Loose ends

Emily has already become a great success in her new career, with a string of rich admirers clamouring for her attention. She has, so far, turned down two marriage proposals. One was from a super-rich Russian "businessman" who lives in London. The other was from a gentleman of middle eastern extraction, who has a penchant for racehorses.

Wisely, I think, she has politely declined both offers. This has only increased the ardour of her suitors.She has repaid them by putting up the price she charges for giving them hell. The laws of supply and demand are entwined in her double-helix. Thanks to another benefactor, she lives in a swish flat in Mayfair and drives a tastefully expensive sports car. What does she need with marriage right now?

Kim is living with Emily's father. No, I don't mean John. I mean her genetic father. After the DNA tests, Emily set about tracking him down. I'll not bore you with the details but the upshot was that Kim was re-introduced to the father of her children. Neatly, for our story, he was widowed a couple of years ago. He was very pleased to hear from Kim.

It was tempting to encourage a rekindled relationship, to then enjoy the pleasure of destroying it. As it turned out, it did not need me to blow on the embers of that long lost relationship. It bust into life immediately. Kim even apologised to me. She told me that, having re-found her man, she now realised she didn't really love me after all. To be frank, there wasn't sufficient amusement value for me anyway, to string this one out. I decided to let her fly free.

This was the last straw for John, who decided to step in front of a tube train at Tottenham Court Road station, at the height of the rush hour. There weren't many people at his funeral and I doubt that he will be missed by anyone. He was a weak man who craved being badly treated and then complained when he got what he wanted. It's a crowded planet and now there is a smidgen more free air to breathe.

Michael exited from our story, back in July, to go backpacking around the world with friends during the university holidays. Emily tells me that he was in New Zealand when John decided to create transport chaos. He didn't come home for the funeral. Apparently he was "confused" after discovering that John was not his father. He decided to stay down-under to "find himself." Emily tells me that she hopes he never comes back.

And what of me? I have my sights on a British politician who I think may go far. I might just let you know how that goes at some point.

Journey's end

Every journey comes to an end. I sense that it is the right time to end this one, publicly at least. There are some loose ends but tying them is unlikely to warrant regular posts. I may post occasionally, to let you know what happens to Emily, Kim and, perhaps, even John. I may get the urge to write and tell you about some other toys that I have played with in the past. Or maybe I will decide to chronicle a new journey, or just disappear back into the ether.  To be frank, I have no idea. A week ahead is, for me, what constitutes long-term planning.

So what of the loose ends? Emily has started her new career. She is getting used to the idea that mature men will pay her handsomely for the sort of cruelty that previously got her into so much trouble. Also, being aware of what happened between Kim and John, she has been trying to convince her mother to quit nursing and join 'the business'. Emily has already sounded out a couple of clients about what they might pay for a mother and daughter team; one that can be validated through DNA tests! The answer is: a lot!

I am undecided what to do with Kim. I know that I could destroy her life if I so chose. But to be perfectly honest, I am rather proud my role in helping her to escape the chrysalis of her marriage. This rankles with me because it smacks of weakness or, worse still, feelings. This, in turn, creates a very strong urge within me to snuff out her flickering flame of hope, simply to show that I am not weakening. Or I could just walk away from both mother and daughter. Maybe I'll decide tomorrow.

Liberation

Emily told me that John came home on Sunday morning but that Kim didn't let him in the house. They talked quietly and calmly but on the doorstep. Kim told John that that she needed some space and time to think. John wanted to talk inside but Kim refused.

I called Kim mid-morning, not letting on that I knew what had happened after I left on Saturday. I told her how much I had enjoyed our time together on Saturday and asked whether we could we meet for Sunday lunch. I suggested the pub where we had our first kiss and more. After a bit of hesitation she agreed.

I listened attentively to Kim, sympathising and agreeing with everything she said. Sometimes she would ask me what I thought. I responded, as I usually do, by paraphrasing something that she had said earlier. Inevitably, we got to the point where Kim asked whether I thought she should 'leave' John. I responded by asking her what she thought would make her happiest in the long-term.

And in that that moment she decided. Not an ephemeral, superficial decision. Her face, her body language and her eyes told me that is was deep, visceral, committed decision. My games had now liberated both mother and daughter. It wasn't my plan to do so, because I never had a plan, just some rough ideas, some of which have been realised and others not. Indeed if either or both had fallen pregnant, as I had intended, it may not have been much of a liberation. Such are games with real people as the toys.

