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Paying The Price

By: DG Hear



A big thank you goes out to my editors, LadyCibelle and Techsan. Because of them my stories are a much better read.

*

I read story after story about cheating wives and even cheating husbands. I know every person is different and react to finding their spouse cheating differently. In most relationships, I would expect the husband to fly off the handle and do something if he found a man in bed with his woman.

I just read a number of stories and in every one of them the husband comes home early and finds a strange car in his driveway. In most of them he walks in his own home quietly and hears sounds coming from his master bedroom. He approaches the door which is usually cracked open so he can see inside the room. On his marital bed he sees his wife being plowed by an overly large cock and yelling for more.

Now, please understand that I'm not knocking any writers or authors. I'm knocking these stupid fucking wimps that are boyfriends and husbands. They watch their wives getting fucked and they feel bad. They are in a mind boggling situation on what to do, so they slowly back out of the room and sneak back out of their own home and go to the bar to give it some more thought while they drink a pint of Jim Beam. Later they go home and act as though nothing has happened and then later try and plan some type of revenge. Is this what real men do?

I say, "Bullshit to you cuckolding wimp sons of a bitches. You candy ass motherfuckers who let other men use your wife and stand back and watch. You don't want to mess up your nice little marriage and maybe have to face reality. In some cases you actually stand there and jack-off while watching your so-called lover get plowed.

To all of you so called caring husbands and boyfriends, I say, "Fuck you!" It happened to me and I'll tell you what I did.

Mandy and I had been married for eleven years. We had two kids: Trevor who was ten and Jasmine who was eight. I always thought we had a good marriage. Like most marriages, we made love all the time in our early years. We lived a pretty complete love life. Missionary position, from behind and even bought one of those Chinese books on a thousand ways to do it. About six of them were pretty good. The rest the Chinese can have back.

I wasn't afraid to give Mandy oral sex; I am Clyde and looked like a Clyde, big and burly. I am a pretty big fellow and not afraid of a whole lot. Eating pussy wasn't the best thing for me but I was willing to do it to her since she gave me blowjobs pretty often. She never could take the whole thing in her mouth but she tried. I guess taking her from behind was my favorite position. I'd grab hold of her hips and plow the fuck out of her pussy. She would always meet me stride for stride. I do have to say she was good.

Her favorite position was her on top. I liked it too when I was tired. She would climb on and ride me like a fucking bronco. I didn't have as much control this way but I was able to play with her tits in this position.

I know I sound like a prick, but I wasn't always this way. I carry a big grudge and that's just the way it is. I need to get over it but it isn't easy. 

Like a lot of younger people we were in debt. It was our own fault. We wanted the same things our parents have but we wanted it now. It took our parents thirty years to accumulate their belongings. It wasn't just Mandy spending money; I wanted all the new toys too; all new appliances and a big screen TV to name a few. Anyway, we got in debt. I was already working at the factory six days a week. We got profit sharing checks but because of the economy they seemed to have gotten a lot smaller. Anyway, Mandy said she could go to work. I felt bad not being able to support my family but that was the only way out of our debt.

Mandy got a job at one of the local department stores. She didn't make a lot but she was able to work hours around the kid's schedule. Of course that meant I didn't see her very often. At least not as often as I would have liked. Our love making days were fewer and far between. Mandy said between the kids and work, she just wasn't in the mood. I could understand that; there were days that I wasn't up to it either.

We used to always argue about money, but now it was taking care of the house. She told me I needed to do more. She was probably right and I tried. But then it turned out that I couldn't do things well enough or didn't do it her way. You have to understand that I didn't mind doing things, but if I was to do it, it was going to be my way. One argument after another led into no sex. I guess that was my punishment for not doing things her way.

I started going to the bar while she worked. I was just pissed and tired of being alone. The kids were always going to their grandparents because Mandy's parents owned a pool. We couldn't afford one. I met a number of women at the bar but I didn't do anything but talk to them. I did buy them a few drinks. It got back to Mandy about me hanging around the bar. She was really pissed and told me if I was going to fuck some whore then she could do the same.

I told her it wasn't true and whoever told her I was fucking around on her was a fucking liar. She wouldn't tell me who it was. She just went to bed and locked me out. I thought about busting the door down, but then I'd have to repair it. I figured she'd get over it so I slept on the couch.

We weren't getting along good at all then. We argued about little petty things. We didn't talk anymore. We both threatened the other with divorce over nothing but bullshit. The kids spent more and more time at Mandy's parents. I guess they hated to see us argue and it hurt them also.

On Friday, I told Mandy I was taking Saturday off and going fishing. I needed to get my head on straight. Mandy said, "Here we need money and you're taking a day off. What the hell is wrong with you?"

It was another argument. Mandy accused me of taking along one of the bar broads. I didn't know where she got her information but she wouldn't tell me. It wasn't true, although I'll admit in the last few weeks that one of them kept coming on to me. I liked the attention but didn't do anything with her. I did talk kind of dirty with her but I honestly never touched her. One day she reached over and grabbed my cock. It actually felt good but I put my hand on top of hers and removed it. I told her that Mandy and I were having marital problems but I wouldn't cheat on her.

On Saturday, I got up and took my fishing gear and headed out. I was gone for about four hours when I think I finally got my head on straight. Sometimes it takes being alone in the wilderness to clear the mind. It's what fishing did for me. I realized how stupid both Mandy and I had been. Instead of talking with clear heads, we would both argue, neither of us giving an inch.

I decided to go home and have the two of us sit down like adults and work on our problems. When I arrived home there was a strange vehicle in my driveway. Immediately I thought about those fucking stories and how the wimps reacted. I walked into my house quietly and listened for any sounds. I heard Mandy say, "Ralph, this isn't right, even if Clyde is cheating on me."

I peeked in the room and Ralph had his hand on Mandy's breast. Her blouse was opened and her bra was pulled above her tits. I walked into the room.

"Oh, my God, Clyde, what are you doing home? This isn't what you think," Mandy said. Boy, what a stupid fucking answer. We both were smarter than that.

I grabbed hold of Ralph and pulled him off the sofa. He had his pants unzipped and his cock out. I pulled him up and hit him hard in the mid-section. I hit him with a right cross to his jaw. I think I might have dislocated it. I threw him across my living room knocking over a table and lamp. I jumped on him and hit him over and over again. I stood up and kicked him in the gonads. All this time Mandy was screaming and crying for me to stop. I picked up the bleeding near lifeless piece of shit and threw him out the door onto my lawn. 

"You fucking whore, get the fuck out of my house." 

I grabbed her and she screamed as I threw her out the front door with her tits still hanging out. I slammed the door shut and locked it.

I heard Mandy screaming from outside for me to let her in; she needed to talk to me and to call an ambulance for Ralph. I didn't do either but within about five minutes a squad car and ambulance showed up. They told me to open the door or they would bust it down. 

I opened it and they came charging in. They told me to lie face down on the floor with my legs spread. One officer put his knee in my back and cuffed me. The ambulance was already taking an unconscious Ralph to the hospital. Mandy had her clothes fixed and her tits back in her bra where they belonged. They talked to Mandy and took her statement. I didn't say a word. They gave me my Miranda rights and I refused to talk.

They placed me in a squad car and took me off to jail. Mandy called the jail and even came to it. I told the officers running the place that I wanted no contact with her. It was one of the few rights I had left. An officer - a nice fellow named Joe - came over to my holding cell to talk to me.

"Off the record, Clyde, what the hell happened?"

"Communication or lack of it," I replied. "My wife was getting ready to fuck a guy on my couch. I'm not a fucking wimp so I took matters into my own hands.

"Did you hear her side of the story, Clyde?" he asked.

"Joe, let me make it real simple. She wasn't being forced. She was going to do it of her own free will. What kind of man would I be if I took shit like that? I did what I had to do. Now I guess I'm going to pay the price," I said.

I refused to even try and post bond. I told them that I wasn't going to waste money my family could use so I could just go home to that situation. They were going to get me one of those lawyers that the state supplies. It was fine with me. He wouldn't be there for at least a day or so. I needed the time to cool off anyway. Joe came back with a letter from Mandy. I told him right then I didn't even want to read it.

When I finally saw my lawyer, he told me I was in a heap of trouble. He wanted me to plead insanity. I laughed and told him I knew exactly what I was doing and if the cocksucker ever came near Mandy again, he would get a repeat performance. I did ask if I killed the bastard.

"Damn near," my lawyer said. "Busted jaw, two broken ribs. Two black eyes and God knows what else. The police couldn't even take his statement as to what happened; he wasn't able to talk. All they have is your wife's statement right now. I'll be going to see her tomorrow myself. Is there anything you would like me to tell her?"

"Yeah, there is. Tell her now she's free to fuck anyone she wants, and I want a divorce," I said.

I just became a very hard nosed prick. In prison you needed to be a hard nosed person. I didn't even talk to Mandy; I refused to see her. I did get some messages from my kids who said that they missed me and wanted me to come home. Like I could just say, "Okay, I guess I'll go home tonight."

It was two months after the beating and my trial was about to start; at least some kind of pre-trial type thing. The only witnesses were Mandy and this Ralph fellow whom I found out worked where Mandy worked. 

I was sitting there in the courtroom when they wheeled Ralph in - in a wheelchair. Guess he broke his leg when I threw him out the door. His jaw was still wired but the bruises were pretty much healed. My lawyer whispered to me that they had to surgically remove his testicles. They were pushed up too far into his sack. He would be unable to have any kids. He was married but his wife was divorcing him over this fiasco. He wrote most of his statements since it was hard to understand him through the jaw brace.

I looked back at the courtroom door and there stood Mandy. I felt anger and pain when I saw her. She was forced to come to the hearing as a reluctant witness. They said she didn't have to testify against me but she had to give her statement as to what happened. Well, I guess I had to hear it after all.

Ralph was first to be called. He basically said or wrote that Mandy had invited him over and they were getting intimate when I came busting into the room and started beating on him before he could even defend himself. He said that Mandy and he were two consenting adults. He told the judge that I never gave anyone a chance to explain anything. I just brutally attacked him. 

I wanted to get up and smack him around again. I would have if I thought I could get near him. Mandy gave him a very vile look and was crying when she looked at me.

Mandy was called up to give her statement. She told the judge that she worked with Ralph. He would come on to her pretty often and she always refused his advances. Lately he was telling her that her husband was cheating on her. She refused to believe it and even told Ralph that she had talked to me about it. Then, one day Ralph came in with pictures showing some slut with her hand in my lap. 

Now I realized where I saw Ralph before. He would hang around Jake's bar where I did my drinking. He always kept his distance and never talked to me. The bastard was taking pictures so he could use them against me. 

Mandy then said, "I was all shaken up after I found out that Clyde was cheating on me. Ralph told me that I should get even with him and do the same as he was doing. I was confused and mixed up. I love Clyde but when we're mad we do stupid things. I had told Ralph about Clyde going fishing and he told me he overheard Clyde ask the bar slut to go with him. I was hurt, and maybe even wanted to get even. I don't know. I was so confused. On that horrible Saturday, Clyde left and didn't even kiss me goodbye. The kids got up and asked to go to my mom's for the day. It left me alone in the house to think about what Clyde was doing. Then Ralph showed up at my door. I asked him what he was doing there and he told me he thought I could use some company since my husband was out cheating on me."

The son-of-a-bitch set us up. I sure hope the judge could see that. Of course Mandy did let him in and looking at him in the wheel chair wouldn't help my side much.

Mandy continued, "Ralph came in and I poured him a cup of coffee. We started talking about what Clyde was probably doing right then and Ralph started making advances to me. He started undoing the buttons on my blouse and pulled my bra over my breasts. I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't want this man. I wanted my Clyde, but I sat there and let him touch me. I watched as he reached down and unzipped his pants and pulled his thing out. I remember telling him that this wasn't right even if Clyde did cheat on me. Next thing I knew, Clyde walked in and grabbed hold of Ralph. I was afraid that Clyde would kill him and be sent away. I know I screamed and yelled at Clyde to stop but he was like a madman. He threw Ralph out the door and then called me a whore and slut and pushed me out also. A few minutes later the police came with an ambulance." Mandy was on the stand crying. "I tried to contact Clyde and talk to him but he has refused to see me. I was so stupid, so stupid."

She stepped down from the stand and looked over at me crying. I had such mixed emotions. According to her they had never done it before and there was a good chance she wouldn't have gone through with it.

I knew she was hurting but I couldn't do anything but watch. This prick ruined our lives. When I gave my statement, I made the mistake of saying I would have done it all over again.

At the end of the whole process I was charged with assault and battery on the prick. The judge said even though it happened at my house, Ralph was considered a guest. I could have asked him to leave, but by law, I couldn't beat him half to death. The judge gave me four years. Mandy left the courtroom in tears. 

I never did speak to her. One day while sitting in my cell I decided to write her. I had things I had to say, and I had to get it off my chest.

Dear Mandy:

I do love you and always have. I never did cheat on you. If you go to the bar and ask for Sue, I'm sure she will tell you the truth. I'm having the lawyer send you divorce papers. You are too pretty of a woman to have to be alone. We made some big mistakes, which I'll always regret. If we would have talked to each other more, this might have not happened.

Would have, could have, should have is too late now. Tell Trevor and Jasmine I love them. Too bad their dad is a criminal. I just couldn't just stand by and let it happen. I'm not that kind of man.

My only regret now is that you didn't believe me and sought to get revenge instead of talking to me. I hope you are able to find someone. Please forget about me and go on with your life. You should receive the divorce papers any day now.

Love always,

Clyde

I had the divorce papers sent out and gave all our belongings to Mandy. I had no need of anything where I lived now. Even my food and underwear was supplied. All I could do now was put in my time. I didn't have any real skills outside of being a laborer so I started to try and better myself by signing up for rehabilitation programs. At least when I got out I might be able to find a job.

I was placed in a welding program. I did some welding on my old job, but now I could become a master welder and maybe build a future when I got out of the joint. Every night I thought about my family - my kids with no dad and Mandy going on without me. Life really sucked.

About two months went by and the cell officer said I had a visitor. I figured it was the lawyer with my divorce papers. This prison had two types of visiting centers. The ones with the glass between them where you talked on the phone and the other where you sat at a table and talked face to face. There was minimal touching in this visiting area. It was the one I was sent to. At the table waiting for me was Mandy. She looked up, at me and started crying.

"Hello, Mandy. What brings you here?" I asked.

"I don't want a divorce. I will wait for you for as long as it takes. I don't want anyone but you. I made a horrible mistake by not believing you. It will never happen again. I know you might not believe me but, I don't think I would have gone any further than I did. I felt so guilty. I was almost glad to see you come in. Now our life is a mess because of what we both did. I take half the blame for being so stupid in not trusting you. I did go see that Sue woman and she told me that she did care for you and tried to get affectionate but you told her you were happily married and wouldn't cheat on me. I told her about Ralph and the pictures and she got really pissed. In fact she said she ought to kill the bastard."

"How are the kids? Are they okay?" I asked.

"They're doing as well as can be expected. I couldn't afford the house and we're selling it. We moved in with Mom and Dad for now till we can get back on our feet. We will be closing on the house next week. I put all our furnishings and your personal stuff in storage. It will be there for us to get started again when you get out." She started crying. "I'm so sorry. I miss you so much. I can't live without you. I love you, Clyde."

"I miss you too, but you need to go on with your life. I can't expect you to wait around another three years or so waiting for me," I replied.

"I told you I'm not getting a divorce; I'm waiting for you. If you want a divorce when you get out, then I'll sign the papers, but not before," she responded.

We talked a little more and then I asked permission from the officer to kiss her goodbye. She gave me a very loving kiss with tears streaming down her face. She told me she would be there every month to see me. I told her not to come every month. It would hurt too much every time she left. She agreed to come about every three months.


Paying The Price



Prison life went on. I got letters from my kids about once a month telling me what they were doing and sometimes sending me a picture. I got one picture of them with their mother smiling. It was the one I hung on my cell wall. I was doing pretty well learning the welding techniques. The instructor told me he would give me a recommendation for a job when I got out.

Mandy stopped by and saw me every three months. She said everything was fine. She had changed jobs and worked at another department store and was a department manager with a little more pay. Her parents let her save most of her money so she could eventually get back on her feet. 

I asked her what her parents thought of me now, a felon.

"Mom and Dad love you, Clyde. They know you did this because of your temper. They were really mad at me for being so stupid. They told me I was losing a good husband because of lack of communication. In fact, when the divorce papers arrived and they saw them, they asked me what I was going to do. When I ripped them up in front of them, they smiled."

Another six months had passed and I was told I had another visitor. They wanted to see me at the glass window instead of at the tables. I had no idea who would want to see me.

I arrived at the window. There was Ralph holding the phone.

"What do you want, you son of a bitch?" I asked.

"I just thought I'd let you know I'm going to finish the job," he said.

"What the fuck are you talking about, you asshole?" I said.

"The job of fucking your wife. It's what I set out to do, and now I'm going to finish the job. You know we've been seeing each other, don't you?" he said.

"You lying mother fucker, when I get out of here I'm going to finish the job. I'm going to kill your mother fucking ass." I was really pissed, but there was nothing I could do.

"Maybe I'll even take pictures of me fucking your wife and send them to you. You can hang them in your cell," he laughed.

"I'll find you and kill you, you son-of-a-bitch," I stated.

He laughed, "I'll be long gone by then. See ya, Clyde." He hung up the phone and walked away.

Damn it, things were going along pretty good and now this bastard is back. I was almost positive Mandy wasn't seeing him, but I needed to call her and warn her.

I finally got to the phone. I could only make collect calls; I hope they would accept it. Trevor answered the phone and said yes to the call. "Dad! Hi, Dad. What's up? Boy, it's nice to hear your voice. I really miss you, Dad."

"I miss you too, Trevor, but right now I have to talk to Mom. I only get a few minutes per call. Is she there?"

He answered, "Yes, she's here. Mom, Dad needs you on the phone."

I heard her yell, "What?" from the background.

"Clyde, it that you? What's the matter, Honey?" she asked. She knew I wouldn't be calling unless it was an emergency.

"Have you talked to Ralph lately?" I asked.

"No, of course not. I can't stand the bastard after what he did to us. What's this about, Clyde?" she asked.

"He showed up here a little while ago and said the two of you have been seeing each other...."

"It's a lie, Clyde, a damn lie. You have to believe me," she said.

"I do believe you, Mandy, but I know he's coming for you, somehow some way. I need you to protect yourself and watch for the bastard. I don't know what to do from here but warn you. He's going to try and get even by fucking you," I said.

"I'll die first before I let that prick near me. Honey, I will be alright. You taught me how to take care of myself. It's no use calling the police because they don't react till something happens."

"Just be careful. I have to hang up now. I love you, Mandy."

It was all I could do. I didn't want to make any more waves without proof. I didn't sleep well for days. About a week later I got another visitor at the tables. "Clyde, I'm Lieutenant Abrams and this is Officer Ryan. We're from the Sheriff's Office." 

"Well, Lieutenant, what do you want with me?" I asked.

"About three days ago or as close as we could figure, Ralph Medley was shot to death near a bar you used to attend. Is there anything you can tell us about this? Also do you own a gun?"

"Lieutenant, I've been in here for two and a half years because of that prick. I could hardly have shot him from here, and no, I don't own a gun. Mandy wouldn't allow them in the house."

"According to the visitors' log he was here last week. What did he want?"

"He came to laugh at me, saying how I'm locked up and how he is free as a bird. I guess it was to throw salt in the wounds, so to speak," I replied.

"Any ideas who might have had it in for him?" he asked.

"Look, fellows, I don't give a rat's ass about this flying fuck. He's dead, good riddance to sorry trash. Do I care? 'Hell, no' whoever the fuck did it, I hope they get away with it. I did hear his ex wasn't too happy with him though," I replied.

"What about your wife? What's her name? Mandy? She might have an interest in seeing him dead," the Lieutenant said.

"Mandy doesn't have that kind of personality to do something that gross. Hell, she wanted me to call an ambulance when I beat the fuck out of him. You're barking up the wrong tree if you're watching Mandy. She has two kids to support on her income, and lives with her parents now. She doesn't have time to wipe her ass, let alone shoot someone," I laughed.

"Well, Clyde, thanks at least for talking to us," he said.

"Hey, are you going to tell me what you know about the shooting? Hell, man I told you everything I know."

"Fair enough, Ralph entered Jake's bar around seven o'clock. He sat around and drank and met a blond woman, dressed sexy at the door. She never went in so the people in the bar didn't get a good look at her face. They went around the side to the parking lot and the next thing the patrons heard were gunshots, two of them. By the time they got outside. Ralph was dead with two shots from a Luger to his face. The woman was gone. We think it might have been her but we don't have any proof of that except she must have been the last one with him before he was shot?

"Sorry, I can't help you out but he probably got what he deserved," I said.

I wanted to call Mandy and tell her that she didn't have to worry anymore. I was afraid that someone might monitor my phone call so I just kept quiet. The shooting was reported in the papers and said they didn't have any real suspects. They did mention my name since I beat the shit out of him but they knew where I was at the time.

The following week it was time for Mandy to visit me again. I was so happy to see her. She asked me if I had heard about Ralph. I told her about the police coming and talking to me. She told me that they talked to her also. She had told them that depending on the exact time of the shooting, she was working or was on her way home from work. Her parents vouched for her arrival time. I asked her if they asked if we owned a gun.

"Yes, they did ask me. I told them that I didn't allow guns in the house, just like you told me to tell people, if they should ever ask, when you bought it a few years ago."

"Where is my Luger? The one we bought a few years back from that crazy street vendor?" I asked. 

"Probably in the storage building with the rest of your stuff," she replied.

"Just as long as you're safe; that's all that counts. Being in this prison gave me a lot of time to think. Do you think that when I get out we can put all this behind us and start anew?" I asked.

She smiled at me and said, "I know we can. No more secrets and lots more communicating. I love you, Clyde. I always have and always will."

A couple of months later I got called to the warden's office. He told me I would be getting out early. It would be in about two weeks. I couldn't be happier. I made a call to Mandy.

"Honey, can you come and get me in about two weeks?" I asked.

"You mean come and see you and, yes, I can," She replied.

"No, not come and see me; come and pick me up. I'm getting an early release," I smiled.

I heard Mandy start crying. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! When? What day? What time? Oh, God, Clyde, I'm so happy." She was still crying.

I was out two weeks later. Mandy came and got me. She had a different car; she said the old one gave out. She looked beautiful as she came up to me and kissed me. She was crying and I had tears in my eyes. We headed over to her parents' house and they had a sign out. 'Welcome home, Dad!" The kids must have made it. My kids looked so grown up as I hugged and kissed them. Other than their pictures I hadn't seen them for three years. My mother came and gave me a hug and I shook my father-in-law's hand.

I carried my suitcase into the house and was greeted by a few of our old friends. I wouldn't let Mandy away from my side. "Honey, where do I sleep?" I asked Mandy.

"In our bed silly. We moved it downstairs a couple of days ago so you and I can have some privacy. It was Dad's idea, but tonight you and I are going to the motel. I made the reservations. I have three years of pent up love that I've been saving for you. God, how I missed you," she said.

After everyone pretty much left the party and I said goodnight to my kids, Mandy said we would see everyone tomorrow. It was kind of funny when you think about it. Everyone knew where we were going and what we were going to do. I went into our dresser looking to see if I had any clothes there. I opened one drawer and there was a blond wig. Mandy came in and saw me looking at it.

"I bought it and wore it one time. I think I look better as a brunette," she smiled.

She pointed to a couple of drawers where she had put some of my clothes. I took out a fresh change of clothes and another change to take to the motel. We headed out and talked about our future. We both agreed that if either of us had a problem we would confront the other. No more secrets and lots of communication.

When we got to the motel, we decided to have a drink together. She sat at a table looking pretty and I went up to get us a drink. When I turned around, some guy had sat next to Mandy. I could hear them talk from where I was waiting for our drinks.

"Hi, Baby, Here all alone?" he asked.

"Please leave. I'm married and waiting for my husband to return. I'm asking you nicely, but he won't," Mandy said.

"Shit, baby, why would I be afraid of your old man?" he asked.

"Clyde honey, please come here," she asked.

The man looked at me and said, "I'm sorry, lady, and sir, my mistake, I thought you were someone else," as he ran out the front door.

I looked at a laughing Mandy. "What the hell was that all about? You'd have thought he saw a ghost," I asked.

"Honey, you're very well known in this part of town. You're kind of like a legend. Most every man that has approached me only needs to be told that I'm married to Clyde O'Brian and they leave me alone. Most people still think you're responsible for Ralph's death also," she replied.

We went up to our room and Mandy asked me how I wanted to do it. I told her I wanted a fast and furious fuck the first time to get rid of the tension. Then, we were going to make slow intimate love.

She disrobed as I also took off my clothes. She climbed on the bed with me following. I started rubbing her pussy which was already wet anticipating what was coming. I wasted no time as I climbed between her thighs and pumped for all I was worth. In a few minutes I filled her with a load of cum. She screamed out as she felt it hitting and filling her insides.

She looked at me and said, "Damn, Honey, I needed that as bad as you. Let me get up and go to the bathroom and clean this thing out so we can get to the real loving that I missed so much from you."

She climbed off the bed with her hands between her legs, not wanting to make a mess on the way to the bathroom. I poured us each a drink as I heard the shower running. I put them down and went into the shower with her. I took the soap and began washing her back. She turned around as I started washing her breasts. I washed her tummy and then down into her valley. She was moaning and probably felt a little embarrassed. I figured that was how she probably got off the last few years. She must have masturbated just as I had to do.

"It's okay, honey. I love rubbing you," I said as I washed her vagina. Our juices from our previous climax were running out of her and down her legs. I applied more pressure and she came again, shooting the juices out of her and down her legs. I finished showering myself and climbed out and waited for her to finish.

As she came out with a towel wrapped around her, I handed her a drink. "A toast, to the woman I love. May we be together forever." We both took a sip and I pulled off her towel and sat her at the edge of the bed.

