five most beautiful, glorious words he’d ever heard.

 

 

End of Part Six

A New Year dawns in Part Seven (“January”)

to be posted in one week’s time