Interestingly, Kim never asked me then, during the sex that followed, or even after that, whether she had a future with me. This despite my many mendacious protestations of love, in the past, and her apparently genuine reciprocation. The sex that followed our lunch was raw. I got the sense that she was doing it for herself, not in any needy way, trying to please me, or to ensnare me as a replacement for John. She is no Emily but she has come a very long way from the timorous mouse that I first encountered.

***

On Monday morning, John was suspended from his job. A number of his colleagues had received an email from him. It read as follows:

"You will probably be aware by now that Emily is not my daughter. Now that I know this, I realise what a hot girl she is."

Attached to the email was a picture of Emily in a compromising position with three black guys.

John, of course, denied that he had sent the email, protesting that his account was hacked by someone malicious. He said he had a pretty good idea of who had done it. Alas for John, a subsequent investigation by clever technicians verified that the email originated from his house. Yesterday afternoon, he was fired without notice.

John has only himself to blame. What sort of man is it that invites another man to fuck his wife? What sort of man tells another man of the dark desires he has for his wife? What sort of man is it who revels in his own submission? He has brought this upon himself. I could squash him like a bug beneath my shoe but cannot be bothered to cross the street to do so. I am done with him now.

The appliance of science

A schoolteacher once said that I was unable to express emotions. It wasn't meant as a compliment but I took it as such. Making a decision based on logic is clearly a superior course to one that is clouded by emotions. When I was a young, I used to watch Star Trek re-runs and wanted to emulate Spock. I never understood why his lack of emotion was the punchline for so many, end of episode, jokes. He was so clearly superior to everyone else in the show. It was Kirk that was laughable.

As it happens, the teacher was incorrect. Sadly, I am not like Spock. I do feel emotion. But my emotions tend to be polarised. I feel pleasure and anger, with very little in between. Pleasure is what drives me and anger is what, sometimes, gets me into trouble. 

These days I am good at controlling my anger. I know it gets in the way of getting what I want. Unfortunately, now and then, anger is triggered by a seemingly trivial provocation. When this happens, it seems as if there are two separate instances of me, both existing at the same time. One is doing and one is watching. The instance of me that is watching doesn't feel anger. It observes, detached, watching what the other instance is doing. 'This is not good,' it might say, or, 'this is very, very bad.' But it cannot intervene. The angry instance has to purge its anger through action. This can last for days, with anger building and subsiding in cycles, depending on the perceived responses to that anger. The detached instance just tut-tuts, like a disapproving aunt who foretells that 'this will end badly'.

It was just as well, therefore, that I had to go away for a short period, after my last encounter with John and Kim. I had been deliberately pushing John, so that he would resist but when he did resist I became annoyed. Not very Spock, I know. But yeah, yeah, I have already addressed that. Anyway, had I been around for the next few days, things might have taken a fairly nasty turn. Luckily, the break gave me time for reflection. It also gifted me the divine pleasure of Emily's complicity.

***

Isn't modern science wonderful? One can order a DNA paternity test on-line and get the result within just five days! Most testing services even have an "express service". The tests are not expensive. The cheapest I found was just £50. The most expensive no more than £200. I love the way that what used to be considered exotic technologies are now within the grasp of everyone. Democracy in action. Did you know that Picassa has really good face recognition for free? I have found it very useful.

Anyway, when I told Emily of Kim's suspicion that John was not the father of her and Michael, she was absolutely delighted. She described John as 'weak and ineffectual.' It would make total sense to her, she told me, if it turned out that John wasn't her real father. 

Gathering the material needed for the test was pretty easy, given the games we had been playing. Emily, however, wanted to gather some fresh samples, to ensure that there was no room for doubt. She told me that she came up with a bizarre story about an outbreak of something unusual and infectious at school. She told everyone, including Michael, that she needed saliva samples, so that they could be tested for infection. The school was going to do the testing which was why she was collecting them herself, she said!

It sounds pretty far-fetched to me but Emily is the sort of girl that one often decides to humour rather than challenge. So, if people had doubts then they didn't say. They never considered that Emily might have an ulterior motive. Naive, given that Emily always has an ulterior motive.