I got down on my knees and spread her thighs and buried my face into her pussy. She reached down and spread her lips so I could get at her love hole. She smelled sweet and musky, the same magnificent fragrance I had missed these last few years. She was moaning again when I stuck my tongue in as far as I could. I slid my tongue in and out of her, taking time to dart up to her clit and tease her every so often. I pulled it out of her wet vagina and started kissing her thighs. She lay back on the bed and, while I was kissing her thighs, I worked a finger and then a second one back into her pussy. Mandy kept having mini-orgasms but I didn't wait for all the different orgasms to finish. As soon as I felt her begin to cum again, I would change and start something different.

I asked her to sit up and she saw my cock in front of her. She wrapped her fingers around it and put the head of it into her warm, wet mouth. I could feel her working her tongue all around it, making love to me with her tongue. I helped her move to the center of the bed and I laid on my back as we moved into a sixty-nine position with her on top. With her pussy over my face, I spread her lips and slid my tongue back into her sweet opening. I could feel her mouth bobbing on the head of my cock at the same time.

Again we stopped because I wanted to kiss her and have her taste her pussy on my lips. We kissed deeply and passionately, and then I slipped down to make love to her breasts, first one, then the other. As I moved down kissing and rubbing her tummy, I think she reached another orgasm. Then I was back at her love tunnel. I was hard again and wanted her. 

"Turn over, baby. I want you from behind," I said.

I lined up my cock with her wet opening, feeling the heat from her core around my cock as I pushed it in. I held on to her soft round hips while I pumped away, the passion controlling my whole being. I could feel my climax coming on when I stopped and pulled my cock out of her and rolled over on my back. She knew what I wanted. It was her favorite position. I laid on my back and she mounted me, riding me to our climax.

She was bouncing up and down on my cock while I watched her juices coat my cock and saw it glisten. She was almost there and so was I. She pumped harder, faster and then came down and started rocking, holding herself so that my cock was completely engulfed inside. I knew it was time as I shot my load into her. She was smiling as she had another climax. When she climbed off, our joint juices ran out of her and onto my cock. She got a small towel and wiped off my cock, her face locked in a satisfied smile.

"I love you so much, Clyde. I think that might take care of the first six months," she said.

"That still leaves us with two and a half years to go," I smiled back.

Epilog:

In the following weeks I found a job as a welder at a major firm. The man that hired me said that they give a lot of second chances if the employees are good workers, show up on time and are clean of drugs. He also told me I came highly recommended. He never said by who.

Within a few months we were able to rent a home of our own. We had a lease with an option to buy. It was also in the same neighborhood as Mandy's parents. We were going to be a family again. 

We went to the storage building and there stood Lieutenant Abrams and officer Ryan with two other officers, along with a warrant to search the storage building. I knew they were looking for the Luger. As they went through a number of boxes I tried to get Mandy's attention. They had us separated at the moment. One officer came out with the Luger in hand. He put it in a plastic bag and handed over to the lieutenant.

The lieutenant walked up to Mandy and said, "I thought you didn't allow guns in your house, Mrs. O'Brian?"

Mandy looked at him and told him that the storage building wasn't her house.

"Well, little lady, I suggest you don't go very far from home till we have this Luger tested."

The police left and I went to Mandy. "I thought you would have gotten rid of that gun. God, Mandy, what are we going to do?"

"Do?" Mandy asked. "Do what? Oh, my God, you think I killed Ralph! I didn't, Clyde, I don't know who did but it wasn't me. I didn't remember about the gun till you told me about it."

The next day the Lieutenant, came by our new house and even brought the Luger back. He said the serial number was rubbed off and it didn't even have a firing pin. If it did, it would be illegal to own it. As it was, it was totally useless and probably hadn't been fired in years. Mandy told him to keep it or dispose of it; she didn't allow firearms in her house. She was even wondering how it got in the storage building. Maybe one of the movers owned it. All she knew is it wasn't hers.

After the bizarre situation, our life was pretty much back to normal. The main thing I learned is to always communicate better with Mandy. She realized that this all began by her not trusting me.

I could have still divorced her but we would have both lost big time. Our sex life is as good as it was when we first got married. One thing she knows is that I will not cheat on her and she knows what would happen if she were to cheat on me. It's funny when we go out with friends. They always ask me if they can dance with Mandy. I guess for awhile I will be the legend in our little town. 

About a month ago we got a call from the Lieutenant. He said we were no longer being watched for Ralph's murder. It was Sue, the woman from the bar. Ralph was putting the make on her and she let him fuck her. Apparently, she was a psycho bitch, a black widow. She would have sex with men and then kill them when she was done with them. The police were following up on a cheating wife case and went to the bar to talk to the husband. It was there that the man was with Sue. They talked to her and asked to look in her car. Thy found a blond wig and a Luger in the trunk.

She admitted to them about shooting Ralph and three other unsolved murders. All were husbands that had cheated on their wives. The first murder was in Atlanta where her husband was found murdered behind a local bar.

It made me think that if I would have cheated on Mandy, it might have been me lying in the alley.

*

Thank you for reading my story

Comments always welcome

DG Hear



Paying the Price



The pain running through your shoulders are the first thing you notice as you start to regain consciousness. They ache and it isn't hard to discern why. Your arms, bound by metallic wrist restraints, are held high above your head by a glimmering chain on the ceiling. Scanning the room, you see a pulley-like contraption nearby. A wheel and lever control the length at which the chain is dispensed or retracted. For now, it is in the tautest position and your arms are paying a hefty price.

The room is dimly lit; a small light bulb next to the contraption that imprisons you is the only source of luminance. Still, you can see yourself fairly clearly. Your massive tits are pushed up by a tight, black, leather corset. A black, silk thong exposes more than it conceals while nylon stockings complete your ensemble. The smell of sex surrounds you and the cool air makes your skin tingle. It would seem that you are appropriately dressed for the occasion. 

The door creeks loudly as it opens behind you, then slams shut with a loud thud. A dark figure approaches you, loud thumping sounds filling the room with each heavy step. Although your vision is still a little blurry and the room offers little in the way of lighting, you can feel the figure's presence. A deeply masculine scent emanates from him. You inhale deeply, filling your nostrils with the enthralling aroma. Your senses become heightened and aroused.

"Brandy," a deep raspy voices says to you. "Do you know why you are here?" he asks as he lifts your chin with two steely fingers. 

"Umm...I'm not really sure..." you try muttering but are quickly greeted with a quick slap to the right side of your face. You gasp in shock and astonishment but you sense that silence would be the most prudent course of action at this juncture. 

"Listen carefully, for I will only tell you this once," he warns you. "The first and last word out of your mouth when you address me will be Sir. Is this clear?" 

"Yes Sir," you say rather meekly. Smack! The left side of your face now feels a similar sting. 

"First and last Brandy," he says in a slightly mocking tone. He walks in a tight circle around you, admiring your voluptuous body, taking you in with his dark, piercing eyes. A small smile curls his lips as he licks them slightly. 

Standing behind you, he leans in slowly. "You are hear for two things Brandy, and two things only. The first is for pain." Your body lurches forward instinctively as your ass feels the sting of what you know to be a crop. "Your pain to be more specific," he tells you. "You see Brandy, you are a slut, a whore, and wanton bitch. I am here to see that you pay the price for living up to your namesake...Sin." Your neck feels like it is about to snap as he yanks your hair and brings your ear towards him. "Trust me when I tell you that I will make sure you pay in full," he promises you. 

Circling around you again, you gasp as he straddles your thigh, his groin rubbing up against it. You moan slightly as you feel his hardness through his pants. "The second reason is pleasure," he says, sighing softly. Swinging his leg slowly so that he is now between your legs, he presses his bulge against your hot snatch. "My pleasure that is," he grunts as he thrusts his hips into yours, the seam of his pants briefly catching your clit. 

"Shall we begin Brandy?" he asks you casually as he starts to walk towards the lever and wheel. "Sir, yes sir," you correctly respond. "Good girl, you are learning quickly," he teases you as he pulls the lever. The chain descends and your shoulders slump in appreciation. Still, your arms are bound and rest at hip level, keeping you in place. 

A piercing sounds rings your ears as he drags a chair behind you and sits down. Clasping your thighs with both hands, he spreads them wide. "Bend down slut," he orders you as he pushes the small of your back. "Sir, yes sir," you comply as you bend forward. You feel his fingers slip underneath the thin strip of the thong, parting it to the side and exposing both of your orifices. A hot breath brushes across your moist pussy, causing you to shudder. Your knees nearly collapse as you a finger is rammed up your now slippery cunt. Your juices coat the fleshy probe and you whimper, your body yearning for more. His finger plunges in and out, stopping only to press your engorged clit. Your deep breathing and heavy moaning give warning to your impending orgasm and he stops finger fucking you instantly. You sob quietly, needing only a few more strokes to get off but of course it doesn't come. 

"You didn't think you were going to get what you want now did you?" he asks you with a chuckle.

"Sir, please, let me cum for you sir," you plead with him, your hips wiggling, trying to find something, anything to shove back into. The only thing you feel is the sting of the crop whack you across the length of your ass. The delicious feeling between your legs is quickly replaced by the sting of consecutive lashes across your ass. You wince in agony but say nothing for fear of further retribution. 

Turning quickly, he faces you. The bulge in his jeans reveal just how much he is turned on. "Now Brandy, take my hard cock out and suck it like the bitch that you are," he orders you. Your hands shake as you fumble with the top button and slowly slide the zipper down. His cock springs free as his pants and boxers fall to the floor. Grabbing your head, he thrusts into your mouth. You almost gag but open your mouth wide to take in his engorged member. His hands grab your head, fingers tangled in your hair as he fucks your face. You press your lips tight against his shaft. Warm, sticky strands of your saliva coat his cock as he pumps it into your mouth relentlessly. Stepping back suddenly, he takes his cock out of your mouth, slick and gleaming. Taking it in his hand, he pulls it back, exposing his large, shaved balls. "Put them in your mouth whore, " he says as he presses it up against your face. You take each nut in your mouth, sucking and moaning all the while. The pungent, masculine scent between his legs is driving you mad with desire. You suck more fervently now, your tongue darting against his sack. 

Again, he pulls away from you, and you eye him hungrily. Moving quickly, he moves towards the lever and pulls on it, your arms once again hanging above you. You hear the scratching sound of the chair being dragged as he places it in front of you. He straddles the seat and takes hold of your thighs, wet with the juices dribbling down from your cunt. Like a rabid dog, he dives in between your legs, devouring your pussy. You cry it uncontrollable passion as his tongue stabs at your center. It goes rigid, tongue fucking you like a miniature cock. Every so often, he pauses to suck on your hard clit. Again, just as you are at the point of no return, he stops abruptly. 

"Oh god! Please sir, don't stop! I beg you!" you plead wantonly. You can see the fire in his eyes as he realizes your disobedience. He stands up and reaches for your chest, ripping open the corset. Your tits jiggle free, nipples hard and erect. He raises his right hand then slaps your left breast. He raises his left hand and does the same to your right breast. Soon, your massive chest is red and stinging, but the pleasurable pain leaves your nipples hard and aching. Taking both of your colossal mammaries in his hands, he squeezes them together and bites down hard on your nipples. You cry out loud, both in pain and delight. 

Reaching down to grab your ass, he picks you up off the floor and raises your hips up to his raging hardon. You wrap your legs around him as he thrusts the full length of his manhood into you. Bouncing up and down on his cock, your body is awash in pure, insatiable ecstasy. 

"Sir, oh god sir yes! Fuck me sir! Fuck me sir!" you moan, urging him on. His face, still buried in your chest, bites down on the fleshy pillows. Craning his neck, he leans into your jugular and assaults it. Licking...sucking...biting. You are ready to explode but like a mind-reader he senses it and throws you off his cock. 

He walks, ever so slowly to the lever again, releasing it so the chain drops once again. You stand there before him, tears in your eyes as your body is deprived from the release it so ardently desires. He walks over to the chair and facing away from you, he places on leg on top of the seat. His asshole is now staring at your face, his heavy balls hanging ominously. He strokes the length of his shaft slowly, his breathing telling you that he is getting close. 

"Take out that pretty tongue of yours Brandy and ream me until I cum," he says to you between bated breath. You eagerly comply, filling his tight hole with your expert tongue. He grunts at the oral invasion and his hand begins flying up and down on his cock. 

"Uhhhh....ohhhhh....yeah....that's it bitch, tongue fuck my asshole!" he grunts. You take one, long lick from his asshole, up to his taint, and finally across his heavy balls. 

"Oh shit! Yes! That's a good little cunt! Now suck on my balls and get ready for my load you fucking slut!" he practically screams at you. Opening your mouth as wide as possible, you take in his entire sack and suck for all you are worth. Even with little maneuvering room, you try as best as you can to swirl your tongue. In one quick motion, he swings his leg over you and begins exploding all over. "Oh fuck! Brandy I'm cumming! I'm cumming you fucking whore!" he yelps as his load is spewed all over your body. In your face...your tits...your hair. His cum is getting anywhere and everywhere. Ropes of cum seem to spurt endlessly until finally he collapses on the chair, utterly spent and totally exhausted. 

Standing up after a minute or too, he smiles at you. "Such a bad little girl," he tells you as he once again puts his hand under you chin. Then without another word, he pulls up his pants and walks out of the room. You are left humiliated and unsatisfied. Perhaps you've paid the price after all. 



Paying the Price



Sara awoke with a start, jolted from slumber by a noise outside. With a sigh, she pushed the blankets away and reached to unclip the short chain connecting her ankle shackles before swinging her body around and stepping onto the thick carpeting. She slowly crossed the room, admiring the glimpses she caught of her own body in the variously sized mirrors adorning the walls. Stopping before the largest of them, she smiled sleepily at the marks upon her small breasts, remembering her husband's teeth sinking into her soft flesh as his large cock pounded into her.

She brought her hands up to her nipples and pinched them slightly, rolling them between her thumb and fingers as she stared into her own eyes. As always, her nipples hardened immediately and she felt a thrill running down into her pussy, as if the nerves in these two nubs were directly wired to her clit. Slipping one finger into her mouth, she sucked it briefly before reaching down to her cunt. 

The wetness was already beginning to flow. Sara rubbed gently, teasingly, slowly increasing her own excitement. She watched raptly in the mirror as her hand parted the soft lips of her pussy and she slipped two fingers into its moist depths as she softly rubbed her now-swollen clit with her thumb. Almost unconsciously, her other hand slipped behind her, sliding down the curves of her ass until a single finger probed at her tight anus. She closed her eyes, beginning to pant now, her juices dripping as she forced her fingertip into her ass and wiggled it around, rubbing her clit harder and faster now. She closed her eyes and moaned, swaying a little as she worked towards a climax.

"Whatcha doin'?" the softly-voiced question jolted her, and she whirled around, hands flying up in a vain attempt to cover her nakedness. John stood in the doorway, a slight smile on his face. His eyes, however, were far from amused, and bored into hers with an intensity that made it impossible for her to look away.

"I ... uh, well...." She knew there was no explanation, no way to pretend this was anything other than exactly what it looked like.

Still trapped in the gaze of John's dark eyes, Sara lowered herself to her knees. "I'm so sorry." She assumed the usual position with the ease of long practice, back ramrod straight, knees parted to reveal the still-wet lips of her treacherous pussy, arms at her sides. Her heart raced and she trembled slightly.

John's smile broadened as he crossed the room to stand before her. It had been quite some time since he'd had the opportunity to genuinely punish his wife, and he was determined to enjoy it. His cock was already stiffening as he broke eye contact and slowly absorbed every detail of the naked woman kneeling at his feet. Even when she was misbehaving, he still found her beautiful, from the hair that flowed down to partially obscure her breasts, to her soft little belly, to the feet curled beneath her. Circling around, he was pleased to observe the marks still on her well-padded buttocks from the night before. 

"Stand."

Sara swiftly complied.

"Lie on the bed, face down." John moved over to the dresser as she followed his order, opening the drawers and sorting through the toy collection inside, pondering the most entertaining order to use them in. He first selected a large butt plug, one that Sara had never been able to take before. 

"You know I don't like it when you don't follow the rules," he commented as he applied lube to the bulbous toy. "You've been so good for so long, but I am going to have to punish you." He paused and reached back into the drawer before turning towards the bed.

Sara sensed John approaching, and quivered with mingled fear and, she had to admit, more than a little excitement. She gasped as his strong fingers grabbed the back of her hair and yanked her head up. John's lips whispered close to her ear, "I'm really, really going to punish you."

He brought a ball gag up to her mouth and she obligingly opened it, her jaws stretching wide to take it all in. Once the gag was strapped securely around her head, John added a blindfold. She hated this one-so heavy that it pressed against her eyelids, large enough that not a single stray light ray had any hope of penetrating it. Sara's face smacked roughly against the mattress as John suddenly released her.

Next came the waist belt and connected wrist restraints. Then the heavy straps buckled around her thighs, just above the knee. John roughly pulled Sara's legs apart, pausing to insert one finger between the pink lips and tease her clit ever so briefly. Then he strapped her down tight, legs spread wide, butt tilted slightly in the air. Those cheeks were so enticing, he just had to caress them, feeling the warmth of her soft skin, watching her slightly squirm. Suddenly bringing one hand down in a smack that resounded in the quiet of the room, he harshly commanded, "Don't move."

The next thing Sara felt was something hard probing the entrance to her ass. She forced herself to be calm and not fight it, but she was stretched wider and wider as the plug bored ever deeper into her, and felt herself begin to tense. She felt like she was being ripped in two and didn't think she was going to be able to take it all. But John was determined to make her take it, and simultaneously slapped her ass, harder than before, and rammed the plug the rest of the way home. Sara felt tears prick her eyes as she tried to scream around the ball filling her mouth.

John admired his bound woman for a moment, then walked out into the living room, stopping in the kitchen to slip another toy in the freezer before settling into his recliner before the TV. Switching to the closed-circuit camera feed, he watched Sara trying so hard to lie still. As the minutes ticked by, she squirmed more and more, much to his amusement. Installing that camera without telling her had definitely been one of his better ideas.

Sara was not at all amused. She had no idea how long she was going to be abandoned like this, bound tight and with her rectum stretched and filled. She was ashamed to realize that her juices were beginning to flow again as she became accustomed to the plug in her ass. Her pussy ached to be similarly filled. All Sara could think of was what it would feel like to be fucked right now, John's cock in her pussy as he slammed into her, his skin against hers, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her buttocks and teeth nipping at her shoulder. She had no sense of how much time had passed before she heard the soft pad of his bare feet in the hallway. She felt him come near, but he said nothing, simply reached out and stroked down her back, rubbing down the curve of her hip and then over to the inside of her thigh and up to the entrance of her slick hole. One hand spread her lips, and then she felt a very large, very cold glass dildo thrust deep into her. 

"You're squirming quite a bit," John remarked. "I seem to remember telling you not to do that." He moved to the side of the bed and added another strap to her waist belt, attaching it to the bed frame before moving to secure her on the other side. Then he went back to the dresser and studied his whips and paddles for a few moments, weighing each in his hands as he contemplated the best tool for this job.

On the bed, Sara was just beginning to recover from the initial shock of the dildo. He must have just bought this, she thought distractedly. She hoped he'd soon use it on her when she wasn't in trouble. Musing on that pleasant thought, lightly clenching her pussy around the hard rod, she didn't notice anything around her until the first whoosh of air, followed by the loud smack as a stiff paddle connected with her ass. Just as she was recovering her breath, the paddle landed again on her other cheek. And then again. The strokes came slowly, methodically, harder than John normally hit her. Sweat rolled down her back as she struggled to remember to breathe. 

Sara felt like she was losing herself, submersed in a haze of pain and arousal. The strokes went on and on, each a fresh shock, a peak in the wave she was riding. She longed to be able to beg him to stop, but at the same time wanted it to keep going on. Her entire awareness was brought down to her overstuffed pussy and asshole, and the pummeling on her cheeks. The sudden cessation of paddling was almost more of a shock, and she fought to return to herself. She felt the clips holding her secured to the bed unfastened, and then John lifted her body up, flipping her over so she landed hard on her freshly paddled ass. Warm hands rubbed her breasts, tugging and pulling on her nipples, teasing in slow circles. Her whole body was throbbing, her heart pounding as the sensations and emotions rocketed through her.

Then John reached between her legs and slowly removed the glass dildo from her dripping pussy, replacing it with a thick vibrating rod in a harness. He strapped it on and turned the motor to high, then clipped the straps around her thighs together. He stripped off his clothes and removed the blindfold and gag from his wife's head.

Opening her eyes, blinking a little against the sudden intrusion of light, the first thing Sara saw was John standing next to the bed, sweat running down his chest, his cock standing tall, throbbing and twitching, a few drops of pre-cum at the tip. She stared at it, involuntarily licking her lips as she waited for him to fuck her mouth. The thought and the vibrator thrumming away in her pussy were pushing her closer and closer to an orgasm. She opened her mouth wider as John moved towards her, turning her head slightly, panting as she stretched to reach his cock, so close now that she could see the pulsing of the veins, could smell it, could very nearly reach out to lick it.

"Do you really think so?" John's voice intruded on her thoughts. Startled, she looked up at him. He was shaking his head. "You'd enjoy that way too much." Leaning down, he said more quietly, "I'll be taking a nice long shower. You'd better not let yourself come."

He walked out of the room and Sara heard the shower start. She squirmed, the blanket beneath her feeling like rough wool against the tender skin of her ass. The vibrator continued to buzz inside her slick cunt, her juices flowing onto her thighs, her muscles pulsing uncontrollably around it. Her ass was throbbing, too, the combination of the two pushing her to ever greater heights, her breath gasping and panting. She fought to remain in control, but the sensations kept flooding through her, driving her to the edge. The first orgasm ripped through her body, drawing a scream from her lips as every muscle shook in release and her hips arched nearly off the bed.

In the shower, John faintly heard the scream and smiled. He couldn't wait to make her regret that, and all the ones that were sure to follow.



Paying the Price



I heard the door slam as she left the flat, 'at least they'd stopped arguing' I thought to myself as I carried on washing up. My fiancée and her best friend/our flatmate had been arguing since I'd got home from work. I had moved in with them to start working for a few months before my fiancée and I got ourselves a flat of our own. No-one had been too keen on this scenario, but with the lease on this flat up shortly, and neither of us having the money to move out early it was the only option. We were all in our early 20's and had got on well before I moved in, but since that point my fiancée and her best friend had been arguing more and more - not too difficult to see the link there!

Anyway, a little background - in the space of little over two weeks I seem to have turned into your average city worker - nine to five job, working for a large company in the city, 6ft tall, nicely cut suit to hide the little bit of weight I seem to be putting on! It's quite scary really, the speed of the transformation, maybe they have some sort of chemical spray in the square mile, or maybe, as my fiancée tells me, I was born to wear a suit. My fiancée on the other hand is still unemployed, 5ft tall with a nice rack, a sexy arse and a bit of a Mediterranean look to her. Her best friend is also unemployed (so they may well have been arguing all day!), 5ft 8in tall with a small rack and a tight arse, some would call her a typical English Rose, I would remind them that all Roses have thorns.

I was just beginning to ponder over what to have for tea (you think being unemployed, my fiancée would be able to take some time from her busy schedule to cook for me!) when I was summoned.

"Could you come in here, please." She called from our bedroom.

Quite why she couldn't make the arduous journey to the kitchen if she wanted to see me was beyond my comprehension. I made my way to our bedroom and she was sat on the bed, her cheeks still flushed red from the argument she'd been having.

"I want to talk to you about Kerry's {her best friend/our flatmate} birthday present." She told me.

"Can't it wait?" I asked, stupidly.

"No it can't!" She snapped, "Now, her boyfriend won't give her oral sex, so I was thinking..."

"We'd get her a vibrator and a packet of wet wipes?" I interjected, helpfully, smiling at my own joke {mental note - really have to stop that}.

"No." She said flatly, not even smiling, "I was thinking maybe you would give her oral sex."

"What??? Are you serious?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Deadly." She replied.

I didn't know what to say, I had always had the impression that she would cut my balls off if I so much as looked at another woman, now she was asking me to go down on her best friend?

"Why?" I asked.

"I have my reasons, you don't need to know them." She said matter-of-factly.

"You don't think I need to know why my fiancée has asked me to stick my tongue in her best friends' pussy?" I asked, sarcastically.

"No, you don't. So you'll do it?" She asked/told me.

"It doesn't sound like I've got much choice. But just remember this is your idea, I don't want to do it, and on your head fall the consequences." I told her.

"Fine, I'll be going shopping Saturday morning you can do it then." She said.

"One more thing, make sure she shaves or waxes before hand." I told my fiancée as I walked back to the kitchen to carry on with the dishes.

I stood deep in thought, pondering between the lines of the conversation, trying to remember any of the arguments I'd heard, trying to work out why this was happening. I really wasn't too enthusiastic about giving oral to Kerry, as strange as that sounds as last time I checked my boxers I did still have a dick, but there was just something about her that didn't do it for me. Ah well, pussy, even at my fiancée's strange invitation was still pussy, and maybe I might be able to get a blowjob out of it, I'd heard good things about Kerry's technique.

Just then my fiancée came into the kitchen, spun me around and hugged me tight, "You know I really really love you don't you?" She asked.

"But what about..." I started to say, but she just lent up to me and kissed me, her tongue slipped into my mouth, my arms slipped round her waist and she led me to the bedroom...

******************************* *******************************

As usual I still got up early on the Saturday morning, having a leisurely shower before having some breakfast whilst I made my fiancée a cup of tea. I surfed the internet for a while whilst my fiancée had a shower and got dressed.

"I'm off shopping now." She announced as she entered the lounge, "Have a good day, and I'll see you later." She put her arms around me and pulled me into her as I leaned down to give her a kiss goodbye.

"See you later, don't spend too much!" I said, waving her off at the door.