Emily decided to go public with the results on Facebook while John was at the rugby on Saturday. At the same time, I was having a romantic interlude with Kim in a nice country hotel. I like to alternate between nice and nasty with Kim, to keep her keen and malleable. I know it is a clichéd tactic but is a cliché for a reason. And of course, it wasn't all champagne. Kim likes it rough as well as tender. I was only too happy to oblige.

As neither Kim nor John are friends of Emily on Facebook, it was only on Saturday night that the news made its way back to John and Kim, via the parents of Emily's school-friends. Emily called me excitedly, to report what had happened. John got back from the rugby having drunk too much. He didn't deal with the news very well. There was apparently lots of shouting and tears, she told me. John had lost control and slapped Kim more than once. As a consequence, Kim completely lost it and, screaming and scratching, she turfed him out of the house. Emily presumes he went to stay with a rugby pal.

"Didn't anyone ask why you posted it publicly?" I asked.

"He was too busy blaming mum, the bastard" she said. "I just played the wronged little girl, acting in a fit of a pique."

Emily paused, and I swear I heard her lick her lips, before she said, "I told mum that I didn't know why she stayed with him. I told her she seemed so much happier since you started seeing someone else."

Career Opportunities

I got back to London sooner than I expected and spent the last couple of days with Emily. It is clear that she isn't toy material. Quite reverse. Despite her young age, she is a skilled manipulator. It is also clear that she lacks empathy and has a cruel streak. I have often wondered whether cruelty is simply a corollary of empathy-deficit or something that exists in its own right. But it matters not, the last couple of days have confirmed that Emily has both of these admirable qualities in spades.

The question that has been preoccupying me has been how to put this knowledge to good use. I know that I will not be able to control her. If I read her correctly, she is likely to lie and break any agreements that we might make, unless her self-interest is served. Given that she is a gorgeous, eighteen year old, she would be a perfect partner to con the gullible and wealthy. But this would involve both of us in criminal enterprises. Nothing wrong with that in itself but my criminally reckless days are behind me. I fear that if I were ever locked up again, I would never get out, for reasons I care not to elaborate on.

So, instead of a criminal partnership, I proposed a different kind of partnership that makes full use of her talents. Over the last couple of days we have worked out the details of a deal that will provide me with a nice income, for the time being, and will make her as rich as she cares to be. At some point, she will no longer need me and will fill her own plate with what I have taught her. Until then, she needs my help, to develop her skills with finesse and find the right sort of people who will appreciate those skills. I will also ensure that she is never at risk. We have agreed to split the proceeds of our partnership fifty-fifty. Either party has the right to dissolve the partnership, without notice. My short-term goal is money and the pleasure of watching her journey. My medium to long-term goal is to know someone who might be able to help me on occasions because I can help them on occasions.

***

On Monday afternoon, I took Emily to club where she had such a good time together. The club only opens in evening, so there was no music nor were there any clubbers. We entered through the back door, avoiding the cleaners and other staff preparing for the evening ahead. I took Emily to the S&M room and secured her to a Saint Andrew's cross and went to work on her. Over a period of what turned out to be about three hours, we explored, together, most of the implements, restraints and other miscellaneous devices that the room had to offer. 

While it gave me great sexual pleasure to hurt her, this was not my primary purpose. My purpose was to educate her. If she is to be a successful dominatrix, she needs to have an appreciation of how it feels for her clients. At school, she has gotten into trouble by taking her cruelty further than needed to achieve her goal. That's fine when one wants to inflict pain solely for the pure pleasure of doing so. But it is not good for repeat business when dealing with clients. Don't get the idea that she will be going easy on them. A genuinely sadistic, gorgeous, eighteen year old girl is rare and commands a very high price ticket. But given her obvious nature, I don't want anyone ending up in hospital by accident. We will continue these education sessions as her career develops and I will accept the side benefits that I get from that education process.

Some readers may find this development far-fetched. If you do, I suggest you enter "professional Mistress London" into Google and see how many links you find. It is literally millions. But these are not links through which you will never find Emily. She is too precious a prize to be advertised on the open market. Men, and yes some women, will hear about her through the efficient networks that service the needs of the very wealthy. And they will pay very handsomely for the pleasure of her company. She need never take her clothes off and need never have sexual contact unless she desires it. She will be a Mistress not a whore.