Kerry was in the shower, so I went back to surfing the internet for a while, whilst I waited for her to finish. A little later I heard her leave the bathroom, then gave her 10 minutes to dry herself off before walking to her room. I knocked on the door and walked in, she was stood infront of her mirror, preening herself, wearing a short denim skirt and a fitted white shirt.

"Would you like your birthday present now?" I asked.

"Oooooh, yes please. What have you got me?" Kerry replied.

"You know damn well what you're getting!" I told her, as I slowly undid the buttons on her shirt.

I slipped the shirt off her arms to reveal a well padded cream bra, before turning my attention to her denim skirt, reaching behind her and pulling the zip down slowly, unhooking the catch and sliding the skirt down her legs, she was wearing a pair of lacy white French knickers. Kerry twirled infront of me, showing how well the knickers clung to her tight arse. I reached behind her and unhooked her bra, before slowly peeling it away from her chest to reveal two small, but very pert breasts that couldn't have been more than a B cup, topped with two small nipples that looked ripe to be sucked on.

"Not bad so far." I said.

Finally, I hooked my fingers into her knickers, and pulled them down her legs so she could step out of them.

"I see you've waxed." I said, brushing my fingers over her smooth, bald pussy as she shuddered.

"I want you naked too." She told me.

"That wasn't part of the deal." I retorted.

"You didn't have a deal with me, now strip." She said, forcefully.

Grumbling I quickly pulled off my t-shirt, undid my belt and flies, before dropping my shorts to the ground. I then reluctantly slipped out of my boxers, giving Kerry her first sight of my still flaccid cock.

To my surprise Kerry then dropped to her knees and took my flaccid cock in her mouth, as she ran her tongue around my cock I could feel it, unsurprisingly beginning to grow in her mouth, she was certainly talented with her tongue, and her big mouth meant she could take more of it then my fiancée could.

"I thought I was the one that was supposed to give you oral?" I questioned.

She let my stiff cock, which was now at its full nine inches slip from her mouth to say "I like my men hard and wanting me first!" She then took my cock back in her mouth, licking the head before sliding as much of it into her mouth as she could.

"But I'm not your man." I said, between groans.

Again she let my cock slip from her mouth, holding it in her hand, "Until I'm satisfied I think you'll find that's exactly what you are! Now, it's your turn!" She told me as she stood up and went to lie down, legs spread on her bed.

I climbed between Kerry's spread legs, my cock still hard and dripping with her saliva, I lined it up so that the head was rubbing over her clit as I leaned forward and took first one, then the other of the nipples of her pert breasts in my mouth, giving it a gentle suck and swirling my tongue around it. She moaned slightly as I did, before saying "I think what you're looking for is lower down..."

I slid down the bed so that my face was level with her smooth, bald pussy, her slightly protruding pink lips splayed a little in anticipation, with just the slightest hint of moisture glistening on them, she certainly had a pretty pussy! I dived in and keeping my tongue completely flat licked from the bottom of her slit all the way to the top as slowly as possible, Kerry moaned in appreciation of the tongue on her pussy. I licked around her pink lips before gently parting them slightly with the end of my tongue, sliding my tongue up and down the inside of her lips.

I then withdrew and looked up at her, seeing the look on her face I decided I'd teased her enough and dived back down to her pussy, again licking up the entire length of her slit, but this time at the top I paused and ran my tongue over her clit a few times before finally plunging my tongue into her pussy as she groaned with pleasure at the invasion. I swirled my tongue around inside her, tasting her intimate flavour, as she moaned her appreciation, I heard her breathing get more erratic as she neared orgasm, so I decided to tip her over the edge in the best way possible.

I allowed my tongue to slip from her pussy as my left hand snaked up her body to her pert breast and started fondling it, I once again licked all the way up her slit, until my tongue latched onto her exposed clit, before finally covering two fingers on my right hand in saliva and juices and slipping them into her open pussy, curling them up and feeling along her vaginal wall until I found the ridges that signified her G-spot, her gasp confirming my find. Kerry brought her hands down onto my head, attempting to force it further against her pussy, whilst my left hand continued fondling her breast, my tongue was fervently attacking her clit and my right hand stimulating her G-spot. After less than 30 seconds of this treatment she exploded in orgasm with an ear piercing shriek of pleasure as her pussy clamped down on my fingers and her juices washed over them, coating my right hand.

"Fuck me, fuck me now!" She demanded, panting to regain her breath.

"You know we really shouldn't, that wasn't part of any deal." I reminded her.

"I don't care, I NEED you to plunge your hard cock into me NOW!" She pleaded with me.

"Well, maybe on one condition..."

"What? Anything, just fuck me!"

I was on my knees between her legs now, so I guided my cock to the wide open entrance of her pussy, just letting the head touch her pussy lips as I said, "OK, I'll plunge my cock into you, if, you let me fuck that tight arse of yours."

"Yes, yes, anything, now PLEASE FUCK ME!" She moaned in desperation.

"So let me get this straight," I said as I rubbed the head of my cock up and down her slick slit, "If I slide into you now, you'll let me have anal sex with you, today?"

"Anal sex, yes, now please please..."

She didn't finish her sentence as I plunged my nine inch cock deep into her sopping wet pussy. She took it all, but only just, I looked up at her and the look on her face said it all, she had never had a cock quite as big as mine in her before and she was completely full. I had completely filled the pussy of my fiancée's best friend.

I slowly slid my cock in and out of Kerry's slick pussy, enjoying her juicy tightness, I could feel my cock exploring every last millimetre of her sodden pussy, as she moaned with pleasure everytime my cock slid into her. I took hold of her legs, placing them over my shoulders, then slid my cock back into her, deeper than before, until every last millimetre of my cock was buried inside her pussy, as she gasped at the deep penetration. I pounded my cock deeply into her pussy, her moans growing louder and louder as she once again started her ascent towards orgasm. I wasn't far behind, I could feel the sperm starting to boil up from my balls. I continued pounding into her as deeply as I could, her moans now more like screams of pleasure, as with every thrust my cock bottomed out in her pussy, ploughing a hole into her that no-one else would ever be able to fill as well as I do.

With a shriek of pleasure Kerry came again, her pussy tightening its grip on my cock as her juices washed over it. She panted to regain her breath as I continued to pound into her, I could hear my cock sloshing around in her juicy pussy as I slammed it into her, not breaking my rhythm. I could really feel the cum boiling up inside me now as I continued to plunge into her and I knew I couldn't last much longer. Finally, with one last deep thrust I plunged into her pussy as deep as I could, with a loud groan of pleasure my orgasm came and I flooded Kerry's already drenched pussy with my cum. I felt and heard her come again, almost silently this time as the first load splashed into her.

Finally after the last spurt of cum had splashed into her I collapsed down on top of her, panting to regain my breath, my still twitching cock buried deep inside her, plugging her to prevent any of my cum from escaping.

Kerry spoke first, "Wow, that was absolutely incredible. I've never come three times before, infact I've never even come once with that intensity, let alone three times!"

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, I must say I did too by then end. Have you ever had anal sex before then?" I asked.

"No, what about you?" She told me.

"Nope, so this should be fun!" I said with a sly grin.

"Why did you choose anal then? I mean you could have had anything from me at that point." She questioned.

"Well, the thought of your tight arse impaled on my cock just got me so hot and I guessed you'd never done it before, so I'd be taking your last hole." I told her.

"Kind of like taking my last Rolo?" She said with a smile.

"I wouldn't really want to take your last Rolo to be honest, it might melt all over my cock and I'm sure the caramel would be a bitch to get off!" I jested.

Having finally regained my breath I pulled my semi-flaccid cock from Kerry's soaked pussy, remarkably no cum followed it, I must have shot it really deep! Relieved of me on top of her Kerry sat up next to me.

"I think I'll need you help." I said pointing to my semi-flaccid cock, which was covered in my cum and her juices.

She immediately dived down onto my cock, and gently rolled her tongue around it and sucked on it until it started to come back to life in her mouth, when she started going to town on me - this girl was very talented with her tongue! As much as I hate stopping blowjobs I had other holes on my mind, and coaxed her off my cock.

"That was the first time I ever tasted my own juices!" She told me, "Definitely prefer cum though!"

"Have you got any lubricant?" I asked.

"Top drawer of my desk." She replied.

I went over to her desk and rummaged around in the top draw until I found her KY jelly. I got back onto the bed and told her to get into doggy style position, she scooted around so that her tight arse was facing me. I resisted the urge to slam my cock back into her pussy and squirted a generous helping of lubricant onto her arsehole. She shivered as the cold jelly came into contact with her skin, I rubbed the KY all around her puckered arsehole, then slowly worked a finger in, getting as much KY into her as possible, I knew this was going to be a tight fit! I squeezed another dollop of KY into my palms, rubbing them together to warm it up before spreading it all over my hard cock.

"I'll go slow and try my best not to hurt you." I told her as I lined the head of my cock up with her arsehole.

I slowly started to apply pressure as the head of my cock started to slowly slip into Kerry's arse.

"That feels huge, there's no way you'll get it in me." She said.

I kept slowly and gently pushing my cock further into her until I came up against the resistance of her sphincter. I gently stroked her back and arse encouraging her to relax and loosen up, I even started talking to her about shopping to distract her, it did the trick and the head of my cock popped through her sphincter.

"Fuck! That hurt! What was that?" She asked, her voice slightly tainted with pain and tears.

"It's ok," I said, reassuring her, "That was just the head of my cock slipping into you."

"That was just the head? Oh hell this is gonna hurt!" She said.

I once again got her to relax and allowed her to get used to it before pushing my cock slightly further into her, pausing, waiting for her to get used to it then adding more. Finally after about 15 minutes my cock was completely inside Kerry's arse.

"Your tight arse is now completely impaled on my cock!" I told her.

"Feels more like a fucking baseball bat to me!" She replied.

"We've done the hard part, it'll get better from here!" I again reassured her.

I slowly slid my cock out to the point where just the head was left inside her arse, before slowly sliding it all the way back in again as she groaned from a mixture of pain and pleasure.

"Now maybe you'll tell me why my fiancée asked me to give you oral sex?" I asked, with my cock buried deep inside Kerry's arse, "and before you answer think about your current position!" To make my point further I pumped my cock deeper into her arse.

"I promise I'll tell you afterwards, but for now please keep fucking me!" She begged.

"I want you to tell me now!" I told her, as I continued to slide my cock in and out of her arse.

"OK, OK. Basically a few weeks ago I came home and found her in bed, naked, with another woman!" She told me.

"Another woman?" I asked, confused, still fucking her arse.

"Yeah, a woman, I didn't know she swung that way either. She begged me not to tell you, said it was just a one off and she'd give me anything." She told me.

"Right." I said, still ploughing Kerry's arse.

"So I thought for a bit, she'd talked so much about the size of your cock, I've wanted to see it for ages, and I knew she wouldn't agree to me fucking you, so I asked for oral, hoping I could escalate it!" She said.

"So you planned all this?" I asked.

"Well, not all, I wasn't expecting you to be fucking my arse, but you made me so damned horny I couldn't refuse!"

"So the question is, how am I going to catch her out and take some revenge?"

"You mean apart from fucking her best friend's arse?" She asked.

"Yeah, apart from that! Although I have an idea if you're willing to help..." I said, continuing to slide in and out of her.

"Shit! I'm gonna cum! What?" She moaned.

"How about I catch you two in bed, with her licking you out, but the twist is she'll be licking my cum from your pussy. How does that sound?" I asked, as I increased the speed with which I was slamming my cock into her arse.

"Yes, yeeessss, yyyeeeeeesssssssss, gggoooooooooooooodddd!" Kerry screamed as she came.

"Excellent!" I replied, before shooting my load deep into her bowels with a grunt.

Kerry collapsed down onto the bed, spent, her once tight arse now a gaping, cum filled hole. I lay down alongside her, my cock aching from it's workout in Kerry's arse.

"You know she won't do anal with me." I told her.

"We'll have to change that!" Kerry said with an evil grin.

******************************* *******************************

As usual I was up early the next Saturday morning, the past week had been uneventful, I had been quizzed briefly about my time with Kerry, but my insistence that I had only given her oral went unchallenged, perhaps my fiancée didn't want to know what really happened.

At a reasonable time, and after I'd had my shower I walked into Kerry's room, wearing only my towel, and dragged the covers off her to reveal she slept in only her thong. "Get up!" I breathed loudly into her ear.

"What?" She said stirring.

"Come with me into the bathroom, quickly!" I told her.

I then helped/dragged her into the bathroom with me before shutting the door and locking it. She blinked a few times, her eyes trying to adjust to the light.




Paying the Price



"We're going ahead with the plan today." I told her, "Are you ready?"

"Yeah, I think so..." She replied, still half asleep.

"Good" I said as I slid her thong down her legs, "You'd best put this in your mouth, we don't want you making any obvious noises!" I told her as I passed her her thong. She reluctantly placed it in her mouth and bit down as I bent her over the bath.

I let my towel fall to the floor and without hesitation rammed my cock deep into Kerry's pussy, her moan muffled by her thong. I quickly pounded into her, my only thought being the trap I was setting for my fiancée. Soon I could feel Kerry's tight pussy starting to convulse around my cock as she came, in turn setting off my own orgasm as I shot my load deep into her pussy, ready for my fiancée to lick out.

As I withdrew my cock from her sloppy pussy I said "I'll be going out in five minutes, after that you've got ten minutes before I come back to get her tongue in your pussy."

I left the bathroom and quickly got dressed, before waking my fiancée up to tell her I was going out. I then left making sure I slammed the door hard, before making my way down to the bus stop, I waited there for about ten minutes before heading back, quietly letting myself into the flat and closing the door. As I walked in I could hear the unmistakable sound of Kerry moaning in pleasure. I quietly made my way to the bedroom, where the door had been left wide open and I could now see Kerry lying naked on the bed, with my fiancée also naked, between her legs, licking her pussy. My cock instantly grew hard at the sight, and I was now caught in two minds - do I go ahead with the plan or do I stand and watch the amazing sight infront of me. I stood and watched for a little longer, until Kerry caught sight of me, she shook her head frantically before mouthing the words "Please don't stop her!"

Still unsure of what to do I suddenly found myself walking into the room and fiddling with the zip on my jeans. Seeing what I was doing Kerry quickly pushed my fiancée's head deeper into her pussy and clamped it there with her naked thighs, trapping her between her legs. By the time I'd reached the bed my cock was already in my hand and Kerry's mouth wide open, as I slowly fed my hard cock into her waiting mouth.

Kerry once again gave brilliant head, only pausing occasionally to moan in appreciation of my fiancée's efforts between her thighs. She would start by sucking as much cock as she could take into her mouth, before sliding her lips up and down half the shaft, intermittently using the tip of her tongue to tease the underside of the shaft. The vibrations caused by her moaning only served to intensify the feeling and soon I was on the brink.

Biting my lip to stay quiet I unloaded ropes of cum into Kerry's greedy mouth, watching as she let it all pool on her tongue before swallowing it with a single gulp. I quickly stuffed my cock back into my jeans and retreated to the doorway to watch the finale. Kerry was moaning constantly now as she approached orgasm and shortly with a high pitched squeal she came.

Taking my queue from her orgasm I burst into the room, "What the fuck is going on here!" I shouted, as my fiancée rose from between Kerry's legs, her face covered in a sheen of pussy juice.

"Please don't be mad, this is the first time I've ever done anything like this, and it just sort of happened." She protested.

"I know you're lying, I heard what happened with Sarah," I told her.

"But how could you?" She said looking at Kerry with daggers.

"Don't look at me like that, he's not stupid, he knew that you wanted him to give me oral for a good reason." Kerry replied.

"But what about our deal, why did you tell him?" She asked.

"You try keeping quiet when you've got a massive cock up your arse!" Kerry told her.

"Speaking of which..." I started, "You agreed to accept the consequence of oral, which was me pounding both of Kerry's holes, I hope you enjoyed the little creamy delight I left for you by the way!"

Kerry laughed as my fiancée looked appalled at the thought of licking my cum from another woman's pussy.

"But now the consequences of you cheating on me, twice, are that I want you to let me fuck your arse, with no complaints, then the matter will be dropped, do you agree?" I asked.

"No, it'll hurt too much!" She replied.

"Well in that case I'll be forced to continue what I started, and take everyone of your friends up the arse until you choose to let me have yours." I told her.

"Be my guest, you won't get anywhere!" She scorned.

"Oh I don't know, I can be pretty persuasive, can't I Kerry!"

Kerry smiled and nodded in agreement as I thought to myself how much fun I was going to have trying to get all of her friends to let me fuck their arses.

"Now why don't you two get dressed as I get the feeling that some friends might be CUMMING here tonight!"



Paying the Price



I've only done one bad thing in my life, but it truly was despicable. Eventually my past caught up with me. Directly due to that one heinous act, many years later, I was forced to share my gorgeous loving wife with another man. Some might say that my troubles are fully deserved. 

I majored in physics and maths at university, but although I am quite intelligent, I was heading toward a merely average degree due to my predilection for seeking out willing female company at every opportunity. 

Throughout my stint at university, I shared a flat with an exceptionally clever guy named Tom who was my opposite in that his studies were the only thing that occupied his mind. He read constantly, always science oriented stuff, spent hours on his PC researching, and filling ream after ream of paper with his scribbled equations and calculations. One day Tom sat me down, and with an excited gleam in his eye, confided that he thought he had discovered something that no one else in the world knew to do with quantum physics, the home of string theory and that strange molecular-level world where the past can be changed. What Tom had worked out in his head was a breakthrough to all current accepted thinking.

He spent the whole of the next year perfecting all the small details and working it up to be presented to the world as his finals thesis. During this time we talked about it constantly; he used me as a willing sounding board to clarify his thoughts, and, I am sufficiently clever that by the end of the year I could grasp the principle, discuss it intelligently and explain it to others if the need arose, but I totally lacked the genius to have conceived it in the first place. Tom existed on a completely different mental plane than I, and I was convinced that his name would one day be mentioned in the same breath as Einstein and Hawking. 

Tom didn't smoke, very seldom drank, and as far as I could gather he had never fucked a girl. Some might think that, as the perfidious beneficiary of the coming tragedy, I deliberately took advantage of his abstemious nature. Toward the end of the year Tom's thesis was polished, typed and printed, and the finished product enjoyed the benefit of my scrupulous proofreading. Tom was now content to sit back and bask in a well deserved feeling of satisfaction, but I insisted that we could not allow such a momentous event to pass without some kind of celebration.

Rather reluctantly Tom accompanied me on what turned into a bit of a pub crawl, just he and I because he had no other friends. We had a good evening and it conveniently drew to a close at a tavern not too far from our flat, but at that point I found myself talking to a real cracker of a girl: face, figure, legs, the works. The real bonus was that she seemed to think that I was pretty special too. I knew she was primed to go. Although Tom, usually not a drinker, was obviously very inebriated by that time, I selfishly pointed out my situation and he reassured me that he could manage the ten minutes home by himself. 

Sadly, during his short journey Tom was knocked down and killed by a speeding hit and run driver. 

The accident was blamed on joy-riders after the stolen vehicle was later found nearby, burnt out and abandoned. I found out when I returned the next morning and discovered it was my sad and unpleasant duty to identify him at the mortuary. Afterward, returning in sombre mood to the empty flat, the first thing I saw was Tom's thesis, sitting temptingly on the desk.

The vital fact was that nobody but myself knew about his discovery. Tom had told no-one about his work, not even his tutor because he had heard too many apocryphal tales of student breakthroughs stolen by those monitoring their work. My immediate thought was that, was that as Tom was no longer able to enjoy the benefit of his work then why shouldn't I? After all, I put a fair number of hours into the damn thing myself.

I let it be known that I was devastated by what had happened and wanted to be left alone. In fact, I spent that time of seclusion transferring Tom's thesis from notes and pages in his hand to my own. It took twenty-four hours of solid toil, but at the end of that time I had moved all his files to my own PC and eradicated all sign of the thesis from his. Finally I printed a new pristine copy with my name as the author, not his.

I then waited a decent grieving time before delivering the thesis to my tutor.

The science world went crazy, and suddenly I found I had a hell of a lot of money and celebrity. I had more grants and funding than I knew what to do with. I gained a double first and was offered a couple of very lucrative lecture tours with a good job to follow at the main particle accelerator when they were completed. As long as I continued to present Tom's thesis topic, which I knew by heart at this point, without expanding upon it, I was able to keep up the illusion that I was the brilliant, rather than merely clever, one. I found the run-of-the mill physics work just about within my capabilities, but there was always an air of expectation surrounding me. I admit that I played to this by appearing intense and reclusive, but after three years I detected disappointment in the constant queries about what I was working on, which was becoming a bit of a strain. Just in time, I was contacted by a head-hunter to something completely different, working as a civil servant for a British government department at Whitehall, where I spent the next fifteen years.

In the UK, governments come and go but the work of the state carries on almost unchanged from one administration to the next. Whenever a fresh government takes power with its grandiose new policies, it is the Whitehall power elite who advise on what is possible and what is completely unfeasible. After fifteen years in the job, I was not yet at that level, still hovering a couple of bands below. Those years had been good to me; I earn a fantastic salary and have acquired a totally gorgeous wife, Fiona, whom I absolutely adore.

Fiona is eight years my junior and we met when she was temporarily assigned to me as secretary for a special project, three years after I started my government job. One can get an idea of how beautiful she is by the fact that before me, she dated a couple of premiership footballers, each for a few months. My good fortune was that she dumped them both, throwing away the chance to become a 'WAG'. She was far too intelligent to find the life of a celebrity partner fulfilling and had little desire for wealth for its own sake. We clicked from the start and by the end of the project; she was sharing my flat and had agreed to become my wife. After twelve years of very happy marriage, we live in a Georgian period house in the best area, regularly attend state banquets and the countless parties we are invited to cater only to intellectual elite and strictly A-list celebrities. We remain childless through choice, mainly because life was too good to take time out for pregnancy, but of late I think she is aware that her biological clock may be running down.

This particular Monday started like any normal day, but after an hour I was summoned to the big boss's office. There was nothing ominous in this because I was often called in to give a report on some ongoing situation. Usually it would start with him offering me a drink and we would conduct our business standing in a fairly relaxed manner but this time it was very formal, with a chair waiting for me directly in front of his big desk. Sitting to the side was another man. He was completely unknown to me, but his one defining feature was a singularly hard looking face.

I won't give the name of my boss except to say that it started with the word 'Sir'. Without any preparatory greeting he asked, "How patriotic are you, John?" His voice was cool.

I gave a short laugh to ease the tension I was suddenly feeling and replied, "About the same as any average guy I suppose. Perhaps a bit more than most."

Sir was not amused. "We expect a great deal more commitment than that from a person in your position; I would have thought that goes without saying."

I bristled slightly at his tone. "Well I'm certainly not giving away any secrets. Perhaps if you told me what exactly we are talking about, I may be able to give you a more meaningful answer."

"In that case, I will hand you over to Mr Smith here. I can tell you that he works for one of our security services but you don't need to know which one."

I turned to look at the mystery man. "You have quite a large social circle," he began without preamble, "A mixture of friends and acquaintances I would guess." 

"Mainly the latter," I confirmed. 

"What about Grigor Vasovnovitch?"

"I know who you mean, tall, black wavy hair and rather arrogant. I heard he's some kind of naval attaché. I don't think I've ever actually spoken to him directly."

"But it wouldn't be hard for either you or your wife to strike up a conversation with him."

"I could," I said, "but why would I? The fellow seemed far too full of himself for my taste. What is this all about anyway?" 

"This is the reason you were asked about patriotism," Mr Smith began. "What if I told you that Grigor Vasovnovitch is a top class Russian agent, and we think he is operating against the best interests of this country by dealing in nuclear-grade weapons? What we need is to get one of our people very close to him in the hope he might get careless and let slip some information which might give a clue to what he's up to. The problem is that both you and Grigor move in rather rarefied circles in which any new face is likely to stick out like a sore thumb. What we badly need is someone who is used to socialising at that level, and one who has been established there for many years. You and your lovely wife fit the bill perfectly. We feel strongly that any true patriot would view it as his or her duty to help us."

I laughed because I found it hard to take this seriously, "For a start," I said, "I thought this whole spy thing finished with the end of the Cold War. Apart from that, suppose that I bought this Russian a couple of drinks or even invited him round for the evening, I can't see him saying, 'Oh by the way, some other oligarchs and I are planning to smuggle weapons-grade uranium into your country.' I'm sorry but I honestly don't see how I can help."

"I agree," the spook said quietly, "But I think your wife could." 

"Now I don't understand, what can my wife do that I couldn't?"

Just a hint of a smile flitted across the otherwise humourless face of the security man. "To put it bluntly, the kind of information we want is most likely to be carelessly revealed during pillow talk and we're pretty sure that Grigor isn't gay."

I was stunned for a moment but then thought that I must have misunderstood. "Are you suggesting that my wife should have sex with this guy?" I said slowly.

"It will have to be more that just sex," Mr Smith told me vary matter-of-factly, "I am envisioning more of an affair because we need to cultivate a situation where he is very relaxed in her company. Your wife is a very beautiful woman so I'm quite hopeful, if only because I doubt if we could have found a better lure." 

Now I was angry. I jumped to my feet, sending my chair spinning behind me. "It's out of the fucking question," I told them.

"Sit down John, it's not as simple as that," Sir said quietly, taking over. "I warn you that if you don't at least listen to what we propose, I'll call in the guards immediately and have you escorted from the premises." 

I was about to stalk out but something in his voice halted me, so I recovered the chair and sat, rather ungraciously. "I don't care what you have to say, you can't expect me to literally ask the woman I love to prostitute herself to another man, simply on your assurance that it is in the national interest." 

Seeming to ignore those words, my boss said, "It has been brought to my attention that you were rather devious in your early career. Does the name Tom Reynolds mean anything to you?" 

Suddenly I felt very cold. I think I nodded, maybe not.

"There is a theory concerning particle bonding bearing your name that has become incorporated into the current molecular science paradigm, which I now I am informed was in fact conceived by Tom Reynolds. Everybody abhors stealing from the dead and stealing their inspiration is even worse. If this were to be disclosed, you will lose your position and all other employment in the Service, all research avenues will be closed to you in perpetuity and after the inevitable publicity, you will become a general pariah with no chance of ever finding meaningful employment. That is after everyone and every institution that has ever remunerated you sues you for civil fraud. Your only consolation is that, regrettably, I don't think you will end up in prison."

"And what if I do what you ask?"

"Your life will continue unchanged, apart, based on your reaction, from some inevitable emotional and psychological repercussions, obviously. In fact, once we are sure that you are amenable to the proposition there might even be promotion in the near future, if you get your wife to do what we ask." 

"How did you find out? After all this time I thought I was safe."

"We have always known," it was Mr Smith who chose to answer. "From his very early years, the Service was aware that Tom Reynolds had great potential, so his work and progress was always secretly monitored. His theory created great internal excitement, so from the moment you submitted your thesis; we knew that it wasn't your work."

"If you knew, why wait until now?" I asked in despair.

"Because there was no percentage in revealing your perfidy, when to do so would have also revealed our monitoring. His discovery was available to the world, he had no relatives who would suffer from the loss to his estate and most importantly, by allowing you to progress in your career, your vulnerability made you an asset for us to call on if required in the future."

"Was my employment in the civil service connected to this?" I blurted out the question as it sprang into my mind.

Mr Smith nodded. "I read from your file that it was believed at that time that your limitations were at increasing risk of exposure as long as you stayed in the academic research end of the physics field." 

"No matter what I say, I can't see my wife agreeing," I said, effectively surrendering. 

"I don't anticipate any problems there," Mr Smith declared confidently. "As long as we have you on board I'm sure she will realise what you stand to lose and agree to go along." I was to discover later the reason for his certainty.

"You don't know what you are talking about," I replied with some heat, "If it were any other guy then perhaps I might persuade her, but she danced with this Grigor guy once and immediately afterwards described him as 'obnoxious'.

"She actually danced with him twice but I regard what you say about her reaction as a very positive sign, it may surprise to know that far more women end up having sex with men they initially detest than with men to whom they are indifferent." 

"I can't see that."

The psychology is well proved," he explained. "If a woman encounters a man she is attracted to but knows he is the wrong type, she immediately seizes on some reason to reject him. When she feels no reaction at all then there is no need to comment."

Sir took over at this point to say coldly, "I will give you seven days to do whatever convincing is necessary, for a man of your 'calibre', that should not prove too difficult. However, if by next Monday you are not ready to proceed with the project, then your employment here will be terminated and you may expect other ramifications to follow, including our initiation of your public exposure and ruination, to which I previously alluded."

I've never been as glad to escape from anywhere as much as from that room but after the initial flush of relief, I realised that that I remained in a state of limbo. It was even stranger back in my office, because everything was the exactly same as I left it barely an hour before, but during that brief interval my whole life had changed completely, from steady certainty to extreme flux. My problems were actually much worse than my tormentors could have realised: Fiona did not know of my long ago subterfuge and I knew that at least her initial regard for me derived directly from my one-time fame and supposed brilliance. How was I to suddenly get her to fuck another man without revealing the reason for the pressure I was under? I immediately realized it was likely to be impossible.

By the time I arrived home, armed with a couple of bottles of expensive wine that I knew to be my wife's favourite, I had worked out a rough plan of attack. I waited until we were settling down for the evening before producing the wine and suggesting that we skip TV and spend the evening talking in the way that we used to. Fiona gave me a funny look, but seemed willing to comply, only delaying long enough to fetch the salted nuts that we always enjoyed with wine.

After some general enquiries about her day and some household stuff, I asked, "What do you think about our sex life? Is it still exciting for you?"

Fiona rather surprised me by immediately taking my question seriously, "I admit that there are no longer the same amount of sparks that there used to be, but I'm very happy with what we've got. I'm certainly not going to run off with some fantasy lover if that's what you're worried about. Anyway, isn't it normal for couples to calm down, you certainly can't keep up the same frantic pace for years."

"Some people do."

"Well I would certainly like to know what their secret is."

"Well some do it by being less strict about monogamy," I suggested quietly.

My wife's demeanour immediately changed. "So who is the little slut?" she shouted angrily "Don't tell me, a new bimbo has started work in your office and you want to seduce her with my permission, the same as you seduced me all those years ago. Well think again buster, keep your dick in your pants except around me, or else I will take you for every penny you've got."

This was starting far worse than expected. "No, you've got it all wrong," I protested anxiously, "I only ever want to have sex with you, it's you I was thinking about. I thought that if you slept with another man then you would get extra pleasure. .I know I would get pleasure from seeing you satisfied, and it could put a whole lot more excitement into our marriage." This was a total lie and my whole body cringed at the thought of what I was proposing.

"That is a crazy idea, whatever made you suddenly come up with that?"

"According to some forums I've been checking out, quite large numbers of people do it but only the wife plays. A lot of them claim that it has enlivened a boring marriage, even when they had almost stopped having sex altogether.

"I've heard of those weirdo forums, but you are the last person I would have thought would suggest something like this," Fiona said disparagingly, "You used to be so jealous, at one time I thought you were paranoid."

"I've been a bit stupid with my attitude in the past mainly because I was so terrified of losing you, but now I'm a lot more confident."

"I would have thought you would stand a greater chance of losing me if I start screwing other men than if I stay faithful to you," Fiona remarked drily. 

"At one time I thought that too, but they claim it can be just the opposite. The wife treats the other man as a kind of living sex toy, and the husband and wife plan each new encounter and talking about it afterwards, brings couples closer together. The wife gets the pleasure of extra sex and the husband gets the excitement of knowing about it, or even watching." 




Paying the Price



"Well you can forget that last bit for a start, if I'm busy having it off with some handsome stud, I certainly don't want you sitting drooling over it in a corner." 

"Does that mean you are considering the rest?" I asked hopefully.

"It most certainly doesn't so don't get your hopes up. It is just that from your description, this seems to be win/win for the wife and that is intriguing enough to merit some further consideration." 

I held my breath because her words sounded far more promising than I had expected but that hope was immediately dashed when, speaking fiercely, Fiona went on, "It will never happen because I love you to much, I love you so much that I have no desire to be even let myself be touched by another man, never mind have sex. Our life is just about perfect so why risk it in the hope of something better. I've made mistakes in my life that I bitterly regret and I think this would be a very big mistake. 

At that point I refilled the glasses and rather than pursue the subject, switched more into romantic mood. I had made what at one point looked like good progress but I was far from confident. Many on the forums described how it might take years to persuade an initially reluctant wife and I had a deadline of only seven days.

[ More was said that first night but I believe I have captured the salient points of the conversation.]

In bed there was more passion than for a very long time but initially, I was the one not particularly aroused. The impetus came from my wife who seemed to be in an unusually buoyant mood. I went in to work as usual next morning but was immediately sent home again by my boss who coldly explained that for all he knew I might have already given up and intended to spend the week doing what mischief I could.

Back home, without even work to distract me, I sank into depression. The plain fact was that my life might go in either of two directions, and I found them almost equally unpalatable. Throughout the day I vacillated back and forth, between facing ignominy but keeping my marriage untouched or persuading myself that the Russian fucking my wife didn't really matter, if I could even make her agree to it. Later, after Fiona got home, I was still so mixed up inside that I didn't broach the subject that night or the next. 

Thursday, I spent the day trolling through the forums and reading how countless husbands thoroughly enjoyed having 'hot wives' and decided that I might be able to handle it if the thing with Grigor actually happened. Again choosing my moment, I casually asked, "Since we've been married, have you ever fancied some guy and thought, 'If I were single I would certainly give him a try?'

Fiona grinned, "Of course I have, I think everybody must do, but most don't admit it. I don't see anything wrong with thinking, it's the doing that's wrong."

"Anybody I know?"

"Jeremy Fotheringham, if you must know, and his pal Graham Baxter. They're two of the guys who spend a lot of time at the gym. Either one or both of them together, if you want to play the whole fantasy. But I warn you, fantasy is as far as this goes."

"And you were never tempted, even a little bit?"

"My marriage is too important but I will admit that, if I were a weaker person, it is tempting to think of doing it with permission."

"Anybody else? What about that Russian, Grigor something or other?" I asked, the catch in my throat causing me to stumble over the last few words. 

"No chance," my wife said adamantly, "He's the very last man I would consider. What made you suggest him? Is it the fact that he's got an enormous cock?"

"How would I know he has a large cock," I asked, seriously wondering. "How do you, for that matter?"

"He left me in no doubt about it, that time I danced with him. His penis is either pretty huge or he keeps something rather substantial stuck down his pants. He spent the whole damn dance making me well aware of what he's got. I told you he was a boor, the moment I got back to the table."

"Then why did you dance with him again?"

Fiona turned to look at me in surprise, "How do you know about that? You were stuck at work that night and only arrived in time to pick me up from the party."

Ignoring her counter question since I was clearly unprepared to reveal my source, I persevered, "Why did you dance with him again if you hated it so much the first time?"

My wife had the grace to blush. "If you must know, I had convinced myself that I must have been mistaken that first time about what I felt against my thigh, so I had to check to make sure. I wasn't mistaken; his behaviour was just as crude the second time."

"I've noticed that a lot of quite classy ladies don't seem but off by his ... crudity."

"He may have that sophisticated playboy image but there's an underlying coarseness about him. It may be his nature or it may be built into his Russian character. Some females probably don't mind that but I most certainly do." She gave a small shudder.

Fiona's words made it very unlikely that I would ever persuade her, and part of me was not sorry. I said nothing more on the subject until Saturday. I had been considering my unemployed, impoverished and shamed future until I decided that it was too horrible to contemplate.

I sat down and bluntly told her the whole truth about my situation, making no attempt at breaking the news gently. I was convinced that revealing the truth would mean the end of my marriage, but when I finished, Fiona had an ironic half smile on her face. "At least that solves something that has puzzled me right from the start," she said, "You never seemed as clever to me as everybody else seemed to think you were." 

Does that mean you want to leave me?" I asked fearing the worst. 

She laughed, "Why should it? I love you. I married you for the man you were, not the physicist you were supposed to be. In fact it is a bit of a relief, because I was always been outfaced by the thought of being married to a genius." She sighed, "I suppose that I will just have to get used to being poor with you because this doesn't change my mind. I think I might have played around a bit if that was what you really wanted but I'm damned if I'm going to open my legs for this Grigor guy, just because some faceless clown in a grey suit tells me I have to." 

I felt a flood of relief at her words and we enjoyed a hot and passionate night, but the following day I was tense from dawn to dusk, aware that it was very much the lull before the storm. On the Monday, after an almost sleepless night, I arrived at work and found a box to started clearing my desk. However, I had hardly started when Sir appeared and asked what I was doing. "I haven't been able to persuade my wife and I would rather do this privately now rather than under supervision later," I told him sadly.

"Put it all back. This is a bit premature," my boss stated. "Mr Smith insisted I had given you too little time and has talked me into extending the deadline for another week. For some reason, he is convinced that your wife is still open to persuasion, in fact he seems to think that most women are." 

I was glad of the extra week for only one reason. When I finally admitted my situation to Fiona, she stated that she wished she had known the truth about my past sooner. Not knowing how much of our savings might be confiscated or tied upsuits, she suggested it made sense to try and hide as much as we could while we had that chance. The rest of the day and the next, working from home, I started shifting cash about and updated my wife when she got home. It was exciting feeling that we were outwitting the authorities.

However, as soon as I started to talk about my further progress, Fiona said quietly, "You might as well put it all back because I've decided to do it." 

For a moment I sat completely stunned but then I was overcome by a desperate need to dissuade her from this new decision. Perhaps my mind had become too fired up with the pleasure of outwitting the authorities but her words had become the last thing I wanted to hear. "Are you sure," I kind of stammered.

"Pretty sure," she confirmed, "I reasoned it out for the first time, and decided that it is only sex after all. Where is the sense in abandoning all that we have over something that really means nothing?"

"But it means having sex with a man you don't like."

"I've done it before, before we were married," Fiona told me. "Outside a nightclub, away from the excitement and atmosphere, I've looked at the guy I was with and wondered why I was going anywhere with such a jerk. I always followed through though, partly through a sense of obligation and partly because I thought he might get nasty if I knocked him back. There was nothing to it really."

"But this will be very different," I argued. "It won't be a one-off because you will have to go with him lots of times and if you need to get close enough to obtain information; that means you have to seem enthusiastic. It means that you will have to fake orgasms realistically; do you think you can do that?

"I should do," Fiona said with a grin, "I've had enough practice."

That was like a slap in the face. "What? With me? Am I really that bad?" 

Seeing the effect of her words my wife was quick to reassure me. "It's not true at all, I've always regarded you as quite a talented lover, considerate too and that's important. I only said that to tease you."

"You mean that you've never had to fake it with me?"

There have been a few occasions when I did," my wife told me honestly, "But that was always entirely my fault. It only happened when I wasn't in the mood right from the start and it would probably have been better to claim a headache. But I wanted to make you feel good about yourself, and it was easier to fake it than to give you the impression that it was you."

The next morning I was back at my desk, but I had barely got it sorted out back to the way it had been, when Sir wandered into my office, an uncommon event. I don't know what he had come to say because before he could speak I said, "You can call off the sanctions because my wife has agreed to do what you want."

He seemed to take the news without showing any surprise, and replied, "Then you can expect Mr Smith to visit you this evening to sort out a plan of campaign with both you and your wife." With that, he left immediately.

Upon my return home, I warned my wife of the forthcoming visit. Mr Smith turned up just after eight, and I have to say that it started in a very strained way. When I made the introductions, he seemed to be just going through the motions, and Fiona behaved so coolly toward him that for a while I feared she was in the process of changing her mind again.

When we all seated with a glass in our hands, (basic politeness dictating that we offer him a drink), instead of immediately talking about the 'mission,' he looked around the room and said, "This place is in need of a bit of decoration. How would you like a long weekend break at my department's expense while I get a team in to tart it up a bit? You will of course be given a choice of colours and wall papers beforehand."

"There's no need to bother, we're happy with it as it is," I told him.

"I'm afraid this is non negotiable," he said briskly. "The true purpose is to install undetectable listening devices. Ideally, we are hoping that your wife will be able to bring the target back here as often as possible. Having a recording is better because it makes it less important for her to remember everything that is said. There is also the possibility that we pick up on something that she thinks is too trivial to report."

"I don't like that idea one little bit," I told him with some heat. "I don't like the idea of some faceless goon listening in to our normal life, especially in the bedroom."

Mr Smith was not impressed. "That has all been thought of and taken into consideration. There will of course be a privacy button to stop any recording. You will set it to record when leaving the house and then off when you get home. On those occasions when Fiona returns to the house accompanied by someone other than you, then she will simply omit using the switch."

I nodded, indicating that my objection was withdrawn, and Mr Smith stood as if ready to leave. "Oh by the way, you will find a new shed in your garden when you get back, we need someone close by to monitor whenever we know that activity is likely," he added as he made a move towards the door.

Fiona said nothing the entire time, so it was left up to me to ask what was likely to happen. Mr Smith resumed his seat rather reluctantly and said, "Nothing is likely to happen for a week or so, which is why I didn't think it worth discussing at this stage. Very roughly, in about three weeks time you will both be invited to a party and the target will be seated at an adjacent table. At some point you will be called away for an extended period. About a month after that, Fiona will be dining alone at a restaurant and her table will happen to be close to the one where Grigor usually sits. Further plans will depend very largely on your wife." 

Fiona had not spoken a single word during the whole visit. I questioned her about this, but she explained that she resented the fact that he was the 'suit' calling the shots.

The following day, my boss came into my office and dropped a large package on my desk without saying a word. It contained details of our break in Tenerife, to be taken in the middle of the following week, plane tickets and times, together with the required information about our hotel booking. On the flight out I was very aware of the fact that we were effectively celebrating the end of our exclusive sexual relationship, but strangely, once there I was able to put what was going to happen in the future right out of my mind. It was almost a second honeymoon and an idyllic three days.

It was only when we got back that reality surfaced again and I started counting off the days to that first arranged encounter between my wife and Grigor, with increasing apprehension. I tried consoling myself with the fact that I would be at the party too, and no sex was likely on that first encounter. That didn't help much because I realised that was only delaying the inevitable, since the second "chance" meeting was already planned. I think that Fiona was probably engaged in her own mental struggle as neither of us said much about what was to come.

It was when the formal invitations for the party arrived that I really seized up inside. I felt terrible and considered refusing the invites on the ground that I was ill, (I certainly had believable symptoms), but I realised they would simply insist that Fiona attend by herself, and that would be many times worse.

The following day, Mr Smith and a female agent collected my wife from her place of employment and took her to an exclusive dress shop to be kitted out with a gown for the evening. The female agent explained it would reveal more cleavage than Fiona usually did, but only to a subtle degree. She said that they wanted to give the impression that the excess flesh on display was incidental rather than a deliberate intention to seduce. When the final selection was made, the agents declared that it would certainly catch Grigor's eye, and when Fiona wore it at home I had to agree. I don't think I have ever seen her look more stunning.

At the party I was thrilled to see the way that Fiona was attracting far more glances from men than was usual but was disappointed at the seating arrangements. I had been anticipating the opportunity to covertly study Grigor, but that was impossible. Fiona and I were seated at right angles to each other and in such a way that my back was towards the man although he could view her in profile. 

My wife danced with me once and with two other 'suitors.' Strangely, I was starting to quite enjoy myself, and seemed to have forgotten the purpose of the party, when my mood was disrupted by a waiter who approached and said rather loudly, "There is a telephone call for you. It's your office, sir."

Jerked back to reality, I stood up saying, "At this time of night?" with the anger in my voice quite genuine. I was taken to an upper room where Mr Smith was waiting. He was dressed as a waiter and his appearance was so altered I almost didn't recognise him. "Grab a drink and make yourself comfortable, you'll be here for an hour," he told me.

I had just sat down clutching my glass and the butterflies already active in my stomach, when Mr Smith stood, saying he was going to inform my wife about the length of my absence. He returned with a broad smile on his face to inform me that the fish was already nibbling at the bait. "It couldn't have worked out better. He was already dancing with your wife so he heard everything I told her. I said you had to drive back home to e-mail some important documents and would be gone for a little over an hour. Knowing that the approach will be unobstructed for so long, our Grigor might even take a second bite of the apple." 

The agents eventually allowed me back to the table and soon after Fiona and I left. I seemed to have lost my appetite for the evening and I was desperately eager to discover what transpired in my absence. This was not something we could discuss at the table. Mr Smith's prediction was correct: there was a second dance. "I am beginning to revise my opinion of Grigor slightly," Fiona started by saying when we were back home. "The first dance he behaved much as before, pushing his lower body against me but this time, instead of resisting and pulling away, I moulded my body into him. The second dance a little while later was a lot better, not feeling a need to continually grind into me he turned out to be quite a talented dancer. Also, away from the floor he can be quite charming."

"How do you mean?" I asked rather abruptly, I was not at all happy about the way she seemed to be warming to the man.

"When he brought me back to the table after the second dance, instead of leaving, he bobbed down and sat for a while, perched on the edge of your chair. We must have chatted for about ten minutes," Fiona explained. "His eyes perked up when I said that we didn't have any children and then he asked what you did. I told him that you used to be a scientist but now you worked for a government department. I said it was a very good job except that you had to work long hours and needed to travel abroad a lot. That last bit was part of the script I've been told to say." 

The next month passed quickly and surprisingly easily. I think I lulled myself into the belief that I had done what was asked and that it was all over, so it was a shock to the system when one evening Fiona announced quite happily that the following day she would be going for that special solo lunch. 

I was very tense all the next day, especially during the afternoon, but when I got home my wife was already there. She greeted me with a big smile, "I think I've got him," she said happily.

"What happened?" I asked, desperate to know, but fearful to hear her answer.

"As everybody hoped, as soon as Grigor spotted me he asked if he could join me and when I agreed he had all his dishes redirected to my table. It was very pleasant, and he was a perfect gentleman. He ordered a bottle of very good wine and when he finished eating, we sat and drank it together. It was rather strong. Then he pointed out that his flat was just round the corner and said he would like me to see it, especially his collection of Russian miniatures."

"That wasn't meant to happen," I objected angrily, "I thought the plan was for you play hard-to-get, at least at first." 

Fiona seemed in a very buoyant mood and ignored my display of bad temper. "It didn't do any harm and I believe it was quite a big move forward."




Paying the Price



"Mr Smith won't be happy if stuff happens at his place, you were meant to always bring him back here where the recording devices are," I pointed out in a more reasonable tone of voice. "Did anything happen?" I asked, trying for nonchalance, as it if was almost an afterthought.

"He certainly started coming on to me in a rather heavy way but I eluded his grasp and told him firmly to behave himself," Fiona told me grinning. "There was some kissing, he's rather a good kisser by the way, and he had a nice suck at my nipples. He suddenly pulled my top down and was doing it before I could stop him. Oh, and I also gave his cock a rub, but only outside his pants, and that's about it. I did give him my mobile and he's promised to ring me." 

"Now that you've had a real feel of his cock, what is it like? How does it compare with mine?"

"It is rather big, I don't want you to take this the wrong way darling because it's really not important, but there is no comparison," my wife told me, looking straight into my eyes. 

There was nothing I could say, and anyway I was too depressed. When we first started following Mr Smith's orders, Fiona was a reluctant as I, but now she seemed almost enthusiastic. When we finally got to bed that night she was eager for sex, but I don't think I have ever felt less in the mood. Contrary to my opinion, it turned out that Mr Smith was pleased with her initiative and how that afternoon worked out. He actually congratulated her on the way she had handled it.

It was mid evening two days later when her mobile rang. Fiona immediately attracted my attention, held a finger to her lips and mouthed, "It's him," before whispering into the mouthpiece, "My husband's here but he's in the next room at the moment." We never listened to each other's conversations, so out of habit I stood and moved out of earshot but after only a few seconds, curiosity pulled me back. I was just in time to hear her say, "I'd better send you a list of the times when I know he'll be out." 

The moment she rang off, my wife ran across the room, threw her arms around me and smothered my face with kisses, "He wants me," she told me triumphantly. 

I checked the list of my supposed absences, and it mentioned two days out of the week. I actually only worked late on Wednesdays, but I agreed to stay at work later on Fridays if that became necessary. As expected, Grigor picked the first available date. My nerves were on a knife edge when I left for work that morning, but at the door Fiona flung her arms around me, gave me a very tender, loving kiss and whispered, "Don't worry, it's only sex and you are the man I love."

I gave her a wan smile as I stepped away, but she grinned and said, "And don't let your imagination go too much into overdrive, because I don't plan to be quite that easy this first time."

I got very little constructive work done that day. It's easy by now to imagine how I was feeling, so I won't dwell on it. Fiona was waiting for me that evening, looking fresh and clean and with a strong cocktail waiting for me. I asked if he had only just left, but was told that he only stopped for a couple of hours. "I told you I was going to leave him wanting me," my wife reminded me.

For one glorious moment I hoped that they had only talked, but was soon disappointed. "The kissing got very passionate and he had a suck at my tits like he did before," Fiona volunteered, seeming eager to tell me. "The new bit was when I sucked his cock --although sucking is really the wrong word because it was really too thick to fit in my mouth, so it was more licking than sucking. He really does have a very nice organ. He also got my panties off and played with my pussy but his cock didn't get inside me. I told him that I liked him a terrible lot, but I was happily married and loved my husband, so it wasn't easy to be unfaithful for the first time. He didn't push too hard and to keep from discouraging him entirely, I let him cum in my mouth." 

"Did you swallow it?" 

"Of course I did. I know that I've never particularly liked doing that with you, but I couldn't let him think I've got any hang ups about it."

I wasn't happy, but I said nothing. I don't know if it was the release of tension from knowing rather than not, but I suddenly felt drained and after an involuntary yawn I said I was thinking of going straight to bed. I think Fiona expected me to be jumping all over her because, with a surprised look on her face, she warned, "If you want me, then you better have me tonight because I'm off the menu for you tomorrow. Grigor was going to go down on me, but then he asked if you had fucked me last night. I had to tell the truth because I thought he might be able to tell, and that seemed to put him off the idea. So in future you'll have to leave me alone the night before I'm with him and I'm seeing him again on Friday." 

I was more relaxed on Friday, I think mainly because I thought she was going to play hard to get for a bit longer with respect to actual penetration. I was still desperately trying to convince myself that anything else didn't "count." However, the moment I got home I knew I was mistaken, because Fiona had an excited glow. Once more, she made a big fuss of me before thanking me for leaving her alone the previous night. "As soon as I told him I hadn't let you touch me, he was between my legs like a rabbit going down its hole," she gushed. "And he was very good at it, almost as good as you. It was marvellous, and took my mind right off what I knew was going to happen next. His cock is so thick I couldn't see how it could possibly fit inside me and I was convinced that if it did, it would be agony."

"Did it fit?" I asked, unable to wait.

Fiona nodded. "Yes, and it was painful, but not more than I could stand, mostly because Grigor was so gentle and considerate. He kept pushing in a little bit more and then pausing until I got used to it, even when we stopped I don't thing he had put it all in. It was all so slow that by the end he still hadn't cum, and I had to suck him off again. I think I'm picking up a knack for doing that and I've decided that it doesn't taste as bad as I thought it would."

I had been dreading the act of penetration but strangely I was less bothered by the fact that it had happened than I was about the second blow job, that he'd gotten twice what she only grudgingly gave me, and never finishing me off in her mouth. There was no thought of going to bed early because, having been forced to abstain since Wednesday, I had been suffering with an intermittent erection all day. Fortunately, Fiona seemed even more eager than I, literally dragging me upstairs to bed. I don't think I have ever known her to be so hot for it. The passion was such a blue moon event that I managed to get it up and cum twice. Fiona had her much- needed orgasm, and afterwards she said contentedly, "That's the first time I've two different cocks inside me on the same day, and I think I like it."