Eventually, she is likely to marry one of her clients. Someone not that dissimilar to John in their sexual needs. Just just like John, they will be happy to be dominated and will positively encourage their wife to please herself, to the extent of having other men. Unlike John, they will be rich. Top dominatrices have followed this "career progression for centuries. Isherwood wrote about it and those in the know say that such as relationship was the downfall of at least one heir to the English throne. Emily has the potential to go far.

***

Finally, as a gesture of good faith, Emily has agreed to help me with a couple of short-term things, relating to John and Kim. The glint in her eye when I told her what I have in mind would have disturbed some.

Ain't no stopping us now

"I've had enough of this, I want it to stop" John said to me and Kim, as we laid in bed on Saturday morning.

"Do you want it to stop?" I asked Kim.

"Not really, I am having fun," she said.

"Kim doesn't want it to stop," I said to John, patronisingly raising my eyebrows

"Well I do," said John.

"What you want isn't important," I said stepping out of bed.

"You said I could end it any time I wanted," said John.

"I changed my mind," I said, "and when did I give you permission to stop calling me Sir?"

"That's over. It's done," said John

I slapped him hard across the face. His mouth gaped open in shock, as he stood rooted to the spot. So I hit him again, twice in quick succession. 

"On your knees," I said. Still he stood. No words, no resistance.

I grabbed a fistful of hair and forced him onto his knees. "Kiss my feet," I said. He didn't, so I kicked him pretty hard. He didn't comply, so I kicked him again. I waited. Nothing. So I kicked him again and this time he kissed. I would like you to know that I wasn't angry. I was totally calm and was enjoying his resistance. I looked over at Kim. Her hands were raised, covering her mouth. Her eyes wide open.

I walked over to my jacket and pulled out my mobile telephone. I flicked to find what I wanted and placed it next to John's ear, so that he could hear Kim telling me that she loved me. So that he could hear her not being able to say that she loved him. So that he could hear Kim's tacit admission that the children were not his. John started to sob which made me horny. 

I rifled through the drawers to find some belts and stockings. I bound John's hands and feet then joined them together in a hog-tie. I returned to the bed. I could see that Kim was afraid. I took Kim roughly and noisily. After I had finished, I kneeled down and spoke into John's ear. "It's not over until I say it's over," I said. "Think about it but if you resist me there will be consequences."  And after that, left.

***

Now as it turned out, something unrelated happened on Sunday that needs my urgent attention. I am now out of the country until Tuesday, so cannot follow up with John and Kim, and of course Emily, in person until I return. I will, however, be in contact with all of them, to prepare for my return. 

I will be too busy to write, until I return, so hope that this short update doesn't disappoint. As if I cared.

A duet

Emily fell asleep in the early hours of Friday morning. My guests departed and I climbed into the bed, beside her, to get some sleep.

I was woken, around eleven o'clock, by Emily's hand stroking my chest. She was smiling.

"I thought you'd never wake up," she said.

It took me a moment to remember where I was. "Oh hello. You still here?" I said blinking.

"Oh course I am," she said, "did you think you were going to get rid of me that easily? Anyway, I badly need a coffee and I am hungry." I burst out laughing. "What's so funny?" she asked.

"You're feisty," I said, "how did you enjoy your evening?"

"It was wild and intense," she said, with a smile,"I'm pretty sore now though. Can we go eat?"

I was surprised at the way she had taken things in  her stride. I had expected at least some tears of regret, if not a delightful flood. It crossed my mind that her attitude might be a clever ruse to escape my clutches and cry rape. But she had no need to escape. The door wasn't locked. She could have gone any time. 

After a quick visit to the wet room, to clean up, we went out, into the sun, and found a café in Old Compton Street. Over coffee and croissants Emily told me some things about herself that I had never heard from Kim or John. She told me that she had only been at the posh boarding school for a few years. She was sent because she kept getting into trouble at the regular state school. 

Despite being exceptionally bright, or perhaps because of it, she was labelled as disruptive. It was Kim who decided to send Emily to boarding school, in the hope that they could harness her cleverness and get her into a good university. John was, apparently, opposed to the idea. But Kim, who wasn't working, went back to work as a district nurse, to pay for the school fees. 

I feel the need to say that I have no idea whether any of this is true. Why would she lie, you might ask? Well, being a world-class liar myself I have a certain intuition about these things. There was just something about Emily's attitude, voice and body language that hinted that she might be an accomplished liar. I began to wonder what use I might make of her, if my intuition was correct.