We were at it until the early hours, and slept late the following morning. As I lay, not yet officially awake, I played with the thought that if this was a sample of my wife's spying duties, then it wasn't going to be so bad after all. I had to admit that while I was still jealous, hearing her recounting of everything that happened, as well as her eagerness for me afterward excited me. Sunday was another very sexual day, so much so that on Monday night I still felt sexually sated and didn't bother making love to Fiona again, not realising my mistake. I was very much in the mood on Tuesday, only to be reminded that as she was seeing her lover the next day, her pussy was barred to me. That was only the start of my troubles.

Wednesday I lingered at work as promised but soon realised that I was wasting my time, so I passed a couple of hours in the bar of a local hotel. I was not particularly bothered by unwanted mental images, except for the persistent one of thick white cum slowly trickling down my wife's chin. Growing impatient, I finally set off for home, knowing I was probably too early. Sure enough, I spotted an expensive foreign car parked in my drive. I parked out of sight but was still able to see the house. Some twenty minutes later I recognised the unmistakable tall figure of the Russian leaving and driving away.

Fiona was reclining on the settee, but did not get up to greet me. She looked very tired but there was a look of satisfaction on her face.

"What happened?" I blurted out, before she could speak.

Fiona hesitated. "Are you sure that you want to know love, I don't want to hurt you?

"Tell me, I need to hear."

"He fucked me properly this time and got all of it in. I've even had a couple of orgasms."

As my wife had anticipated, her simple statement was like a dagger through my heart, but I couldn't understand why it left me with a very obvious erection.

After I had eaten, my wife described how they had gone through roughly the same routine as before, except that this time they had enjoyed a lengthy, fairly energetic session of actual fucking. I hadn't realised the significance until we were in bed and when I made my move to reclaim her, Fiona put her hand to gently stop me saying, "I'm sorry love but I'm far too bruised and tender to let you. I doubt if I will be much better tomorrow night and you wouldn't be able to have me then anyway. I just hope I've recovered in time for Grigor on Friday." 

I was so charged up that I lay breathing heavily, unable to believe what she had said. Seeing my disappointment, she offered, "I know you need to cum, so how would you like me to toss you off instead?" 

"How about a blow job instead?"

Fiona shook her head, "You know I don't like doing that."

"You seem to manage alright with Grigor. And you said you were adjusting your view of it," I pointed out petulantly.

"That's different," she said, "If we want to get this Mata Hari thing over as soon as possible, I've got to do everything that's necessary." 

There was a long pause as I struggled to fault her logic, but Fiona interrupted my train of thought by saying brightly, "I'm also thinking of shaving off my pubes. Grig says he prefers the bare look and it can't do any harm to please him. I'm even considering having a Brazilian. Do you know what a Brazilian is?"

"I presume that you don't mean a native of Brazil," I guessed, trying not to focus on the fact that she was now referring to him as "Grig".

She laughed. "It's a wax treatment. They coat the pubic hair with hot wax and when it has cooled the salon technician yanks it off pulling all the hairs out by the roots, leaving me completely smooth."

I winced and my wife nodded. "A girl I knew had it done and she says that it certainly brings tears to the eyes but the pain doesn't last for much longer than a minute."

"Isn't that a bit permanent, "I objected. "When this is all over, what if I like the hairy look better?" 

"I think you will like it and even if you don't you'll soon get used to it," my wife said, rather unsympathetically, "I'd been considering it long before Grigor. So many women are having it done that soon it will be the new norm."

By the Friday I was going crazy. Perhaps I should have relieved the pressure by masturbating, but I didn't dare because I was now afraid images of Fiona and "Grigor" would inevitably spring to mind. I had permanent painful erection all day, but I am not sure if that was due to the build up of semen, or the knowledge that my lovely wife was engaged in full rampant sex with another man. That night she was again too bruised to allow penetration, but this time persuaded me to forgo relief so that I could reclaim her properly the next day. That decision effectively ensured that I had an almost sleepless night.

On the Saturday I would have far preferred to ease my throbbing groin during the afternoon, but Fiona insisted that we wait until evening and then not until after a special meal, complete with candles and wine. She explained that to keep herself in balance, she needed romantic sex with the man that she loved. She was still too tender for me to be forceful but I still found it to be an explosive event. Sunday I really reaped the benefit of her new insatiability because we were at it on and off all day. She seemed to think that talking about what she had done with Grigor would provoke us both to greater heights of passion.

Mr Smith suddenly materialised in my office mid-morning on the Monday. He was well informed about my wife's four encounters with the 'target' and expressed satisfaction at the progress made. He went on to warn me that Fiona would be getting home later than usual because she was being called in for her first debrief. He also said that as the game was now 'in play', they felt that she needed extra training and to be given further instruction on the clues for which she would need to watch out.

When Fiona arrived home she seemed to be in a sombre mood. I was eager to talk about her briefing session, but she brushed aside my questions with a mute shake. However, when we were sitting with drinks later she said, "I've got a confession to make, I've been unfaithful to you, I've had sex with another man."

I gave a little laugh, "I know that, I'm not happy about it but we both agreed but we both agreed so technicality it wasn't cheating."

She shook her head sadly, "No it was a long time before Grigor, about eight years ago when you were in Japan."

"Who was it?" I asked quietly.

"His name was Clive and he was one of those hooray henrys, I'd known him casually for quite a while and never considered him a danger. It was about a month after you left for Japan. I was missing you badly, and I had a bit too much to drink at a party. Well Clive kindly offered to see me home safely and once there I invited him in for a coffee. Somehow we started kissing and the next thing we were in bed. When he left I felt full of guilt, I blamed the drink and swore it would never happen again. But he turned up again the following evening and stayed the night, and the next."

My wife took a gulp from her glass. "I think I went a bit silly. I found out that there was more to him than I thought and I enjoyed feeling almost like being single again. You only rang me twice a week so I didn't think you were bothered and someone had told me about all the fun you would be having with those geisha girls. I had sex with Clive at least three times a week until just before you came home for that week's leave. I hadn't missed a pill so I don't know how it happened, and though my period was due the week before you got back, it never turned up. I know you thought that I wasn't as pleased to see you as I should have been, but all the time I was worried about being pregnant."

"Were you pregnant?" I interrupted to ask.

Fiona nodded, "The test confirmed it as soon as you went back to Japan for the last two months. Clive paid for a termination which took place a month before you came home for good. I only had sex with Clive another three times and that was only to make sure that he would come up with the cash because I didn't dare put it on my credit card."

It was strange, if she had told me this less than a month before I know I would have been devastated by the news but now it no longer seemed terribly important. "Why tell me now?" I asked.

"Because of this afternoon," she said. "You remember when you were busy moving our funds? Well, one day your Mr Smith pulled me out of work and took me to a quiet café. He started by trying to persuade me, talking about your career and saying we would be sacrificing a great deal over what was really only a small thing. He said a lot more and I remained adamant. Then he started to get nasty. He asked how you would feel if you knew about my abortion, and that was the only thing that changed my mind about screwing Grigor." I was totally shocked because I thought that Clive and I were the only ones in the whole world who knew about that."

"So where does this afternoon come into it?"

"After lunch I met up with the guy who is going to be my handler, and he took me to what he said was a safe house. At first it was what I expected, he gave me my code name together with a telephone number to memorise and then he described bits of procedure that I needed to know. But then he said that he needed to check my sexual ability, saying it was standard procedure with new female agents. He said that if he found any deficiencies then they would bring in some hookers to teach me the tricks of the trade. He also said that the same thing happened with the male studs that he referred to as seduction operatives."

"So did you?" I asked, fighting a choking feeling in my throat.

Fiona nodded. "What he said did make sense kind of and I had already let Grigor fuck me so one more didn't seem to make much difference. It went on for two whole hours and you won't believe the different things we tried. At the end he stated that he hadn't expected me to be quite so experienced. It all went wrong when I was getting dressed and he still lay naked on the bed. Looking up at me he said he had enjoyed that and was looking forward to my monthly debrief. Then he said that I would be going there in the evening next time and that I should warn you that I would be out all night."

My wife needed another mouthful of liquid refreshment before continuing, "I'd thought he was shifty from the start, but now I got really suspicious and I told him that he wouldn't ever be fucking me again. He just smirked and said that he knew about my little secret and if I didn't want you to find out I would do whatever he said. What the bastard didn't know," Fiona added venomously, "Is that his cock is slightly smaller than yours and after Grigor I could hardly feel him inside me."

Hearing all this caused me to be all knotted up inside, but I spent the evening consoling Fiona and contained my anger until the next day. At the first opportunity I walked unannounced into my boss's office and told him I wanted to speak to Mr Smith immediately. He said that wasn't possible because he had to wait to be contacted, but I said if I hadn't heard from the spook by lunchtime, I was pulling the plug on the whole deal.

Mr Smith rang me at my desk an hour later and I informed him that I wanted someone else as my wife's handler. He laughed and said, 'No chance' and that it wasn't negotiable, upon which I repeated my threat to pull out. That made him more reasonable and he asked what my objection was to the current man. In short I told that the handler knew about the secret which he himself had used to blackmail my wife and that the guy was using that information to cut himself a slice of the action.

Mr Smith was immediately apologetic and conciliatory, promising that the culprit would certainly be replaced and also severely disciplined.

With all the upset I missed my chance to have sex, which meant that I was in a state of denial until Friday when thankfully Fiona willingly opened her legs for me, without any mention of being tender. It turned out to be rather a disappointment. From something I'd read, I was expecting to feel a special silky sensation but I actually felt very little sensation at all, except perhaps for heat. I decided that in future I might be better waiting until Saturday but soon found I wasn't to be allowed that option.

Sunday was another all day marathon and again Fiona took the opportunity to tell me everything she did with Grigor, including details which I might have been better off not knowing. It may have been just honesty but where she was initially reluctant to divulge details, now she seemed to almost take pleasure in the telling. She said that missionary was his favourite and that they always finished off that way but before that they did lots of other positions and in places other than the settee. It seems that he had a partiality for doggie style and tended to get rough. "Grigor says that it's his Cossack blood showing," Fiona told me with a grin. "I'm not saying it's better but it is different from anything I've tried before." 




Paying the Price



That was more than enough data for me but my promiscuous wife insisted on painting another intimate picture that I can't get out of my head. "I particularly like this thing we do with a dining chair," Fiona started, her face beaming with pleasure. "He sits on it and I straddle his lap in a facing position. His cock is inside me and I pull myself up and down using my arms round his neck. I love being able to kiss him while we're fucking and he enjoys feeling my breasts rubbing against his hairy chest."

My wife had bad news to deliver, but she waited until we were almost ready for sleep, starting by casually asking why I no longer stopped overnight at my club in the city after working late. I had once adopted that practice in the belief that it was better to enjoy a drink and conversation at the club before bed, compared to spending over an hour driving home in a mentally–exhausted state, only to go immediately to bed on arrival. Ironically I had only stopped that habit when my wife complained of feeling neglected.

"You better start staying again," she declared, "Grigor wants to sleep with me all night and that would be the perfect opportunity."

The new regime started immediately, because Fiona had pre-empted the issue by already telling Grigor that I wouldn't be home on two nights the following week. This change led to what seemed like progress on her espionage duties, but also led to a development that I considered a step backward. "Grigor fucked me in our bed last night," Fiona informed me the moment I got home on the Thursday. "Up until now I always took him into one of the guest rooms, and he hasn't objected, but knowing you wouldn't be home he insisted on doing it where you and I make love. I didn't particularly like it but I've got to keep him happy." 

I had rather a grumble about everything getting out of control, but my wife put an end to my rant by pointing out that it seemed to be paying off. "I'm pretty sure that in addition to arms dealing, he's into drugs and at a pretty high level," she said smugly.

"What kind of drugs?"

"Cocaine at least, he produced some of that and asked if I wanted to try a line. He was bragging that it was pure, totally uncut and far better quality than the stuff even top class dealers are selling. He gave the impression that he had an unending supply."

"Did you try any?"

Fiona shook her head hesitantly. "Although Grigor had a couple of snorts, I refused to do that but I did let him rub some on my gums. He did it just before I sucked his cock because he said it caused special sensations. I believe him. He put some in his mouth just before sticking his tongue in my cunt and it felt as if I had been pumped full of rocket fuel. I absolutely went into to orbit and the sensations were completely out of this world." She grinned, "He suffered for it though, I was so unbearably tingly right up inside that for over an hour afterwards I couldn't bear for him to put his cock in me." 

The weekend was much as before, and on Monday I had another visit from Mr Smith. He was already aware of the drug development and he brought new orders to pass on to my wife. She was instructed to get a sample from Grigor's stash so that it could be analysed to assess the actual quality and possibly discover the source. It was only the thought that an end to this "mission" might be in sight that kept me motivated, because that week I found my lonely nights at the club were almost unbearable. I had to resort to masturbation as the only way to find sleep, because otherwise the images of what would be happening in my bed at home would have given me no rest. Of course, to my shame, I could only get off by thinking of those same images.

When I arrived home on the Saturday morning, Fiona waved a small bag of white powder triumphantly under my nose. "Grigor says that this little bag is worth over a thousand pounds cut down for distribution at street level." Then she looked coy and invited, "Would you like to try it? Nobody will miss a little bit, and it is terribly good stuff." 

"How do you know that?" Even as I asked I knew I would not like the answer.

"I've been doing some lines with Grigor," Fiona admitted happily. Then, seeing the disapproving look on my face, she explained, "It was the only way to get hold of some. As it was, before he left I just asked if he could leave me some for the weekend and he handed this over without any hesitation, it was as easy as that but I did feel a bit rotten for betraying him though."

"You're not meant to feel any loyalty to him, remember that you are meant to be doing this reluctantly," I said sharply.

"That is how it started but it isn't anymore," Fiona said heatedly. "I've found out I love big cock and it's your fault. If you hadn't stolen that guy's idea in the first place, we wouldn't be in this situation. Anyway, if I do what's required, what does it matter if I enjoy it? I do enjoy it because going with Grigor has reminded me how much I love to fuck. I thought sex with him was the best but a little bit of coke makes it even better, at times my whole body felt as if it was on fire. If you think about it, this is the only way. If I had to keep opening my legs for a man I detested, he would soon have realised and then he would never have trusted me the way he is starting to do now." 

Sex that day was not the best, partly because new developments had put too much on my mind but mainly because physically I couldn't help being aware that she had recently been fucked by a much larger cock than mine. Sunday was different because Fiona was insatiable, and every time I flagged she found new ways to inspire me to further effort. We had a long session during the afternoon and another in the evening, but even in between she couldn't leave it alone. At the end of the day I could hardly complain that I was getting short rations and was seriously thinking of acquiring a large sex toy to possibly ease the pressure on me in the future. 

I have not mentioned my reaction to Fiona's new waxed look. At first, I did enjoy the startling difference and enjoyed the feeling when my lips and cheek touched her smooth mound, but now I'm not so sure. At one time, going down on her was almost my favourite sexual activity and I used to do it as a regular foreplay. Unfortunately I share Grigor's fastidiousness in that I didn't like the thought of doing it when Grigor had left a deposit in there from the previous night. After I started staying overnight at my club, it was even worse because then I knew he had put cum in her earlier that day. Consequently, I didn't go down on her until the Sunday and that's when I got a good look at her pussy. Regular ravishing by an overlarge cock now left her cunt more open and far less 'pretty' than it used to be and I thought a slight covering of hair might make the damage far less obvious. 

Over the course of the weekend, we agreed that I would take the cocaine with me in to work, in the expectation that Mr Smith would almost certainly be calling in to collect it. It was actually on the Monday morning that Fiona had a change of heart. Producing an empty, much smaller bag she suggested that would hold a large enough sample for the analysis, which would mean we could keep the rest for ourselves. I vetoed the idea because I hated the idea of drugs in the house, and felt that might be the start down a slippery slope. Events were to prove that to be a wise assumption on my part. 

One Monday morning a couple of weeks later, Mr Smith wandered into to my office and cheerfully asked if I had ever been to Singapore. I told him that I had stopped over there for a couple of days several years ago. "Well I hope you liked the place because you are going there for a week during the next month," he announced, "I'm afraid I have rather pre-empted your boss in giving you the good news." 

"Why there, I don't deal with that area of the world?" I asked mystified.

My tormentor actually grinned. "There is nothing for you to do there, so you might as well take a nice holiday, have a bit of fun. The whole object of the exercise is to get you well out of the way for a short while." 

He gave me a moment to assimilate the news but before I could ask he explained, "Grigor has mentioned to Fiona that he wished he could take her somewhere abroad for a few days. Now we think this a promising development, because he is likely to become far more relaxed in that situation. Unfortunately, your wife has explained to him that it would be impossible to do it without you becoming suspicious. With you off the scene it becomes very possible."

"I thought the only reason for him visiting my house was so that you could record what he says. If they go somewhere else you will be back to depending on what Fiona can remember," I pointed out.

Mr Smith shook his head confidently, "That's all taken care of. Every piece of her luggage has been fitted out with powerful transmitter microphones and anyone with the right receiver within 100 yards will be able to hear perfectly whatever is said in that room. Unfortunately we will not have visual but sound should suffice in the circumstances."

I immediately realised that the spook had made an uncharacteristic mistake. His words intimated that usually they did have visual and that in turn meant that there were more than just listening devices concealed in my house. Somehow I managed not to show reaction to this disturbing discovery for remainder of the short meeting. The only further thing of significance was that just before he left, Mr Smith instructed, "Don't tell your wife that the Singapore trip is a phoney. She's likely to behave more naturally if she believes it's genuine." 

Fiona pretended disappointment when she heard of my forthcoming trip, reminding me that it was almost two years since I had been away from home that long and saying that she was going to miss me. She didn't mention her hoped for short holiday with Grigor and neither did I tell her of my intention to have a look inside that mysterious shed in the garden.

My departure was scheduled for the Sunday evening three weeks later but although I drove to the airport and went through the motions, I did not catch the plane. During the intervening period I had used time well, booking into a small hotel and hiring a car, both under an assumed name and paid for in cash. The car was waiting for me in the long term car park. 

During those three weeks, the bi-weekly sexual assignations between my wife and the Russian assumed the nature of a routine. Fiona stopped telling me what they had done unless I asked and my nights spent at the club became far less onerous, (but that was possibly because my mind was full of plans for the days she was away). The only worrying development was that I felt sure that my wife had continued to dabble with drugs. Oh yes, the amount of rough sex with a far better hung man meant a lessening of tightness to her vagina which lasted through my weekend nights. I hated to think what it would feel like after they had enjoyed four solid days together. 

I spent the Sunday night at the hotel and on the following afternoon phoned Fiona, pretending I was ringing from Asia. At the end of the call she said, "Don't bother ringing me this week. I'm thinking of spending a few days in the Lake District with my sister, we'll be stopping in different places and mobile reception is terrible up there." She had completely omitted to mention her planned romantic holiday, which I now knew was to be in Barcelona.

Tuesday I was in the hire car, parked in sight of the house in time to see Grigor arrive and a few minutes later. I witnessed him manhandling my wife's luggage into the boot of his car. I then trailed them to the airport and was able to see them going into departure for the Spain flight. I think that last was a mistake; after all this time I had become inured to my wife regularly copulating with the passionate foreigner, but to see them as two lovers happily setting off on holiday caused a very painful twinge to my heart. 

Leaving the airport I drove at speed, retracing my path, but in the final stages veered off to a specific location to the rear of my house. The shed at the bottom of my garden was located hard up against a tall thick hedge beyond which was woodland. Sure enough on a track leading through the woods, I spotted an empty vehicle that looked like an unmarked police car. I found a spot to keep it under observation and was rewarded half an hour later when two incongruously-dressed males wandered out from the trees, each carrying a lap top and a large briefcase. When they had safely driven away, I made my way to the hedge beyond which was the door of my shed.

On examining the hedge, at first it seemed impenetrable but I soon found that there was a cleverly concealed access through to the shed. I was fully equipped with screwdrivers, pliers, a jemmy and even a bolt cutter. I hoped to gain covert access but was determined to see inside and if necessary was prepared to prise the door from its hinges. Seeing the door, I realized it was only a matter of unscrewing the back plate to which the heavy padlock was attached. It struck me as ironic that the country's premier security agency should use such flimsy security to safeguard its own property. 

The moment that I stepped inside the shed, my suspicions were confirmed. High up on the right hand wall there was a row of monitors, with a larger screen centrally below. If they had only been recording sound, all that would have been required was some kind of controlling switchboard arrangement together with earphones or an amplifier. There were a pair of swivel chairs standing in front of the screens and a small armchair in the left hand corner of the far wall, with a large number of girlie magazines piled on the seat. For the creature comforts of the observers, an electric kettle and microwave had been provided and a portion of the far wall had a set of DVD racks with many of the slots containing labelled discs. 

On a narrow working surface below the screens there were six switches labelled B1,B2, M, L, K and H. I guessed that the first three were the bedrooms with the others being lounge, kitchen and hall respectively. A bit of playing around and I soon ascertained that three of the rooms only had a single camera. The hall had two, one pointing towards the front door and the other focussed on the stairs. The lounge had three cameras with two centred on the couch with the third covering the dining table in the window area. They had really gone to town in the master bedroom, with no less than five cameras. There was one directly above the bed giving a birds-eye perspective, and one situated in all four corners, all focused on the bed. I found that the camera situated above the bed-head also picked up images reflected in the floor-to-ceiling mirrored wardrobes along the opposite wall. 

Once I had worked out how to operate the equipment I investigated the DVD racks and almost immediately spotted one dated for a Sunday when I knew for certain that the target had not been in my house. We had been meticulous about setting the privacy switch so in theory this should have been a no action day, so why had a recording been made?

As soon as I started viewing the recording it was immediately obvious that my wife and I had been filmed and listened to while going about our normal life, with the only detail of possible significance being a small flashing 'P' in the top left corner of the screen. I quickly flashed forward to the afternoon, vainly hoping that when it came to the bedroom they might have shown some restraint.

I remembered that afternoon vividly and I had an involuntary smile at the memory. I had been lounging on the settee reading the Sunday papers when Fiona leaned forward before me with the front of her blouse undone. Cupping her hands under her breasts and thrusting them under my nose, she said seductively, "Nice aren't they?" Then turning round she flipped up the back of her skirt and bent forward with legs spread to reveal that she wasn't wearing panties. Waggling her butt provocatively, she delivered her ultimatum, "If you want some of this you better grab it now or else I'm going to save it all for Grigor on Wednesday and then you'll have to wait until next weekend for your turn."

I saw myself lung forward to grab her but she eluded my grasp and scampered behind the settee. I chased after her but after a couple of circuits, I tried to end it by vaulting over the back of the furniture. Again I was a fraction of a second too late, allowing her to dash down the hall and up the stairs with me in hot pursuit. In the bedroom she threw herself on to the bed to lie in her back with bare legs flailing, still trying vainly to fend me off. With my passions fully aroused and not to be denied, I grabbed her thighs and prised them apart to plunge my mouth on the prize between them. I savoured that saliva- producing delicacy for some ten minutes or more until, as if on an unspoken command we both leapt up and began tearing off our clothes.

Watching as we began coupling in a naked state on the recording, I suddenly wondered how many pairs of lascivious eyes had watched our moments of intimacy. My first reaction was that inbuilt sense of shame that is the basis of modesty, but then I thought that Fiona at least had nothing of which to be ashamed. She was perfection in both face and body, and I doubted if even the Greek goddesses of old would have looked better. I know I enjoyed a feeling of pride, knowing the envy those illicit viewers must have felt.

After viewing more of the sex, I decided that I wasn't acquitting myself too badly either. I had always kept myself in reasonable shape and was pleased to note how much of my sexual expertise I had managed to retain from my early years. I reckon that I even performed better that some of the so-called studs I've seen in porn films; at least I didn't need to continually handle my dick to keep it stiff. It was while watching this I realised that all of the cameras in the marital bedroom were equipped with a zoom facility. 

Seeing myself having sex from an outside viewpoint was a strange, but not unpleasant, experience. Even so, after watching a part of out afternoon session, I quit that disc and dug out one dated for a Wednesday when I knew I would get a first-hand view of my wife being fucked by the Russian. 

Fiona had said that Grigor was rough with her, but I could see a more apt word in my view would be 'brutal'. Had I walked in on that scene unprepared, my first reaction would have to be to seize something to use as a weapon and rush to her rescue with no thought for myself. To my amazement, I didn't have to watch for long to realise that Fiona loved taking it that way. She even goaded him to greater excess, using crude words that never heard pass her lips with me. 

From the opening sequences it was obvious that for Fiona, having sex with the Russian was unlike anything she had experienced with me. The thought that crept uninvited into my head was that what I was seeing was real fucking. My earlier pride in my own filmed performance quickly evaporated as I acknowledged that compared to this, I was an untalented, small-dicked novice. From that first DVD I willingly admitted to myself that I could never match the kind of sex that my rival provided so easily. There was some consolation in wondering if he was capable of my more tender kind of lovemaking. 

When standing, Grigor looked around four inches taller than me and he had the heavy muscular shoulders of a boxer. His thighs were as thick as tree trunks, and that cock I had heard so much about was indeed enormous. The man was also extremely hairy. Apart from his admittedly rather handsome face, he was very reminiscent of pictures I've seen of Neanderthal men. 




Paying the Price



The man showed incredible stamina, both in the length of time he could go without pause and the number of times he could ejaculate during the time they were together. He could also recover amazingly quickly, and the copious amounts of thick cum didn't seem to noticeably decrease. In all the footage that I watched, the moments that caused me the most distress were the times that my wife took his cum in her mouth. After swallowing with obvious relish, she couldn't get enough, and would scoop the inevitable overflow off her chin with her fingers, and eagerly lick them clean. The knife really twisted when, after performing hungry fellatio, she looked into his eyes and said sincerely, "I do love the taste of your cum." So much for not liking to do it.

Throughout our marriage, I had consistently managed to give my wife an orgasm from intercourse, but it was seldom more than one and that usually took a long build up. She was never very vocal except that at the critical moment she would have a long kind of shiver and sigh, "Oh that feels so nice." With this man it was hard to believe that this was the same woman. She seemed to have waves of orgasm after orgasm, and her impassioned cries would have troubled the decibel scale. There were shrieks and screams and shouts, all in the filthiest language, either calling to God or urging Grigor on. The hidden microphones had been set at too great a sensitivity for this and each time she gave vent it was an assault on the eardrums. 

All the time I have known her Fiona has used the word 'pussy' when talking about her vagina, except that sometimes she calls it 'her teacake' which I gather is the word that her mother used to refer to that part of her anatomy, when she was a little girl. With Grigor the words 'cunt', 'twat', 'quim' and even 'hole' tripped easily off her tongue. She had apparently even learned some Russian words for body parts and sexual functions. There is no chance of me quoting but I know that she spoke them with feeling. 

All the DVDs were recorded from the larger screen with the operators deciding which from all available images they wished to include. The angle switching and use of the zoom facility by the two in the shed showed me that they had the expertise for a career in filming porn whenever they left the secret service.

Gripped with a growing feeling of helplessness I watched the recordings for a couple of hours, selecting only those dates when Grigor would be featured and not bothering with those starring me. At the end of that time, managing to break the fascination, I crammed a load of the DVDs into my holdall and after loosely reaffixing the shed lock, I took the long route to make my way round to my house. There I efficiently burned copies of each onto my store of blank DVDs before returning to the shed and putting everything back as I had found it. I spent that night at home wallowing in a protracted orgy of self-pity.

I had the sense to start off with a quick snack, but from the moment I was ensconced in my armchair with a full bottle of malt whiskey to hand, I did not stir again as I watched DVD after DVD throughout the evening and most of the night. In many ways it was a surreal experience. All the time I had feelings of cramp in my guts and there were intermittent periods of other symptoms such as palpitation, hyper-ventilation and episodes of bodily trembling that needed a large gulp of liquor to still. Throughout that time the constant factor was that my penis stayed stiff, hard and throbbing and far too painful to touch. 

I should have just stopped watching but viewing had become compulsive, and my eyes remained glued to the screen until a combination of exhaustion and inebriation released me from my torment. I awoke at mid day aching all over and with a throbbing head. A long hot shower did much to alleviate that, and I followed by preparing myself a quick but nourishing meal. Afterwards I returned to the hotel. There was an argument for spending a night in the familiar comfort of my own bed but I was afraid that I might be tempted to start watching again.

Alone in my hotel room that night I couldn't stop my mind from drifting back to the things I had seen. I had actually witnessed two examples of the sex on a dining chair that my wife had described, with her languorously riding the Russian's cock. These were the only times that I got real pleasure from what I was seeing, at least in part. I liked the fact that in contrast to everything else, it was done nice and slowly. In one of the shots there was a close up showing just how much her vagina was stretched by his thick penis. I know that I've mentioned how she began to feel far looser, but after seeing that I'm amazed that she was able to shrink back as much as she did. The upsetting part was the kissing. Fiona had told me that they had been able to kiss while using that position and I had assumed it was mutual but it was very evident that it was she who prompted the kissing with him only responding.

It is hard to understand why, after all the uninhibited sex I had seen, it should be innocuous displays of affection which caused me most distress. Even afterward, the memory instantly brought tears to my eyes. It happened quite often when they were resting between sessions. Grigor always lay on his back, but my wife's favoured position was on her side facing towards him. Spontaneously she would reach out and stroke either his arm or leg, not necessarily in a sexual way but just touching for touching's sake. Thankfully any verbally-equivalent intimacy would have been picked up, had there been any. 

By Thursday morning I had decided what to do. Returning to the house I started searching for the contact number that my wife had been given right at the start of her forced assignment. It was surprisingly easy to find, in an envelope, inside her lingerie drawer and written on the back of the initial contact photo she had been given to identify Grigor. I used it to ring Mr Smith and informed him that I was at home, not in Singapore and that if I didn't see him within the hour I was likely to do something rash. 

By the time that he arrived, I had a DVD of Fiona and her lover playing on my big screen TV with the sound turned down. On entering the room he couldn't help seeing the image but he still had the gall to look at me blandly and ask, "What seems to be the problem?"

In answer, I pointed to the TV and said angrily, "That's the problem. When I agreed to you bugging my house you assured me that it would be sound only."

Without a shred of contrition he said, "Yes, I admit that I did rather deceive you there, but there was a very valid reason. It's not unknown for our female seduction agents to get turned by the target and when that happens we need to know. If they develop feelings, they tend to warn the guy and then pass sensitive information in written notes or only talk close to running water, so a visual is needed to see if that is happening. We are actually rather concerned with Grigor and your wife, because they've started spending an inordinate amount of time together in the bathroom. We probably missed a trick by not having anything in there, but usually it's not worth the bother because running water kills the sound and the condensation generally renders the camera useless."

His demeanour showed that he believed he had answered all objections, but I told him, "That's not was has really upset me. That so-called privacy button is fuck-all use, because whether it is set or not doesn't make a blind bit of difference, everything is recorded just the same. What I really object to is those two lecherous perverts in the shed watching my wife and I having sex. You can tell that the bastards were enjoying it from the way they kept switching cameras to get the most intimate angle."

"I am sorry about that," he said, actually sounding sincere, "That wasn't meant to happen, but there was a valid reason for monitoring both you and your wife. To be frank, due to the rather unconventional methods we used to recruit you and Fiona, we knew that neither of you were doing this willingly, so we needed to be aware if you were deliberately sabotaging the operation as a way of hitting back." 

I could understand his logic but was still not happy. "There was still no reason for your two twisted bastards making such a meal of watching me and my wife in bed. If you watched the film you must have noticed the salacious way they keep zooming in for close ups," I protested.

"I admit that was rather uncalled for, I will have a word with them about it," Mr Smith conceded.

"I want more than that. If the two perverts are not severely disciplined then I intend to take the matter further."

The conciliatory demeanour of the other man immediately changed. "You will do nothing to hazard this operation," he said coldly. "You are overlooking the fact that I could arrest you now for breaking and entering into a secret facility and misappropriating classified government material. Have you any idea how many years you would get for that? And don't even think about creating publicity because you will be tried and convicted in camera."

I said nothing. What could I say? I'd known from the moment Sir and Mr. Smith had threatened me with exposure that I was little more than a helpless pawn in this game.

Mr Smith then smiled, and in a much friendlier tone said, "But neither of us are going to be silly about what is really a triviality, are we? If it is any consolation, I can tell you that this won't continue for very much longer. Using a combination of what Fiona has already discovered and new information from Spain, we are now pretty sure that Grigor is only involved in high level organised crime and not the espionage or weapons trafficking that we suspected. As we anticipated, he said things that your wife didn't see as significant, but we found to be very important. We have largely lost interest in the man, so you can look forward to getting your life back in the very near future. Of course, I'm afraid that you're valuable contributions will go unrecognised and unrewarded." 

"Thank God it will soon be over," I said thankfully, seizing on that prospect to take my mind away from the cavalcade of other conflicting thoughts in my head.

"You've got to admit it, those two really go well together," Mr Smith remarked, nodding towards the image on the TV screen, "I'd bet that she's going to find it hard giving him up when we do call it a day. I think you should be prepared for that." His tone of voice showed that he didn't give a damn one way or the other.

I again spent that night in the house but returned to my hotel room on the Friday morning. However I had my place under observation to see my wife and her lover get back late that evening and again to establish that he also stayed Saturday night. Sunday morning I was busy returning the hire car and reclaiming my own so it was just after lunch when I finally got home. Fiona rushed forward to give me the long lost hero treatment but I was harbouring words of reproach. However, when the embrace ended, before I had chance to speak, Fiona said, "I've been away for a few days while you were in Singapore, Grigor took me on a short holiday in Barcelona. I knew about it before you left but deliberately didn't tell you the truth. With the situation we are in, I knew you didn't want to be separated from me for so long, and I thought it would worry you more if you knew what I was doing while you were away." 

With my planned speech that I knew about Barcelona now redundant, I instead asked if she had enjoyed herself. My wife shook her head, "It was a bit disappointing. I thought it was just going to be holiday but I think Grigor combined it with some business deals. There were couple of days when he left me alone all morning to go somewhere and during the evenings at the nightclubs there were always guys that he seemed to know coming up to chat with him. None of them looked very nice individuals, and the young females they were with were all the easy type."

"Drug dealers?"

"I don't know. I'm pretty sure they were all criminals, but I don't want to talk about that. I did have a lot of fun. Grigor really enjoyed showing me off, walking around with me on his arm and acting as if I was his woman, though I did get pleasure out of his pleasure. The only problem from having me all to himself has made Grigor rather possessive, and he now doesn't like the thought of you touching me at all. Just last night he asked me if I wanted to get rid of you, saying it would only take a single phone call."

Fiona paused and laughed, "Don't look so worried, I read him the riot act telling him that if anything happened to you then he wouldn't ever have me again. I told him that being fucked by him was the best thing that had ever happened to me and that I never wanted to stop, but I also said that I still loved you because you were a good kind man and I wouldn't stand by and see you hurt."

"Well that's a relief," I said, more for something to say than a value remark. 

"There is another bit that you might not like," my wife warned, "As a compromise I told Grigor that although you and I still sleep together we don't have sex any more since I've been with him and I offered to move you into the spare room if he preferred that. He did, so we better switch all your stuff by next week. Don't worry, I'll sleep wherever you sleep and we will still have sex, I don't think I could manage without."

Another whole month went past under the new circumstance without developments, except sign of further deterioration when Fiona asked, "Why don't you sleep at your club on Thursdays as well, there doesn't really seem any point you coming home, now that I daren't let you anywhere near me that night." 

I complied with her wishes the following week but when I saw her again on the Saturday afternoon my wife seemed rather depressed. "You can sleep at home all next week because Grigor won't be here. He's had to go back to Russia but he says it shouldn't take any longer than that. He's actually a bit worried because he can't see any reason they would want to call him back there." 

By the end of the week, Fiona was exhibiting withdrawal symptoms and all her unused sexual energies became concentrated on me. There were moments of near exhaustion when I was almost hoping for Grigor to hurry back. The following week she became extremely tense, constantly checking the battery on her mobile and ensuring she had a signal. She heard nothing from him that week, nor the next, at the end of which she was deeply despondent. She was convinced that he had dumped her, and she blamed herself for giving him too much. 

On Monday, Mr Smith made one of his sudden appearances in my office, "This is the last time you will see me," he said by way of announcement. "I shouldn't by rights be telling you this, but I do rather feel I owe you one, although you might be advised to keep it to yourself. Grigor Vasovnovitch was arrested the moment that he touched down in Moscow, but it has taken until now to determine that he was being held in the Lubyanka Prison. Just this morning, I received a single unconfirmed report that he's been executed."

My wife's controller then stepped forward and shook my hand. He then walked smartly towards the door but before leaving he turned and with a broad smile on his face said, "The Kremlin must have somehow found out exactly what kind of nasty business our Grigor was involved in. I don't think they liked the fact that he's been associating with Chechnyan exiles." 

I decided to say nothing to Fiona.

Postscript.

Over the next month, although she gradually improved, Fiona was prone to random moments of tears when she would sob, "How could he just dump me like that, without a word, when I thought he cared for me as much as I cared for him." 

Another residual problem is that she had picked up a bit of an addiction and when she exhausted the small amount of cocaine that Grigor had left her, for a number of weeks I was reduced to seeking out seedy dealers to satisfy her craving. Thankfully I then got her booked in for a short period of detoxification.

Sexually, her urges didn't decrease. We purchased a rampant rabbit sex toy, which took a lot of pressure off me and I thoroughly enjoyed watching her use it. I was less happy about the massive dildo bought at the same time but Fiona claimed that she needed it. I had hoped that with the passage of time we would return to our previous tight sexual fit, but regular use of that dildo effectively prevented that happening. 

I was given promotion with a nice salary raise but informed there would be no further advancement. However I was told that in ten years I would be allowed to take early retirement with a generous pension. At that time there would undoubtedly be many lucrative directorship opportunities. 

Six months down the line we are almost back to how we used to be, and I have even reverted to spending my Wednesday nights at the club. As a new development, Fiona has started having nights out with a female friend and new responsibilities in her employment, so she now spends at least three nights away from home every month. Some might suspect that she is having sex with other men but I shall not enquire. After comparing myself to what I have seen on the CDs I've never been able to make myself get rid of, I honestly wouldn't blame her.



Paying the Price



Ted was nervous. He'd been asked to meet at an apartment building. The woman who called him earlier was surprisingly knowledgeable about the lending scheme they had going on. He knew it was wrong what the company did to borrowers, tricking them into signing up for the promise of low mortgage payments only to have those payments inflated, and not warning them about all the fees. The men he worked for claimed to be brokers, but he wasn't even sure anymore; and for all he knew, they were forging documents too.

He knew it was too good to be true that he could be making so much money so soon after law school. It was an opportunity to get familiar with the real estate market and to make more money than some of us fellow graduates now working for the government. He had big plans. If these companies were doing so well in a shaky housing market, he wanted to be a part of it. He suspected that huge profits probably meant dishonest practices, but how could money be made without breaking a few rules?

He was studying to take his broker exam when he learned that the company was taking advantage of people and forcing their homes into foreclosure. He tried not to think about it, but he'd begun signing documentation. He was involved and whatever came of it, he'd be in trouble with the state bar.

When the woman called him, she told him what his bosses were doing, things he didn't even realize. She also told him he was implicated and could go to jail, although it didn't have to come to that.

It was the usual extortion, he figured. Everyone was gaming the system: his bosses as well as the blackmailer who called him, probably looking for money. 

Ready to confront the situation, he stood up from the park bench and approached the artist lofts. It was a dingy building, much in need of a facelift. From what he could tell, much of the building was abandoned. Since the elevator wasn't in service, he climbed four stories and looked for room 404. Some of the other doors weren't even marked.

He was nervous. He'd been asked here by bad people who were going to do bad things to him. He thought about running. He'd take his chances with the state bar and the FBI, if need be. He hadn't done anything wrong. He just worked for dishonest people.

"Ted," said a woman standing at the door. She was of average height and a bit on the plump side, her thick-rimmed glasses concealing pleasing features. "Are you just going to stand there?" she asked before opening the door.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, apprehensive.

"I want to propose something, that's all."

"What?" he asked.

"Oh, stop it," she said, shaking her head and grabbing him by the arm. "Get in here," she said firmly, pulling him into the apartment and closing the door behind her, locking it.

There was a large cavernous room with support beams, unfurnished but for some chairs and sofas. In the center of the room, on a large carpet lay a naked man with salt and pepper hair, his mouth gagged and his arms and wrists tied to a chair. Seeing Ted, the man moaned, struggling to free himself, but to no avail.

"Don't worry about that," said the woman. "That doesn't have to happen to you."

Ted was being nervous, he was frightened. What was going to happen to him? He didn't have much money, just lots of debt. He was ready to break down and beg to be left alone.

The woman ushered him into a small office. It had a funky smell, something reminiscent of old gym socks, but it was the least of his concerns. He took a seat as she closed the door.

The woman sat behind the desk and shuffled some papers around.

"Did I talk to you over the phone?" he asked her.

"Yes. My name's Sierra. And I'm here to help you."

"Help me?" he asked, doubting her words. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"You haven't?" she asked with a knowing grin.

"I've only been working for them for like four months now."

"You know they were defrauding people and you did nothing. The Feds will see you as a criminal."

"I didn't want to hurt anyone."

"They don't care about that. And it's a shame because you're a young, cute guy who deserves a better chance than the one they're giving you."

"How did you find out about them?"

"I know someone who knows things and he tells me things about people," she explained vaguely. "Things I can use."

"To blackmail," he said, calling a spade a spade. "You want money, I understand. But I don't have money. "

He noticed a pail of old sneakers and flats heaped in a pile, dress socks and gym socks piled on top. It was the source of the irritating stink in the room, but his goal was to keep the meeting short anyway.

"I don't want your money," said Sierra, calmly. 

"Then what do you want?" he asked.

"I want your service."

"I don't understand."

Sierra leaned back in her chair and threw her feet on the desk, one pant leg crossed over the other, the soles of her scuffed flats facing him. 

"I want you to be more ... accommodating," she explained. "I want you to listen to me and do what I tell you. I want you to behave, because it's in your best interests to do so."

"Behave?" he asked. "What do you want?"

"How much do you want this to just ... go away?"

"Just tell me what you want, alright?" he asked, anxious to cut to the chase and hear the worst.

"No one ever has to know anything as long as you do what you're told and provide me good service."

"What service?"

Sierra kicked off one flat and then another before recrossing her legs, her sheer dress socks wrinkled and glistening with sweat as she wriggled her sock toes. The stink was like a kick in the gut, pungent and vinegary; like moldy shoes with a hint of cheese.

"Can you put your shoes back on," he whined. "They stink."

Sierra grinned, flexing and wriggling her toes without so much as removing her feet from the desk.

He turned away.

"Get closer," she ordered, her voice louder than before, more peremptory.

He inched his chair closer, his head averted and a face over his nose.

"Closer," she demanded.

He got close enough that her sock feet were almost touching his arm. His face remained averted.

"Just tell me what you want?" he snapped.

"Don't take that tone with me," she said firmly. "You don't call the shots here. I do. And I'll tell you what I want when I want. Your job is to do what I tell you. That's it."

"Then tell me what you want me to do."

"I want you face next to my feet," she said. Shocked, he hesitated. "Now," she yelled.

"What?" he asked in disbelief.

"Do I have to tell you again?" she asked, piqued by his failure to follow directions. 

"You're kidding, right?" he asked. "Let's just get serious here. You want something."

"I told you what I want. I want to feel your face under my feet," she said, her voice shrill. She was furious.

"They stink," he answered weakly, the reality of his situation beginning to set in.

"Of course they stink. They're feet."

"Really stink. They're disgusting."

"Why do you think I want your face on them," she explained, her frown dissolving into a sly smile.

"I'll do something else," he explained.

"Alright," she answered with a chuckle. "Stand up and strip."

"What?"

"I tell you what to do and all you do is ask questions," she growled, her smelly sock feet still crossed on her desk. "This only works when you do what you're told. Exactly as you're told. And when you do exactly as you're told, what happened at your company remains a secret."

"That's what you want. You want me to strip and then you won't tell anyone."

"Stripping is a good start. Now get your clothes off, for fuck sake."

He unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. He then loosened his undershirt and pulled it up over his head.

"Keep going," she said, a smile broadening on her face.

He kicked off his shoes and turned, looking to see that the door was shut.

"The door's locked and no one's here."

"There was a man ..."

"Except him," she said, waving of the thought with a flick of the hand. "Now hurry up and get your clothes off."

Reassured, he unbuttoned his trousers and, unable to look her in the face, slid them down to his ankles before stepping out of them.

"Put your clothes in the corner," she barked. "I hate slobs."

He complied before resuming his seat.

"You're not done yet," she said sternly. He look at this socks and, standing up, reached down to remove them.

"Not your socks, idiot. I want the socks on. Your shorts. Take them off and put them in the corner."

"What is this for," he asked, blushing crimson at the thought of exposing himself.

"I want to see what I'm getting," she replied as if he'd retained him for sexual services. He didn't know whether to be excited or repulsed.

He stood and lowered his shorts, one hand over his cock and balls as he threw the shorts into the pile and sat down.

"Stand up," she barked. "Hands at your side. I said I want to see you."

He complied, feeling humiliated as she eyed his body.

"Not bad," she answered. "On your knees."

He hesitated. This was too humiliating.

"Are you deaf or just really stupid? I said on your knees."

He dropped to his knees.

"Now get closer to the desk," she demanded.

He could see her sock feet directly in front of him, the fabric was thinning on the heels and the balls of the feet from too much wear, a few holes with dirty toes protruding. The smell was vile, pungent and cheesy. She couldn't have changed her socks for days and days. 

"I said get closer, idiot," she shrieked. "I gave you an order."

He inched closer. 

"What do you want from me?" he said, weakly.

"I want you to stop asking questions and do what you're told. Everything'll be fine when you do what you're told. Now get your face up against my feet."

She constantly wriggled her sock toes. He felt sick. He inched closer until her sock toes grazed the side of his head. He was holding his breath.

"Face me," she barked. He turned, the rough fabric of her damp sock feet against his face, her two sock feet pressing up against his face, the balls of her feet against his eyes. Her thin socks were soaked with sweat.

"Please. They really stink," he begged. "How 'bout I wash your feet for you," he suggested.

"You've got a long road ahead of you, at this rate. And a lot to learn, you stupid little man. When I give you an order I mean it and when I say no questions, I mean no questions. Now lean back and look at my feet."

He gazed at the wrinkled fabric of her disgusting sock feet, the ends encrusting in the cool air. 

"Smell them," she barked. He recoiled.

"I said smell my feet. Now."

He sniffed tentatively, the fabric of her socks pungently cheesy and very sour and musty. He made a face.

"Under the toes," she said, wriggling her toes again. He could see the skin of a calloused ball of her foot through the threadbare fabric.

He sniffed again, before turning his head away.

"I told you to smell them not look all disgusted. They're feet. They stink. And now I want you to smell them. What don't you understand, dumbass?"

He hesitated.

She pressed the toes of her sock foot up against his nose. "Smell them. So I can hear it."

He sniffed. The cheesy stench was turning his stomach. 

"Don't stop. Keep sniffing. And I want to hear it."

He hesitated too long, and she slammed her sock foot against his face. "We can do this another way, you know. I'm giving you a less painful way out of this. I'd suggest you listen up, idiot, and do what I tell you."

He imagined goons roughing him up. He didn't want to get hurt, but this was so humiliating. He took a deep breath as she wriggled her sock toes over his nose. It was like sniffing cheese cloth. This was cruel.

"Keep smelling them loud until I tell you to stop," she ordered as she turned to some paperwork on her desk.

He sniffed loudly again and again. The humiliation of being on his knees smelling her disgusting feet was even worse than the stench. Had his life come to this? Was this the only way to salvage it? His nose between some bitch's dirty sock toes?

The putrid, cheesy stench didn't get any easier even after five full minutes of sniffing, as she alternated feet. She'd cross one foot over the other and then recross them, having him sniff from the heels and back up to the toes, clenching her toes over his nose before asking him to smell all the stink of them.

"Can I do something else?" he mumbled, still sickened by the smell.

It was a surprise when she pushed his foot away with her sock foot, still damp with sweat. 

Sierra got to her feet and walked around the desk, stopping to peel off one sock before dangling it in front of his face. 

"Open your mouth," she barked. He hesitated.

He felt her foot against his balls. She pressed hard. "Do you want to get hurt?"

He shook his head.

"Then open your mouth," she yelled.

He opened his mouth and she shoved the sock, crusty toe end first, into his mouth. The sheer sock just fit.

"I wouldn't have had to do that if you'd shut your mouth like I told you to and just smelled my feet. I decide what you do and I take no suggestions from you, dumbass."

The acrid, vinegary tartness of her filthy sock was beyond humiliating. He wanted to spit it out, but this woman was unpredictable. He feared where disobedience might lead. 

Sierra sat back in her chair, slipped off another sock before throwing her legs back on the desk and crossing them. Her bare feet were filthy, dirt and sock flecks on her wrinkled soles and on the toughened, calloused skin of her heels and the balls of her feet. They were thick, wide feet, her toes round and still wiggly. He could even see dirt between her toes and under her nails as she wriggled her toes. 

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she howled, angrily. "Keep sniffing."

Sierra's feet were far from pretty, rough to the touch and, not to mention, poorly cared for. And yet she loved having them on his face. 

He pressed his face against the warm, damp flesh of her soles and began sniffing again, the ripe stink of her toes even worse as she slid them over his nose and scrunched his nose with them. More nauseating still was when she pressed her toenail up against his nostrils. He could really smell the sharp cheese of her toe jam.

Unable to breathe through his mouth, his every inhalation was stringer and deeper. Her sweaty feet slapped over his face as he had to smell everything from her heels to the tips of her nails. 

"If you promise to listen and do what I tell you," she explained. "You can take out the sock."

He nodded before pulling the sock from his mouth. He tried scraping the taste off his tongue.

"Now start licking my feet," she demanded. 

He recoiled. He was about to say that they were filthy and disgusting, but caught himself in time. 

"Well, hurry up," she barked.

He leaned in close and took his tongue to the closest sole, her broad, wide foot still glistening with sweat as she flexed her toes. It tasted tart. 

"Up and down. I want everything licked and I want them licked clean."

"I can keep smelling them," he suggested.

She slammed a foot against his face. "When are you gonna learn?" she shrieked. "This is gonna be work, isn't it?"

He shook his head and began licking her filthy soles, spitting out pieces of sock fiber and dirt as he cleaned. 

"Don't spit them out. Eat them."

He was ready to object, but there was no point. He licked and swallowed, just as he was told. He hesitated, close to choking.

"I said clean my feet not make faces," she yelled.

He continued, his tongue feeling the hard skin on the balls of her feet and the hard ridges on the sides. Pressing a hard, calloused, filthy sole, she told him to clean them.

"Use your teeth to scrape off the dirt. I want them clean, smooth and soft."

He opened his mouth, taking her broad sole in his mouth and used his teeth on them. "Bite me and I'll kick you so hard in your balls you won't be able to walk out of here."

He as careful with his teeth as he scraped, licked and sucked. He did the same with the other heel and with the hardened flesh of the balls of her feet.

"Stop making faces, idiot. You've got a lot to learn about foot cleaning, don't you? You seem to forget what's at stake here."