***

A call on my mobile telephone interrupted my reverie. I was stunned to hear the voice of one of my guests from the previous night.

"How's the girl?" he asked

"Remarkably good," I said, "we are just having some breakfast."

"She's cute," he said.

"Sounds like you are smitten," I said. Emily was making who-is-it gestures.

"I just wanted to make sure she's all right," he said.

"This doesn't sound like you," I said, "and anyway, you hardly had a deep and meaningful conversation with her."

"I like her, okay!" he said.

"Then you might as well ask her yourself," I said, handing the telephone to Emily. 

The funniest part of the conversation was hearing Emily asking him to describe himself, so she could work out which one he was. And well she played him, pretending not to recognise his description and asking questions like, "were you the one that couldn't manage a second time?" and "so you weren't the very, very big one then?" When the conversation ended, Emily handed me back the mobile and announced that she had to leave.

"Got a date?" I asked.

"Maybe," she said with a grin. "Can I see you again?"

"Most definitely," I said.

And so she left, leaving a trail of turned heads, as she went. 

I finished my coffee and called Kim, to tell her I would be over that evening. I expected her to be dressed appropriately, I told her. The opportunity of have mother and daughter in the same day was just too good to pass up.

***

On Friday evening, I had John drive us to a dogging site. I told John to sit inside the car while I had Kim over the bonnet of the car, watched by a group that included a number of slutty looking women.

"Who's the guy in the car?" asked one of them.

"The husband," I said, "he's a wimp." And that's just how John looked, small and timid, his body language inviting the tapping on the windows to the sound of catcalls. The women were the worst.

A black guy made his was through the crowd, looked at me, and said, "may I?"

"Of course," I said, pulling out of Kim. "It's okay," I whispered into Kim's ear, "he's a friend. He's safe." Although she didn't know it was going to happen this particular evening, Kim and I had discussed this particular scenario, so it didn't come as a total surprise to find someone else taking a turn.

And part of what I told her was true. He was a indeed 'a friend'. I wasn't the only one who found the idea of having mother and daughter on the same day to be irresistible. But safe? Well I guess it depends on what one means by safe. Perhaps disease free would have been more accurate description.

John started to move and fidget  inside the car. Although this scenario played to his fantasies, he was finding the reality tough to take. I climbed into the car alongside him, to prevent him getting out and making a fuss. 

"I'm going to stop this," said John.

"Isn't it what you wanted?" I said. "You told me that you wanted to see your wife used like a cheap slut."

"Yeah, well, maybe but now I've seen it, I don't like it much," said John, his hand reaching towards the door handle.

I gripped his wrist tightly. "Don't do it, John," I said. "You'll get hurt."

"I'm already hurt," said John, his eyes a little moist.

I twisted his wrist hard. "I am giving you a friendly warning John. If you get out of the car, you will get hurt." He hesitated, sat back and sobbed quietly.

After my friend was finished, an ashen-faced John drove us home. I decided to stay the night. Neither Michael nor Emily were home but then one cannot have everything.

Clubbing

The club where I arranged to meet Emily is owned by The Dancing Queens. One of them has a famous fashion business and is a very wealthy masochist. The other, when I met him, was in a boring job and a boring marriage, pretending he was straight. He has a strong sadistic streak but likes to switch when he encounters someone dominant enough, such as me. I met them through separate adventures and introduced them, as they seemed perfectly matched. This was not, of course, an act of altruism. I was simply banking a lot of good will, to call on some time in the future. The two of them have now been couple for nearly four years and recently did the civil ceremony thing.

Given their private predilections, their dance club has some unique and unusual features, known only to the most trusted friends. In the basement are four adjoining rooms. The first is a handsome bedroom, kitted out in the manner one might expect for a wealthy gay couple. The second room is a completely tiled wet room. The third room is a soundproofed  S&M playroom with a mind-boggling range of toys and equipment. These three rooms are arranged in a triangle and all are equipped with hidden, state-of-the-art audio and video recording equipment.

The fourth room is a "viewing gallery" in the centre of the triangle. On each side of its triangular shape are large two-way mirrors that provide a full view into each of the other rooms. It is furnished with a number of comfortable black leather armchairs and one sofa. The fourth room was my idea and only a handful of people know that it exists.

There is one last, very secret, space and is not a room as such. It is a five foot square space under the floor, with a solid steel trap-door. The door has small hatch for passing things in and out. It has a very bright light that is operated from the outside. When it is switched off,  it is totally dark inside. This was also my idea.