He remembered what was at stake. He'd never felt so degraded before. Was he such an awful person she thought he deserved this?

BY the time he got to her toes, he had to stand up a little, sucking on them one at a time and then two or three at a time. 

"Get between the toes too," she said sternly.

There was black gunk between her toes and it turned his stomach just look at it." He stooped down and used his tongue to dislodge a piece from between her thick big toe and the second one. It fell on the floor.

She kicked his face. "Damn it," she roared. "This doesn't work if you don't listen. I told you to eat the dirt, didn't I?"

He nodded.

"Then pick it up and swallow it," she growled. 

He did what he was told, trying to swallow it before tasting it. And yet, he could still taste the sharp cheese of the dirt. He cleaned out her other toes and swallowed.

She directed his attention to dirty spots, castigating him for overlooking them and then berated him for not getting her heels smooth and soft enough. She kept him licking and sucking on her feet another ten minutes.

As he licked, an intercom beeped. He gazed up, but she appeared not to have noticed. He busied himself with cleaning her feet when he felt a draft on his bare ass. He turned.

There was a tall woman in jeans, blouse and sneakers retrieving his clothes and shoes from the floor.

"Those are mine," he yelped.

The woman turned, gazed down at his naked body and smirked. "I gathered as much." She was of average looks with a slim, athletic build. Her smile might have been more attractive under other circumstances.

"It's alright," said Sierra. "Amber's just putting them somewhere safe. I have to leave."

"I'm done then?"

Amber chuckled as she shook her head.

"Here's his file," said Sierra to Amber, leaning over the desk to offer the other woman a file folder. "I've put him down for smelly feet and dirty feet," she continued. 

Amber's stifled laughter irked him. "Look, you had your fun with me," said Ted angrily. "There's nothing else."

"Your foot worship left much to be desired, Ted," said Sierra as she retrieved a handbag from a drawer. "You have a lot to learn. You know that. We all know that."

"Come on," he said. "Enough's enough."

"Did you really think you were going to get off that easy?" said Sierra with a twisted grin.

"You've got his file," Sierra told Amber. "You know what to do. I won't be back 'till later."

"I'm sure we can come to some arrangement," he ventured.

"This is the arrangement, and you'll shut your stupid mouth for once and do what we tell you," said Sierra, between her teeth.

"Typical," muttered Amber as she handed his clothes to a woman in the hall.

"My clothes," he howled. A college-aged woman of average height and long dark hair, his clothes in hand, glanced down at his nakedness before flashing a broad smile.

He reached for his clothes when Sierra stopped his hand and slapped him hard in the face. "Stop it," she yelled. "The longer you fight this, the longer this whole process is gonna take."

"Process?" he asked, a hand to his cheek.

"I'm leaving you with Amber. She'll provide further instructions."

Amber ushered him outside. "This way," she said, her voice even.

As they stepped outside the office, Margo locked the door and produced one of her sheer socks from a pocket. "If he doesn't shut up," she said dangling the sock. "You know what to do." 

Amber made a face as she accepted the sock, letting it dangle in her fingers. 

"Sorry, those are pretty nasty."




Paying the Price



"I've seen much worse," replied Amber with a giggle. 

Amber, a hand to his arm, guided him out to the front room. The man was still bound and gagged to the floor, moaning as he if were desperate to say something.

"What's happening?" asked Ted, nervous. "Look. I can talk things over with her another time. I didn't even do anything wrong. I told her it was someone else she was looking for. I think there's been a misunderstanding. Perhaps there's someone higher up I can talk to?"

Amber glared at him before breaking into a laugh. "That's good. Though you wouldn't be the first guy trying to talk his way out of this."

"Out of what? What is this?"

"Bullshit doesn't work here."

"What bullshit? This is bullshit. You want to laugh at me. Fine. But I've had enough. I mean this is false imprisonment."

"You've got a lot of nerve saying that considering what you've done," said Amber, her voice even but her gaze steely and unforgiving. "Not nearly as bad as some of the assholes we get here, but bad enough. So you're in no position to criticize what we do."

The girl who'd taken his clothes returned to the room. She grinned, her gaze down at his crotch. He covered his dick and balls with his hands.

"Please, we've seen lots of naked men here," said Amber as she gestured him to a far corner. A circle of chairs surrounded a small rug. The other girl giggled.

"Sit down," barked Amber, a hand to his shoulder. He hesitated. 

"It makes our job easier when you do what you're told," she explained.

He sat down. "What does she want?"

"You'll figure that out soon enough," answered Amber with a smirk. "Now raise your arms for a few moments, wrists together."

He raised his arms without thinking. "When can I leave?" 

He felt something cold on his wrists and then heard a snap. He was going to lower his arms but soon realized he couldn't. Before he could even complain, something pulled him back, down to the floor, his arms pulled straight over his head. His wrists had been cuffed and the cuffs had been attached to some kind of pulley system which held him, straight armed, to the floor.

"Hey, what the fuck," he hollered. "Stop this. I want outta here."

"I'll shove her sock in your mouth if you don't keep it down," she yelled right back to him.

The girl grabbed one of his legs but he kicked her away. 

"That's alright, Veronica" said Amber. "I've got it."

Veronica smiled and stood up, gazing at Ted's body as he tried to squirm free of the cuffs. His cock flopping around. 

"Sierra says he's here for smelly feet and dirty feet," said Amber, surprisingly matter-of-fact considering what she was saying.

"Awesome," replied Veronica with a chuckle, her eyes brightening. 

"So, see who you can round up for that."

"That shouldn't be a problem," answered Veronica, still giggling. 

"This is bullshit. You can't do this. You'll all go to jail. Just let me go. I won't tell anyone."

"You're in no position to call the shots here, so beg all you want. If Sierra says you're here to do something, then that's what we'll have you do."

"You do whatever she tells you?" he yelled, sneering with contempt. "What the fuck does she know? This is ridiculous. Why should you go down for what she does to people. She's a blackmailing bitch. Did you know that?"

"She knows what you deserve," answered Amber calmly, "and now I can see for myself. If she puts you down for smell and dirty feet then that's what you get."

"Are you fucking serious? I was just smelling and licking her disgusting feet for like an hour. I'm done."

Amber took a seat and opened the file. She began reading.

"He's difficult, rude and arrogant, she writes. He's unable to set aside a little pride without making a face or complaining. Hopelessly self-involved, I can see how he got involved with this company. He thinks everything is about him. His self-entitlement is so much that he can't even suffer a little indignity without kicking up a fuss and being an all-around selfish prick."

"Bitch," he muttered.

Amber continued reading. "His foot sniffing is weak and his foot cleaning uninspired."

"This isn't happening," he muttered to himself as he began squirming wildly, inadvertently kicking Amber.

She quickly stepped between his legs and pressed a sneaker foot hard against his testicles. He gasped.

"Kick me again and I'll kick you were you'll really feel it."

His anger subsided, overtaken by fear. He was vulnerable and he knew it.

Turning, she reached for something deftly snapped a single cuff down on one of them. 

"Hey. Wait," he yelped.

She threw herself over his other leg to hold it down before clipping the other cuff on it. She attached it to the rope and pulled. His legs spread apart, as if he were part of some strange medieval torture device.

"Ok, ok," he muttered, utterly frantic. "Please. Please. I'll do anything else. Whatever it is. I ..."

Amber kicked him in the waist and he gasped. "Shut up, stupid. You actually have it easy. You're lucky. She must have seen a glimmer of hope in you. I can't say that for all the guys. If she has you down for smell and dirty feet, it just means she's confident that with enough foot worship you might ... improve."

She turned to the older man tied to the floor. "He's a hopeless case," said Amber, shaking her head. "So we just lay into him when we can."

Amber stepped away and called down a hallway. "Can we get some of you out here to work Mr. Bielson over?" she hollered.

Amber returned to Ted, pressing her sneakered foot on his stomach. "It's a great place. Would you believe she'd convinced some rich son of a bitch to let us use it, rent free, when she found out he'd been stealing money from his companies. We now have paying clients who come here looking for particular experiences they can't find anywhere else. We just provide them the boys to work on. It makes it easy when dumbfucks like you walk in here looking to talk your way out of all the shit you've done 'cause that means more boys and more potential clients. And there's enough men out here with secrets to hide that Sierra's built up a pretty extensive of boys at her beck and call and, with that, a really solid client base. 

"You're pimping me out?" he answered, angrily. 

"This isn't sex, stupid, so get that out of your pea-size mal brain," she answered, kicking at him lightly with her sneaker. "Our clients are really cool women with a taste for a different kind of fun. "

"A different kind of fun. Is that what you call this? It's twisted. Smelly feet. Why would you do this?"

Amber grabbed him hard by the testicles and he gasped. She shoved Sierra's foul-smelling sock in his mouth before he could speak a word. He moaned, trying to spit it out. Amber, however, held it over his mouth while she reached for duct tape from under the nearby sofa. She pulled it out and, sitting on his chest, applied the tape to his mouth before reaching in her pocket for a key to cut it.

Being muffled made him furious. He cursed her out but it all sounded like a prolonged moan. 

Amber chuckled as she once again stood over him, tapping at his face with her sneaker and sliding it over his cheek. "She was right about you not shutting up. Maybe you can think about being a bigmouth while you suck on her sock."

Just then, a clatter of footsteps ushered the arrival of three young women, giggling loudly as they ran to Mr. Bielson in their clunky heels and jeans. They laughed as they began kicking at him mercilessly, even stepping on him. One of them pressed the sole of her heels over his face while another nudged at his testicles, making him flinch. 

Ted gazed on horrified.

Amber leaned down. "That doesn't have to happen to you if you do as you're told," she told him with a fiendish grin. "You're lucky. So far."

The girls were in fits of laughter as they continued to visit indignities upon the poor guy with their feet. 

"So would you like to trade places with Mr. Bielson or are you ready for stinky dirty feet?" she asked him.

He nodded eagerly.

"Trade places?"

He shook his head, moaning his objections.

"Stinky feet," she asked.

He nodded his head eagerly.

"Well, that's a promising start," she said, getting up. 

Veronica appeared. "Mr. Bielson's three o'clock is here."

"Great. And how are we looking for stinky feet, besides yours, Veronica."

Veronica grinned. "I can have him do my feet?" she asked, glancing at her scuffed Converse, she'd been wearing without socks.

"Sure. If you've got dirty or stinky feet. "

"Yeah, totally" she answered with a chuckle. "I've been stinkin' them up pretty good in my old sneaks." 

"And is anyone else on the way?"

"Ah, yeah. You did say smelly and dirty feet so I didn't want to just get anyone. Only if they had like super stinky or dirty feet. But I got about five confirmations who couldn't wait and three who hope to drop by later when their feet were smelly enough."

"That'll work," mused Amber. "Thanks."

"Hey girls," she yelled, turning to the young women walking all over Mr. Bielson. "We've got a few clients coming up to see him momentarily. So we can leave them to it. Any of you have really stinky feet?"

The girls stepped away from Mr. Bielson and approached. Ted could feel his heart beating fast. He was nervous and frightened.

"Sure," said one of the girls, leaping nimbly to Ted's waist. "He's kinda cute."

"Nice penis," said a second girl. "A little small."

The girls broke into raucous laughter.

"We've been in these shoes all day," said a third girl. 

"That's not the kind of stinky feet we need, but it's good enough until we get reinforcements," said Amber. 

"So we'll just have him smell our feet? What about cleaning them?" asked the first girl.

"Just have him smell them for now. And make sure he's always smelling someone's feet. I'm leaving Veronica in charge."

Two women entered the room with a steady click of high heels. They were in their thirties, and well put together; working professionals, from the look of it. He trusted it was no one he knew. It didn't matter even if they did because they were heading straight for Mr. Bielson.

The women waved to Amber. 

"Welcome back," said Amber as she walked off to greet them.

"It's been another day from hell," said one of the women. "Looking forward to letting off a little steam."

One woman smiled as she stepped on Mr. Bielson's chest in her booted heels while the other pressed her shoe over his testicles.

Ted turned away. Veronica was seated on the sofa, gazing down at him. The girls couldn't keep from chuckling as they all rested their shoes on his naked body.

While he heard poor Mr. Bielson groan under the barrage of high-heel abuse, he gazed up at his own eager tormentors as they began pressing their shoes against him. One pair of sneaker heels pressed down on his face. It was Veronica's Converse. 

"So, like, we'll take turns just having him smell our feet," she told them as the others tittered in response. 

"Doesn't look like he has a choice," said one girl, pointing to the sock gag in his mouth. 

Veronica slipped off her sneakers and pressed her warm, steamy size 8 feet down on his face. Her toes clutched at his nose, and he breathed in a noseful of ripe foot stink, warm Nacho cheese and fritos combined with malt vinegar and a hint of sour milk. 

"Smell my feet," she ordered, the sweet girl taking command as she began working her feet, sticky with sweat, all over his face, clenching his nose tight with her toes to have them sniffed again and again. They didn't smell as awful as Sierra's grimy toes but it was awful and humiliating enough. Their constant giggling didn't help much.

Half an hour later and all four of them were working his face over with their sweaty bare feet, sweaty toes gliding over his nose and over his face. The pungent stink of their toes had worn off a bit and it was becoming almost relaxing. He could forget they were actually trying to degrade him.

It was then that a woman appeared, tall and attractive, dressed in short shorts and ratty Converse sneakers. 

"I heard someone needs stinky feet?" she asked.

The girls cheered, someone calling out "Jerri's back."

"He's the one who needs them," said another girl.

"I know. Amber showed me his file. Stinky dirty feet. Were your feet stinky?"

"A little," said someone.

"Time to get serious about it. I've got a bag in my cubbie with some ziplocked goodies I can try out on him. If it's stinky feet and socks he needs, that's what we'll give him."

One of the girls sprinted off.

"Thanks Veronica. You lot look in control."

"We are and he's been smelling our feet nonstop."

"Alright," said Jerri, slumping in the chair next to Ted's head. "The rest of you can use your feet to hold his head in place. He won't like what I've get sweating away in these shoes, but it's what he needs. Ready to have some fun?"

The girls cheered.

As Jerri rested the soles of her Converse sneaks on his face he could already smell the rotten shoe fabric. The girls had nice enough feet, if slightly pungent, but this Jerri sounded like a real bitch. He couldn't fight it, but he'd endure it, that is until he figured out what it was going to take to make all this stop.

"Let him have a little sniff through the shoe first," she advise the, pressing the toe of her shoe against his nose before pulling up the sneaker a little and holding it close to his nose. "Give him a little taste before giving him the whole foot. 

And then he got a whiff. It was stomach churning. Her toes were filthy and calloused and once they were on his face, the warm cheesy stench was nauseating. If this was what it meant by stinky feet, this would take all the endurance he could muster.

Whatever terrible things he'd done, or whatever terrible co-workers did, couldn't justify this. It was cruelty. But he would get answers. And he would make them pay. Sure, they could make him smell and clean their dirty feet, but he'd get the last word, as long as they stopped stuffing dirty socks in his mouth.



Paying the Price of Success



All characters are fictitious and all the usual disclaimers. This story fits uncomfortably across exhibitionist N/C and first time categories so I hope you will not be disappointed.

===============================================

Michelle lay on her hotel bed munching her toast and reading the reviews of her latest concert in the papers her patron had sent her.

Her prized Cello lay in it's case and between the critic's sentences and bites of toast her thoughts turned to the events of the previous evening as she waited‭ ‬for the call that would confirm her arrangements for the evenings private corporate function.

She grabbed at the cell phone as the ring tone trilled Marriage of Figaro,‭ ‬and answered‭ "‬Hello.‭"

"Happy Birthday Michelle‭!" ‬She had half expected him to ring but even so his the words sent an icy shiver down her spine as she remembered the significance of this day.

‭"‬Thank you.‭" ‬she replied as pleasantly as she could.

‭"‬Did you get the present‭?" ‬he asked.

‭"‬The keys,‭ ‬yes,‭ ‬thank you,‭ ‬I haven't picked it up yet.‭" ‬she replied.

‭"‬Then do so,‭ ‬and drive north,‭" ‬he ordered,‭ "‬Chateau Mirron just beyond Blanchimont,‭ ‬I shall expect you for Dinner at eight,‭ ‬come around seven,‭ ‬don't worry about dressing,‭ ‬we have a gown for you.‭" 

Twenty two years old.‭ ‬Michelle pondered,‭ ‬today she was twenty two years old and she had done a deal with the devil and she had lied and cheated and now she was to be found out.

It was so long ago that she sold her Virginity for three years of tuition at the conservatoire and then squeezed a two hundred year old Cello out of the deal,‭ ‬except she was no virgin,‭ ‬a drunken evening of‭ ‬experimenting with marijuana had ended that phase,‭ ‬Clarissa's eighteenth birthday,‭ ‬two whole weeks after her own had seen her wake from a drunken stupor to feel sore and wet between her legs,‭ ‬with an ominous trail of slime over her leg and the sheets of her own brother's bed.

And tonight was the night she was to pay.‭ ‬Not her twenty first birthday but her twenty second,‭ ‬a time when she was making her way in the world,‭ ‬making a name on the international stage,‭ ‬all based on the patronage of Gerard,‭ ‬all based on saving herself for him.‭ 

The hotel was booked for the week,‭ ‬she had a corporate recital the following evening,‭ ‬and now she was expected to collect her new car from the dealership and deliver herself for payment,‭ ‬she felt empty.

‭"‬In default you will be mine for ever.‭" ‬he had joked as made her sign.

She considered her options,‭ ‬she had none,‭ ‬her earnings and bookings were managed by his company,‭ ‬her Cello was owned by his company,‭ ‬everything she owned had been bought on his credit card,‭ ‬she was effectively his chattel,‭ ‬he owned her,‭ ‬she hated him.

The hate had grown from fear,‭ ‬the fear that her deception would be discovered,‭ ‬she gradually transferred the feeling of guilt from herself to an unreasonable hatred,‭ ‬blaming him for the deceit,‭ ‬the dapper little man with his moustache and Homburg hat,‭ "‬Hitler‭" ‬she called him when he was not there.

How dare he pay her tuition and living fees so she could practise when her friends were working in diners or worse to pay their way through college

She had almost become a pariah,‭ ‬pushing boys away in the dread of being found out and losing her sponsorship,‭ ‬and in the process losing girl friends too.

‭"‬Ice Maiden‭" ‬was one of her more repeatable descriptions,‭ ‬her lack of indiscretions a constant annoyance ever since her playing brought her fame,‭ ‬the purity of the sound,‭ ‬unsullied by drink or drugs a delight to all who heard her,‭ ‬but now she walked in near anonymity down the street towards Porsche dealer.

‭"‬Surely this is not it‭?" ‬she asked when the salesman brought the top of the range‭ ‬911‭ ‬Turbo Cabriolet around.

‭"‬Certainly Madame‭!" ‬he said,‭ "‬The top specification,‭ ‬and with extras.‭"

"There's nowhere for my Cello.‭" ‬she whined.

‭"‬Madame‭?" ‬the salesman queried,‭ "‬It is as ordered,‭ ‬and as Monsieur asked we have done one thousand kilometers to break in the engine for you,‭ ‬so it cannot be returned.‭"

Michelle sat behind the wheel with a heavy heart,‭ ‬a hundred thousand dollar present completely useless to her,‭ ‬yet the fuel tank was full and her master awaited,‭ ‬so carefully she eased out onto the highway.

The acceleration was breathtaking,‭ ‬compared to her Citroen hire car,‭ ‬or her Neon back in California,‭ ‬and the steering frighteningly direct,‭ ‬she glanced at the speedometer as she left town and accelerated past a truck and was astonished that it showed‭ ‬160‭ ‬kmh,‭ ‬in just a few hundred‭ ‬metres from the‭ ‬30‭ ‬zone.

She braked hard all at once damp with sweat and fear and tried to concentrate on the speed limits,‭ ‬she hated the car,‭ ‬she dreamed of owning one,‭ ‬yet now she was sweating and her hair was a mess with the wind and bugs and she didn't know how to put the roof up or where half the controls were.

Blanchimont,‭ ‬white mountain,‭ ‬passed and then a hand painted sign Chateau Mirron,‭ ‬she overshot the dirt road turnoff and struggled to find reverse gear,‭ ‬then she was crunching her way down the dirt road in a cloud of dust.

She parked the car and a servant appeared,‭ "‬I shall park your car Madame.‭" ‬he offered,‭ ‬and she handed him the car keys and entered the Chateau's pillared portico.

A middle aged woman in a smartly dressed in a‭ ‬plain white blouse with a black jacket and black knee length skirt came to meet her.‭ "‬Hello,‭ ‬we were expecting you,‭ ‬you are Michelle yes‭?"

"Yes,‭ ‬sorry.‭" ‬Michelle replied.

‭"‬I am Anna,‭ ‬Monsieur Gerard asks me to help you.‭"

"Thanks.‭" ‬Michelle replied awkwardly.

‭"‬But Madame you are filthy‭!" ‬Anna cried in dismay.

Michelle looked in horror at her reflection in one of the full length mirrors,‭ ‬her hair windblown and shapeless,‭ ‬her skin dusty and her once smart white designer dress ruined.

‭"‬Come you must bathe,‭ ‬quickly.‭" ‬Anna gasped in panic,‭ "‬come quickly.‭"

Michelle followed her up the left hand side of the wide curved staircase,‭ ‬and then on down a long corridor oak panelled corridor,‭ ‬carpeted in soft deep pile red and gold patterned carpets and adorned with modern paintings.‭ "‬Your room Madame,‭ ‬I shall draw your bath,‭ ‬one moment.‭" ‬she announced as she opened the heavy door to one of the Chateau's master bedroom suites.

Michelle gasped at the sheer opulence,‭ ‬the bed was the four post type of ancient history yet huge fully two metres wide and two and a half long,‭ ‬all hung with exotic silk screens,‭ ‬the old oil paintings would have been worth millions,‭ ‬had the subjects not been so erotic as to have precluded their display,‭ ‬the carpet pile was so thick simply walking on them left footprints,‭ ‬the furniture was exquisite,‭ ‬all antique,‭ ‬and laid on the bed a virginal white nightgown.

A huge lump appeared in her throat,‭ ‬an empty feeling inside,‭ ‬so much preparation for a first time which could not but disappoint.

‭"‬Madam,‭ ‬is pret,‭ ‬I mean it's ready.‭" ‬Anna called.

Anna waited by the bath,‭ ‬a king size bath partially sunken into the bathroom floor,‭ ‬white shining hard glaze in a bathroom of white tiles and white carpets and towels‭ "‬I shall assist,‭ ‬we have little enough time.‭" ‬she advised and she gently pulled down the zipper on Michelle's dress.

It slipped to the floor,‭ "‬You have been sweating Madame do you not use spray‭?"

"I did‭" ‬she stated,‭ "‬It was the car,‭ ‬the car is so fierce‭!"

"Quickly in the bath.‭" ‬Anna ordered and Michelle quickly discarded her dusty pale sheer stockings and now grubby white shoes,‭ ‬together with her sweaty panties and bra and slid into the tub,‭ "‬We do hair now save time.‭" ‬Anna ordered‭ ‬and she pulled Michelle back so her head submerged as her long elegant legs waved uselessly in the air.

Michelle thrashed helplessly until Anna helped her up.

A man spoke‭ "‬Michelle,‭ ‬my dear,‭ ‬you are here at last.‭" ‬it was him,‭ ‬Hitler,‭ ‬Monsieur Gerard,‭ ‬with his Hitler moustache and thinning hair.

‭"‬Aaaiieee.‭" ‬Michelle squealed as she tried to cover her breasts.

‭"‬You look divine.‭" ‬he said,‭ "‬An angel.‭"

"I'm a mess sir,‭ ‬sorry.‭" ‬Michelle apologised.

‭"‬Anna,‭ ‬do her hair the simple style,‭ ‬like the photograph,‭ ‬like this one.‭" ‬M.‭ ‬Gerard pulled a old worn wallet from the pocket of his old brown suit and removed a much creased photograph.

‭"‬When we first met,‭" ‬he said.‭ ‬Michelle recognised her old publicity photograph,‭ ‬when her hair was straight,‭ ‬not her trademark frizzy look,‭ ‬and when a Tee shirt and Hot Pants had been her chosen attire not three thousand dollar designer dresses.

‭"‬Certainly Jean-Paul,‭ ‬I mean Monsieur Gerard.‭" ‬the woman said and blushed.

‭"‬I shall take these to the Laundry,‭" ‬M.Gerard announced as he collected up Michelle's clothes and shoes,‭ ‬and she just watched him take them,‭ ‬leaving her naked,‭ ‬trusting something would be provided to hide her nakedness.

Michelle watched him retreat,‭ ‬closing the door behind him.

‭"‬Monsieur wishes a recital before Dinner,‭ ‬he has your Cello from high school,‭ ‬you have practised the composition he sent you,‭" Anna enquired.

"Oh yes,‭" ‬Michelle answered,‭ "‬but the Cadenza,‭ ‬in the middle,‭ ‬it is just for improvisation,‭ ‬I never know what to play there,‭ ‬but the rest is simple enough.‭"

"‬Good,‭" ‬Anna,‭ ‬answered,‭ "‬then get out and dry yourself,‭ ‬I shall fetch the drier.‭" 

Anna worked at Michelle's hair teasing it until it hung long and straight and childlike.

Then as Michelle covered herself in a bathrobe she said,‭ "‬Come,‭ ‬it is time.‭"

"Where is my outfit‭?"

"M.Gerard says he wants purity,‭ ‬Michelle,‭ ‬the Cello,‭ ‬the seat,‭ ‬the music,‭ ‬no more,‭ ‬come the audience awaits,‭ ‬you agreed remember‭?"

Michelle remembered oh so well selling her soul,‭ ‬signing her virginity away,‭ ‬something she had already squandered.

‭"‬Then if I must,‭ ‬I must.‭" ‬Michelle agreed reluctantly.‭ ‬Anna walked gracefully down the corridor,‭ ‬leading Michelle but not to M.Gerard's room as she expected but down the curved stairs and into the former ballroom to the side of the entrance hall,‭ ‬where rows of seats were set out,‭ ‬and a hundred,‭ ‬maybe more,‭ ‬people waited expectantly while talking quietly.

M.‭ ‬Gerard waited on the small stage,‭ ‬a seat was waiting,‭ ‬a music stand,‭ ‬and there her old battered Cello from her high school days.

Anna led her to the stage,‭ ‬then stepped aside to take a front row seat.‭ ‬M Gerard held out his hand and Michelle grasped it and he pulled her up the three steps to the stage.

He handed her a long jewellery box,‭ ‬and when she opened it the audience gasped,‭ ‬a huge ruby hung on an antique gold chain.

‭"‬Allow me,‭" ‬he said and he opened her bathrobe,‭ ‬placed the chain around her neck and as he did so he allowed the robe to fall to the ground.

‭ ‬Such was the allure of the jewellery that few noticed her nakedness as he guided her to her seat.‭ ‬More a box than a seat,‭ ‬black,with wooden sides nondescript.‭ ‬She grasped the Cello,‭ ‬and the bow,‭ ‬and noted the music.

‭"‬Are you ready,‭?" ‬M.Gerard asked.

She coughed,‭ ‬and said,‭ "‬Yes Fine.‭"

"Michelle DeNeuve will perform La Defloration,‭ ‬by Mark Stainforth,‭ ‬this is the first performance ever and the middle section is to be improvised,‭ ‬Ladies and Gentlemen,‭ ‬Miss Michelle DeNeuve.

Michelle looked on,‭ ‬it was called La Defloration,‭ she had no idea, her copy had no title, except MS 99/D ‬but she saw the tape machine revolving ready to record her performance so she took up her bow and started to play.

The sober suited audience listened intently,‭ ‬the high school Cello had a different feel to her antique instrument,‭ ‬but she remembered its idiosyncracies well enough,‭ ‬and soon the cadences came rolling from it,‭ ‬simple arpeggios,‭ ‬from low to high,‭ ‬an octave and a half,‭ ‬and as the high notes came the chair resonated and as she played the hidden machinery started,‭ ‬the part of the seat slid away,‭ ‬unnoticed,‭ ‬and from below a black ebony phallus slowly rose to gently nuzzle her most private parts.

Michelle looked anxiously around,‭ ‬she wanted to stop,‭ ‬but she had a duty,‭ ‬indeed today was the day she agreed to lose her virginity but never in her imaginings of how that might happen had she considered it would be so public.

She looked at M.Gerard and the expectant and delighted face of the man beside him,‭ ‬the composer,‭ ‬she supposed,‭ Stainforth ‬a small dark haired man,‭ but ‬clearly French,‭ ‬not an Englishman and not an attractive man yet she could not bring her self to disappoint him she had that duty to the composer no matter what sacrifice it involved.‭ 

Michelle played on,‭ ‬she knew the piece by heart,‭ ‬the sheet music on the stand a mere prop a mere irrelevance,‭ ‬she gazed across the audience as a man stood and walked from the hall,‭ ‬slowly methodically proudly,‭ ‬she wondered why,‭ ‬but as she played on the phallus rested,‭ ‬until it sensed moisture,‭ ‬then as programmed the hydraulics raised it fractionally as the pitch of the notes rose and lowered it as they fell,‭ ‬raised it more as the volume swelled,‭ and lowered it as it ‬fell.

Michelle knew something was happening but she knew her duty,‭ ‬a duty to the composer to the public,‭ ‬to herself,‭ ‬to her patron,‭ ‬M.Gerard,‭ ‬a duty to perform,‭ ‬it became uncomfortable as the phallus eased ever deeper within her,‭ ‬she shifted position awkwardly,‭ ‬but without breaking the rhythmic,‭ ‬or dynamic flow of the piece as the audience remained mesmerised by her playing and the contrast of ebony and pink as the phallus slowly claimed her.‭ 

The Phallus rose and fell,‭ ‬the crescendo to forte on the rising cadences raising it while the sudden drop to pianissimo on the falling cadences lowered it,‭ ‬but only slightly,‭ ‬she was being lifted,‭ ‬even as he phallus sought he most tender and secret part,‭ ‬easing mechanically within her unshaven lower lips,‭ ‬again it rose with the music,‭ ‬and fell but slightly,‭ ‬and as she realised its significance so the crescendo grew to fill the hall while the decrescendo was so sudden and the pianissimo so soft a pin could be heard were it to drop.

The mechanism whirred and as she played on Michelle worried she might topple but the machine was carefully programmed to support her and she played on even as the chair portion began to subside increasing the portion of her weight on the phallus,‭ ‬until suddenly there was nothing else supporting her,‭ ‬only a big black phallus,‭ ‬streaked with moisture.

The music reached the halfway point,‭ ‬the unwritten Cadenza,‭ ‬the phallus remained immobile,‭ ‬yet she had become accustomed to its movement,‭ ‬in desperation she tried playing louder faster and when there was no more movement she began to raise and lower herself onto the phallus,‭ ‬the sensors fed the information to the computer and once more the Phallus began to move,‭ ‬taking its rhythm from her but extending almost six inches,‭ ‬thrusting into her as‭ ‬her fingers flew across the strings and moved the bow in a frenzy.

The very highest notes played loudly and the lowest played pianissimo,‭ ‬sent the Phallus rapidly through its full range and then as the music reached a climax the audience heard her own climax,‭ "‬Aaaaggghhhhh.‭" ‬and yet she continued fingering the strings and drawing the bow back and forth even as the pleasure coursed through her veins the music flowed more smoothly and suddenly she was six bars into the second half,‭ ‬seamlessly unknowingly picking up the composers score,‭ ‬and the phallus gradually withdrew as the rising cadences played quietly,‭ ‬pianissimo were followed by dramatic stacatto falling arpegii until finally the chair rose once more,‭ ‬and as the final slow movement in‭ ‬5/4‭ ‬time changed the mood once again the final centre section of seat clicked into place once more.

The final A flat sounded,‭ ‬and the hall remained still,‭ ‬the audience mesmerised,‭ ‬not a sound emitted,‭ ‬not a single cough.

M.‭ ‬Gerard stepped forward and as he draped the bathrobe around Michelle's shoulders he announced‭ "Michele's ‬finest performance,‭ ‬do you not agree Ladies and Gentlemen.‭"

The spell was broken,‭ ‬the audience erupted into wild applause many standing for a standing ovation and as Michelle stood to take her bow she suddenly realised that she had performed naked,‭ ‬and worse,‭ ‬climaxed naked before a audience,‭ "‬And Ladies and Gentlemen a big round of applause for Monsieur Albert Farraday the genius engineer who created La Phallus Electronique,‭ ‬Albert s'il vous plait,‭ ‬join us please.‭" 

Michelle realised she had performed not for the composer but for the mechanic who made the sex machine,‭ ‬she had been publicly violated,‭ ‬not for art but for pornography and engineering, she had been betrayed yet in her betrayal the evidence of her own deceit,‭ ‬that secret of her lost virginity was finally safe.

Mechanically Michelle put down her Cello,‭ ‬folded her music stand,‭ ‬and as she had done a thousand times before, she left the stage.



Part‭ ‬2

Michelle lay on her bed at Chateau Mirron munching her toast and thinking of the evening just gone,‭ ‬she lay naked,‭ ‬she felt different somehow,‭ ‬her abused private parts a constant reminder of the evening before.‭ ‬She remembered how as she left the stage naked the previous evening carrying her Cello and music so the chairs had been whisked away then neatly stacked and to her astonishment the audience had begun to undress,‭ ‬an audience of perverts the numbers swelled by gigolos and harlots,‭ ‬M.Gerards friends from the dark side of high society.

She remembered her fear that M.Gerard would require that she remained,‭ ‬to be violated by any as chose to,‭ ‬but he merely called,‭ "‬Well done.‭" ‬as she passed.

She had bathed,‭ ‬red liquid had streaked her legs,‭ ‬she feared it was blood but on examination had proved to be red lubricant,‭ ‬ejaculated by the electronic phallus.‭ ‬She did not bother to dress,‭ ‬nakedness was cool and modesty seemed pointless knowing the whole household had seen her naked on stage as the electronic phallus had violated her as she played Stainforth's La Defloration on her Cello.‭ 

She thought of the music,‭ ‬trying to remember the cadenza,‭ ‬she wondered what she had played,‭ ‬as her own climax had engulfed her as she improvised,‭ ‬had she continued seamlessly‭? ‬or had her professionalism seen her through,‭ ‬she would listen to the recording later,‭ ‬work out how to replicate her performance in the cold stare of the paying audience where the stimulus of the phallus could not reasonably be employed.‭ 

She mused on such weighty matters as between bites of toast‭ ‬she waited‭ ‬for the call that would confirm her arrangements for the evenings performance,‭ ‬Her battered old high school‭ ‬Cello lay in it's case and she wondered where M.Gerard had found it,‭ ‬and why he had been to so much trouble.

M.‭ ‬Gerard entered without knocking.‭ "‬How are you,‭ ‬are you sore‭?"

"Only slightly thank you.‭" ‬she said sarcastically..

‭"‬Will you take breakfast to M.Stainforth please‭?" ‬he asked.

‭"‬I'm not your slave‭!" ‬she snapped,‭ ‬but he looked so hurt at her comment that she immediately‭ ‬relented.

‭"‬Of course,‭ ‬I'll just get dressed.‭"

"Yes,‭ ‬there is a maids uniform here,‭ ‬take it now please,‭ ‬milk and toast and condoms.‭" ‬he explained,‭ "‬He needs comfort.‭"

She stared at the uniform,‭ ‬it was a caricature of a French maids uniform a left over from the orgy she wondered‭?‬..

‭"‬Surely you don't‭" ‬she started to say,‭ ‬but she saw it in his eyes.‭ "‬You want me to give myself to him,‭ ‬like a whore,‭ ‬like a filthy whore‭?" 




Paying the Price of Success



"His is a great talent,‭" ‬M.Gerard continued,‭ "‬he writes for posterity,‭ ‬you play for the moment,‭ ‬his talent will endure,‭ ‬yours will be lost unless.‭"

"Unless,‭ ‬Jean-Paul‭?" ‬she asked,‭ "‬Unless of all the whores in Christendom he pokes me‭!" 

"Don't be crude,‭ ‬my dear,‭ ‬you can be his inspiration.‭" ‬he suggested.

‭"‬But I do not know him‭!" ‬she explained.

‭"‬My dear,‭ ‬as you said the world over girls wait in rooms,‭ ‬or on street corners for strangers to use them,‭ ‬surely you realise you are no better or worse than any street prostitute,‭ ‬all are equal in the sight of god,‭ ‬or do you not believe this.‭?"

"So I offer myself to Mr Stainforth.‭" ‬she asked bluntly.

‭"‬Yes.‭" ‬he replied.‭ "‬The tray is on the trolley outside,‭ ‬and he is in the green room to the left.‭"

Michelle stood up,‭ ‬brushed the crumbs from her pubic hair and slipped the black uniform on,‭ ‬it barely covered her sex,‭ ‬the cleavage reached her navel and barely contained her elegant though hardly oversized breasts and she posed seductively,‭ ‬yet coldly and sarcastically for M.Gerard before she walked from the room,‭ ‬grasped the tray and set off down the corridor.‭ 

"Come‭" ‬a mans voice boomed out as she knocked on Mr Stainforth's door.

She opened the door,‭ ‬somehow she expected to see an ageing Frenchman,‭ ‬but instead a mop of blonde hair and broad lightly suntanned shoulders‭ ‬leading to trim buttocks and muscular legs met her gaze.

‭"‬I brought breakfast.‭" ‬Michelle explained.‭ ‬He looked round,‭ ‬his unshaved cheeks covered by fair downy hair,‭ ‬his eyes piercingly blue.

‭"‬Well well,‭" ‬he observed‭ "‬I‭ ‬thought I told Monsieur Gerard what I thought of his goings on so stick the tray down and get out.‭" 

"I wanted to talk about your composition,"‭ Michelle asked diffidently. "And your thoughts on my‬ performance.‭" 

"What?‭" Stainforth demanded

"La Defloration,‭ ‬I played it last evening,‭ ‬did you approve.‭" ‬Michelle asked hopefully.

‭ "‬You ruined it,"‭ ‬he complained as he looked away,‭ "‬I called it project 99, not La Defloration, and I walked out," he said "Slipped away, I wanted to stop it, leap at you but you seemed so engrossed in it," he complained, "It was a serious work,‭ not a cheap pornographic joke, ‬I spent months working on it.‭"

Michelle stood stock still,‭ ‬usually only professors criticised her,‭ ‬those aged Maestros at the end of glittering careers.‭ "‬Ruined‭? ‬how‭?" ‬she asked.

‭"‬The tempo,‭ ‬far too fast for one thing,‭ ‬and letting that thing fuck you was.‭" ‬he complained.

‭"‬You put no time signature,‭ ‬only allegretto,‭ ‬a small allegro,‭ ‬is that small,‭ ‬fast or small slow,‭" ‬Michelle conplained, ‭"‬How should I be expected to guess,‭ ‬why didn't you put the number of crotchets per minute.‭" ‬she demanded as his criticism stung her.

‭"‬You should have asked.‭" ‬he said.

‭"‬Asked who‭? ‬no it was your mistake,‭ ‬but anyway I liked that speed,‭" ‬Michelle said,‭ "‬it suited me.‭"

"You have an arrogance that I find distasteful.‭" ‬he said dismissively,‭ ‬I thought you were a proper musician not a whore,‭ ‬I expect you just mime to other peoples sound tracks half the time.‭"

Michelle put the tray down with a clatter,‭ ‬and confronted him angrily,‭ "‬I have never done anything like that ever before,‭ ever‬.‭" she insisted. ‬His demeanour changed immediately.

‭"‬Look,‭ ‬sorry,‭ " ‬he said,‭ "‬I didn't mean anything,‭ ‬you were very good but it wasn't right,‭ ‬it should have been lyrical,‭ ‬not dramatic,‭ ‬please leave that and sit on the bed, I'll show you.‭"

She came to sit on the bed not close beside him but an arms length away as‭ ‬he bent down and picked up a battered laptop computer and as it came to life he selected a folder then a document and clicked play.

The sound was strangely metallic.

‭"‬That‭ ‬is not a Cello.‭" ‬Michelle announced.

‭"‬No,‭ ‬its an Alto Saxhorn,‭" ‬he replied.

‭"‬No,‭ ‬it's not a sax.‭" ‬she replied intrigued,‭ "‬More french horn.‭"

"It's a tenor saxhorn,‭ ‬a Baritone's in brass band speak, it's what I play,‭" ‬he said, "Back in England."‭ 

‭"‬It's not very good‭!" ‬Michelle announced,‭ "‬but I see what you mean about Tempo.‭"

"It's why I started composing,‭ ‬there's always a better player around,‭ ‬but I thought,‭ ‬you know when I won Monsieur Gerard's composition prize,‭ ‬I thought maybe I had made it.‭" ‬he said sadly.

‭"‬And it was just so Jean-Paul could play a silly game and humiliate me,‭" ‬Michelle suggested.

‭"‬What do you really think of my music‭?" ‬he asked earnestly,‭ ‬Michelle looked into his deep blue eyes,‭ ‬framed by his pale soft skin,‭ ‬the golden down of his unshaved stubble complementing his blonde hair.

‭"‬It is so much better played slower,‭ ‬so sensuous,‭ ‬tender,‭ ‬gentle,‭ ‬not raw but.‭" ‬she said.

‭"‬But what did you think‭!" ‬he asked so she thought hard and looked away.

‭"‬It needs more,‭ ‬ah..‭" ‬she paused,‭ "‬Passion,‭ ‬its skeletal,‭ ‬it needs more flesh,‭ ‬it needs.‭"

"Proper orchestration,‭ ‬backing,‭ ‬harmonies.‭" ‬he suggested.

‭"‬Yes,‭ ‬it leaves questions unanswered,‭ ‬you keep thinking about.‭" ‬she broke off as he rose from the bed,‭ ‬and circled round to stand before her.‭ "‬What are you doing‭?"

"Accepting your offer.‭" ‬he said as he undid the fastenings on her uniform..

‭"‬What,‭ ‬in the middle of a sensible conversation you suddenly want sex‭!" ‬she retorted in her confusion.

‭"‬So it was not a serious offer‭?" ‬he asked as he gently grasped Michelle around her waist,‭ ‬he eased her gently down to lie across the bed.‭ "‬Well‭?"

"Yes.‭" ‬Michelle said simply as he knelt placing his knees inside hers,‭ "‬I must,‭ ‬I owe Monsieur Gerard so much.‭"

"Is that the only reason‭?" ‬he asked but she reached out and pulled him to her aiming the tip of his staining manhood towards her own soft yielding‭ ‬sex.‭ 

"Yes,‭ ‬don't ask,‭ ‬just.‭" ‬she said‭ "‬ah‭!" ‬his warm firm body sank down on hers and his penis disappeared from view between her reddened lower lips,‭ ‬and then as he began to rock gently he began to hum his tune,‭ ‬and she too took up the tune humming to his tempo but an octave higher and then he began to harmonise.‭ 

She thrilled to the warmth of his penis as it slid easily within her,‭ ‬so soft and kind to her compared to the hardness of the black phallus,‭ ‬so gentle as it spread her lips which she had so carefully avoided spreading for oh so long since she had been involuntarily and unconsciously deflowered,‭ ‬almost four years ago.

She felt his weight pinning her down,‭ ‬the sensations she had been so careful to suppress now coming to the fore as her lover hummed the tune he wrote for her.‭ 

She found the experience surreal,‭ ‬but the pleasure profound and she felt she had found heaven,‭ "‬It's time for your tempo,‭" ‬he whispered,‭ ‬and then he went quiet as he began the gallop towards climax.

‭"‬Faster,‭ ‬that's it.‭" ‬Michelle wailed and she sang out Mark's melody as he climaxed and filled her with his love.

‭"‬Oh christ,‭ ‬I never used a rubber.‭" ‬he announced,‭ ‬as he lay still,‭ "‬Are you on the pill‭?"

"Then I suggest you become engaged to be married before you conceive too many children‭" ‬M.Gerard suggested.‭ ‬Mark looked across horrified at the M.Gerard's intrusion,‭ ‬Michelle merely stared in defiance,‭ ‬neither had heard M.‭ ‬Gerard come in through the side door from the adjoining suite.

‭"‬Monsieur,‭ ‬look I'm so sorry,‭ ‬like I know she's your girl and.‭" Mark‬ started to say.

‭"‬No,‭ ‬my dear friend,‭ ‬I am just her patron,‭" ‬M.Gerard explained,‭ "‬I merely manage her for twenty per cent of her earnings,‭ with ‬whom she consorts is her own affair,‭ ‬provided only there is no scandal,‭ ‬you will not kiss and tell will you Mr Stainforth‭?"

"Oh no sir.‭" he agreed.

"Then cherish her sir‭" ‬M.Gerard suggested,‭ "‬She has locked herself away from the pleasures of the flesh for long enough‭" ‬he suggested,‭ "‬Please make beautiful music again,‭ ‬practice until you reach perfection,‭ ‬practice,‭ ‬practice,‭ ‬practice,‭ ‬apply yourselves.‭"

"No,‭ ‬I can't,‭ ‬that was wonderful but,‭ ‬it's not right.‭" ‬Mark answered,‭ "‬You're making her do it,‭ ‬it's not right.‭"

"Then you are rejected my dear,‭" ‬M.Gerard explained,‭ "‬come,‭ ‬you have a big night tonight.‭"

"But Jean-Paul,‭" ‬Michelle called,‭ "‬don't I have a say in this‭?"

"No‭! ‬he used you and casts you aside,‭" ‬M.Gerard pointed out,‭ "‬Come get dressed,‭ ‬your public awaits.‭" 

"I wrote it for you,‭" John‬ said quietly,‭ "‬I got your picture off the internet,‭ ‬I had it on my wall when I wrote it,‭ ‬when you had the curly hair.‭"

"Oh,‭" ‬Michelle replied‭ "‬Jean-Paul we need more time together.‭"

"Then Mr Stainforth,‭ ‬accompany her to the recital tonight.‭" ‬Jean-Paul suggested,‭ "‬be seen together,‭ ‬no more.‭"

"Yes,‭ ‬come with me please‭!" ‬Michelle pleaded,

‭"‬Really,‭ ‬you really want me to come‭?" ‬Mark asked incredulously.

‭"‬Yes,‭" ‬she said quietly.

‭"‬You were her first man Mr Stainforth,‭" ‬M.Gerard told him,‭ ‬the machine may have deflowered her but it was your music so you are her first lover,‭ ‬do you not feel a tremendous responsibility on your shoulders‭!"

"He's kidding right‭?" ‬Mark asked,‭ ‬and when Michelle shook her head,‭ ‬he held his head in his hands,‭ "‬Look,‭ ‬I'm sorry,‭ ‬right.‭"

"Don't demean her,‭ ‬surely you have never had a more intimate moment‭?" ‬M.Gerard asked,‭ "‬Either of you.‭"

They looked at each other,‭ ‬and both shook their heads.

‭"‬Then I shall give you privacy to relive the moment,‭ ‬you have forty minutes,‭ ‬farewell my children‭" ‬M.Gerard announced as he swept from the room.

‭"Mark‬.‭" ‬Michelle asked,‭ "‬Can we get under the bedclothes,‭ ‬I feel awkward.‭"

"Of course,‭" ‬he agreed and threw back the covers,‭ ‬she slid under the duvet.

‭"‬Make love to me.‭" ‬she said,‭ "‬Please.‭"

"Not before your performance,‭ ‬afterwards perhaps.‭"

"No,‭ ‬now‭" ‬she objected,‭ ‬as for the first time in her life she reached out to feel a warm live penis,‭"‬Fill me with your love,‭ ‬please.‭"









"Monsieur Gerard.‭" ‬Michelle addressed her patron formally as she found him in his study at his temporary home Chateau Mirron just north of Blanchimont.

‭"‬Cherie,‭ ‬has Mister Stainforth gone.‭"

"Yes Monsieur.‭" ‬Michelle replied.‭ "‬Monsieur,‭" ‬she asked awkwardly,‭ "‬Can I speak with you‭?"

"It sounds serious,‭ ‬are you not happy with Mister Stainforth‭?"

"Oh yes,‭ ‬he is a god,‭ ‬he makes me feel so ah.‭" Michelle explained inadequately.

M.Gerard smiled,‭ "‬I hear it in your playing,‭ ‬the innocent quality has gone,‭ ‬it is the passion of a woman,‭ ‬you have become one of the greats.‭"

"But Monsieur,‭ ‬that is what I need to tell you,‭ ‬to confess,‭ ‬I was not a virgin.‭"

M.Gerard smiled at her.‭ "‬I know‭!‬,‭ ‬and how you struggled to be celibate,‭ ‬it was awful to watch‭!"

"You knew‭!" ‬she squealed.

‭"‬I said if you cheated you would belong to me,‭ ‬do you remember‭?"

"Yes,‭" ‬she agreed.

‭"‬Then undress.‭" he ordered

"What‭?" Michelle exclaimed in alarm.

"Undress,‭ ‬I shall sample your charms,‭ ‬quickly now.‭" he insisted.

"No‭!" she refused firmly absolutely.

"Then it is decided,‭ ‬I shall offer you to the servants.‭" he chuckled.

"All right.‭" Michelle agreed, "I promised I keep my word." 

"No,‭ ‬Michele,‭ it is not all right, " M.Gerard continued, "Y‬ou shall marry whom you choose, make love to whom you choose, but choose wisely, our bargain is complete, you are complete and you belong to me."

"I don't understand," Michelle protested.

"It is history, you are my Protege, I your Patron," he explained, "It is widely known, indeed I have ensured it is so, and no matter what happens that cannot be changed." 

"So I always belong, as in, will be associated with you?" she asked.

"Indeed," he explained, "I don't need sexual gratification from you, no instead I crave the sensual gratification from your future performances."

"Monsieur?" she exclaimed.

"Yes!" he said, "Exactly! and now you are of age and must explore sensuality and sexuality, and choose your own partners, I have chosen for you, but it is for you to decide whether he should be the one."

"Yes Monsieur," Michelle replied, "I understand."

"He has taken the train?" M.Gerard asked.

"Yes," she agreed. "He doesn't like flying."

"Then the telephone Michelle, ask him to return, you have engagements, you can perform his composition, MS 99." M.Gerard suggested, "Introduce him as the composer and support him as he writes more, become his Patron as well as his lover?" 

"Oh," Michelle recoiled at the thought of the commitment, then she decided "I shall, yes I shall."

"Then use my telephone Michelle, I have the number here. in the memory, see."

She took his phone and pressed call, "Mark," she asked, "Michelle, I miss you,"

"I miss you too." he admitted.

"Come back," she said.

"Where?" he asked.

"Hotel du Sud?" she suggested, "I have a suite."

"Three?" Mark suggested, "Three o'clock." 

"Ah," Michelle stared around.

"If you hurry but say six, then you can take your time, let the wind flow through your hair," M.Gerard suggested.

"Six?" she suggested.

"Yes!" Mark agreed.

They made their separate ways to the hotel and they met in the foyer, made their way up stairs to the bed room and there in the luxury of a king size bed they made love, deep satisfying love.

Deep satisfying inspirational love, varied love, in four movements, the overture short indeed rushed and inadequate, then the long appassionato movement in a double waltz time One two three two two three, with a tempo change to four four with a long accelerando to a pounding, urgent,marching, thrusting beat and then faster and faster to a glorious climax and then the gradual decrescendo and decelerando through the same double waltz time to a soft tender slow finale, disappearing finally into the ether as reality returned.

"I reckon we rushed the intro," Mark commented as he finally slid from her.

"Mmmm," Michelle purred, "Practice makes perfect.........."