***

Emily and her two friends arrived at the club around ten o'clock. Emily was clearly the leader of the group. The two friends had both gone blonde and wore short skirts, high heels, skimpy tops and lots of make-up. Anyone who has been out in the West-End of London, late at night, will be familiar with this look, favoured by suburban girls of their age, who come up to town to go clubbing. Emily's outfit marked her out from the other two. She was wearing tiny gold lurex shorts, matching gold, ballet-style pumps and a skin-tight, green, sleeveless top. She wore minimal make-up, except around her eyes, and her skin radiated a healthy glow. All three girls had clearly had a few drinks and the friends were in a nervous, giggly mood. Emily was confident and bold, making a point of touching me on the arm or hand, in view of the others, every time she spoke to me.

The two friends were keen to dance and go celebrity spotting. I gave Emily a "privileged guest card" that allowed them to get free drinks from the bar. I also told them that if they needed something other than alcohol to keep them going then that could be arranged. The friends looked to Emily for leadership. She opened the palm of her hand and confidently said, "yes please." 

Into her hand I dropped three smiley faces. "Let's go," she said, popping one into her mouth and giving the others one each. And off they all went, onto the dance floor. I sat down in a private area that overlooked the dance floor and chatted to some other guests that I had invited but that the girls had not seen. Emily disappeared into the heaving mass of bodies with her friends. A while later she appeared, dancing alone, seemingly absorbed in herself, close to where I sat. After she had been dancing for some time, apparently oblivious to eager suitors of both genders, she came and sat down next to me, her skin damp with sweat.

"I thought you might come and dance with me," she said.

"Not my type of dancing," I said.

"What sort of dancing do you like then?" she asked.

"I like dancing in private with a few selected friends," I said.

"Shame there is nowhere private here then. I would love to dance with you," she said putting her hand on my thigh.

"Oh but there is," I said, "but as I said before, I like to dance with friends and I think those dance moves would be too advanced for someone of your age and experience."

"You calling me a coward?" said Emily boldly.

"I'm being realistic," I said, "and stopping you from doing something you might regret."

"You don't know me. I don't believe in regrets," she said, "try me."

"I don't think so. You wouldn't be able to handle it" I said.

She moved her hand up my thigh, finding my cock, as she leaned across and pushed her tongue deep into my mouth.

"Try me," she said, emphatically.

"You will probably need this," I said, opening my palm. She took the smiley face and popped it into her mouth.

I lead Emily towards the three rooms. My urge to take her pristine, elastic skin into S&M room was very strong. Given my usual impulsiveness, I am, with hindsight, surprised and impressed that I resisted. I stuck to he original plan and. instead, took Emily into the well-appointed bedroom. My three other guests were already waiting inside. Emily's mouth dropped open momentarily,  in shock, as she registered the situation. But she quickly recovered her bravado, emboldened by the second dose of chemicals, intermingling with the alcohol.

"I told you that I like dancing with a few friends," I said, "you can back out now if you want." 

She responded by kneeling down and unzipping my flies. Ah the folly of youth!

As I started to take her for the first time, she muttered, "condoms," hardly audibly, as her mind descended into the haze of drink and drugs.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," I lied.

"Okay," she whispered, as if speaking to herself, her eyes struggling to stay open.

And so, me and my three black guests took turns, keeping it going through the night. 

Sound and vision

I have arranged to meet Emily, and hopefully a few of her girlfriends, tomorrow night. Two of my subjects own a very exclusive club in London's West End. Even on a Thursday, as the time gets towards eleven o'clock, the queue for normal people goes around the block. Genuine celebrities and 'close personal friends' can, however, enter through the back door and they also have the use of some exclusive facilities. I introduced the owners to each other, in one of my uncharacteristically benign moments, so I officially fall into the 'friend' category.

It is probably worth a quick diversion to say that some subjects, like John and Kim are active and 'in play'. Others have been active subjects at some point in time but are contacted infrequently, usually when I need something. These types of subjects have usually been selected because they can provide me with a particular resource. The Banker and The Builder are two good examples. Others may have been selected simply to satisfy my need for amusement. We've all enjoyed pulling the legs off of spiders, haven't we? One thing is common to all: once a subject, forever a subject. I learned a lot from watching The Godfather ;-)

So anyway, Emily and I have been in contact, mostly by text. I continued to play it cool, all the time hinting that my tastes are unusual and she best keep her distance. The very young, of course, hate being told that they are too timid and usually over-compensate. I will not bore you with a blow-by-blow (no pun intended) description of the exchanges but it ended with some photographs of Emily, that she sent on her mobile telephone, to demonstrate her maturity. Most women look sexier when partially clothed. Total nakedness does not suit most women but Emily is an exception.

Once, I mentioned the name of the club, the deal was sealed. She asked if she could bring some friends and I agreed she could, as long as they are female.

***

I haven't mentioned it before but I have accumulated quite a collection of photographs and videos of Kim on my mobile telephone. She was quite shy at first but has become quite the exhibitionist. She now seems to be fascinated by watching herself performing and takes it for granted that the camera is often rolling while we play. Of course, I only show her the videos in which it is difficult to identify her.

In addition to taking high quality pictures and videos, my telephone has something that I wish I had always had. It allows me, at the touch of a button, to record my telephone conversations. I have recorded almost every word that Kim and I have spoken on the telephone and this week was particularly rewarding. 

Our encounter at Friday's party was very brief, so she had not been properly used for a while. She was, therefore, only too eager to articulate her needs when I prompted her. It was useful to record it but what followed later on was much, much more useful. Here is a snippet.

"Why don't you say what you feel," I said.

"You know how I feel," said Kim

"Yes but I want to hear you say it."

"You want to hear me say I love you?" said Kim.

"Well don't you?"

"Yes I do. I love you," said Kim.

"And I love you and need you," I said.

"And I need you too," said Kim, "I feel like I have woken from a very deep sleep."

"I wonder, did you ever really love John?" I asked.

"I was very fond of him," said Kim.

"And are you still fond of him," I asked.

"I am surprised how easily he has given in to you."

"You've lost a bit of respect for him as a man?" I asked.

"A bit yes," said Kim after a long pause.

"Do you  love him?" I asked.

"He's been a good friend and a good father to the children," said Kim.

"You mean, to your children?" I said.

"Yes my children," she said with a sigh.

There's more, captured on my telephone, but I think you get the gist.

As a tacit reward, I met Kim for lunch yesterday and did the high-class-whore-in-an-hotel game that she enjoyed so much the first time we did it. I also threw in a little play-rape scenario, with bondage. I was surprised how much she got off on this and it will come in very handy.

Party girl

I called Kim on Thursday, to tell her that my trip was cancelled and that I would be coming to Emily's birthday party on Friday. She told me that, although she was pleased that I wasn't going away, she didn't want Emily to be embarrassed in front of friends and family, so was concerned about me being there. I was full of soothing reassurance that I would embarrass no-one, including John. She could simply present me as an old friend, as she had done when I met John. She seemed slightly reassured but not much. Frankly, I was going to turn up anyway. I was just trying to avoid John and Kim looking slack-jawed in shock if I turned up unannounced again.

I wasn't sure what was meant but 'party, but it turned out to be one of those parties where about eighty percent of the people were friends of the birthday girl. The rest were the parents and other 'adults', keeping a watchful eye out for drugs and pretending to be 'cool'. Alcohol was, however, flowing freely and I had brought my own drugs anyway. Music was thumping out in all of the downstairs rooms, except the kitchen. I spotted Kim in the hallway and weaved between the party-goers to say hello.

"Kim!" I said, loudly, as if greeting a long lost friend. After the obligatory air-kisses, on each cheek, I gave her a long-lost-friend-hug, slyly dropping my right hand to give her bottom a playful squeeze. Kim, who had clearly had a few drinks, emitted a half-giggle and swivelled her head round quickly, to see if anyone had noticed.

"Let me get you a drink," said Kim, breaking off the hug and leading me by the hand, through the throng, towards the kitchen.

Michael was coming out of the kitchen. He greeted me in that time-honoured manner, "oh it's you!"

"Mum, I'm off," said Michael.

"Must you?" said Kim.

"I promised I would stay for a bit and I have. But I really can't take much more of Emily and her stupid friends," said Michael.

"She's your sister!" said Kim.

"Yeah but she's not my friend," said Michael, making his way towards the front door.

"They used to get on so well," said Kim sighing.

At that moment, John appeared next to us. He didn't exactly look pleased to see me but I greeted warmly. I asked him how the English Open Golf was going. I hate golf but it is another of John's sporting passions and it isn't difficult to bluff one's way through. I pushed the right buttons and John quickly relaxed and became and animated, talking about the golf. While he was talking, I pulled my hand out of my pocket and gave his crotch a quick, discreet squeeze, to check whether the chastity device was still in place. It was.

"Didn't find the key? Or do you just like it and have locked it back in place?" I asked.

"Didn't find it," said John with a frown.

"Be a good, well-behaved, boy tonight and I will let you out tomorrow," I whispered into his ear. Another frown. "Up to you," I said, "but now I must mingle."

And mingle I did. I have to say I am rather good at mingling. Age is no barrier. The art, as I have noted before, is to get people to talk about themselves and empathise with what they say. I have never felt any genuine empathy in my life but it is easy to fake. Actually, I think my detachment makes me come across as more empathetic than most people because I am not tempted into talking about myself. The trick is listen properly, agree with what the person says, supported with some well-chosen, but not outlandish, lies to establish common interests. It's always a good idea to reflect back the person's own words. It sounds transparent but, believe me, it works.

Anyway, I was busy being charming when someone tapped me on the shoulder. It took me a moment to realise it was Emily. She was older looking than in the pictures I had seen. She was slim, bordering on skinny. Her hair was dark, dead straight and down to her shoulders, framing the sharp features that bore more than a hint of Kim. She was wearing a single piece, black linen, sleeveless dress that barely covered her bottom. Her legs were bare, atop black flat pumps. She is gorgeous. I smiled, recalling how slutty her mother was at the same age.

"You must be Harry," she said, extending her hand with a smile.

"Indeed I am," I said, "and you must be Emily?"

"And indeed, I am," she said, adding, "I've heard a lot about you."

"Oh really, " I said, "any of it good?"

"Afraid not," she said.

"Oh dear!"

"Michael told me that you are wanker," said Emily

"Oh dear, did her say anything else?" I asked.

"Quite lot for him, the little shit," said Emily.

"Maybe, I should leave now," I said, jokingly.

"Oh please don't," said Emily, "if Michael dislikes you as much as it seems, we will probably get on very well indeed!"

Echoing Kim, some weeks ago, she said she she wanted to know 'all about me.' But with someone at such an exciting point in their life, between school and university, it wasn't difficult to turn it around and get her talking about herself. As we talked, she flirted with me. I wondered whether Michael articulated any suspicions about my relationship with Kim. She wouldn't be the first daughter to try to steal her mother's lover. I kept my distance, physically and verbally, adopting the old, 'playing hard to get' approach. I did, however, allow my eyes to tell a different story.

Kim, who was now quite drunk, broke up our tête-a-tête, sidling up beside and putting her arm protectively around my waist. "Sorry, darling," said Kim, " I am going to have to take him away from you, there's someone I want him to meet."

I raised my eyes, signalling, 'I've got no choice.'

Emily gave a shrug that signalled, 'I understand. Mum's drunk. There's no point arguing."

"You know we could always pop upstairs, unnoticed, for a little while," Kim whispered into my ear as me walked away. The context made the offer too good to refuse.

We returned to the party, both a little more crumpled than we departed, with Kim sporting a big, soppy,  post-orgasmic grin. She made a beeline for John. I saw her take her hand from somewhere below her waist and raise it to John's lips. He hesitated and gave a lick. Kim grinned, looked across at me and winked.

I was about to tell them that I was leaving when there was a tap on my shoulder again. "We didn't finish our conversation," said Emily.

"I'm not sure we should," I said.

"Why's that said Emily," with a pout.

"Because you are far too attractive," I said.

"When did that become a bad thing?" asked Emily.

"It's not," I said, "but I am a friend of your mother's and you are very young. I don't want to get into trouble."

"What sort of trouble did you have mind?" said Emily, flirtatiously.

"Oh, you wouldn't like the sort of trouble that I like," I said,

"Maybe you should try me," said Emily.

Kim arrived, as she had done before. "I was just leaving," I said to Kim.

"Oh, must you?" she said, as genuinely as a drunk is able.

I was insistent that I had to get up early and really had to leave. As I was making my excuses, I felt Emily's bony hand press something into the palm of my hand. I slipped it discreetly into my trouser pocket.

I said a polite goodbye to Emily, and walked with Kim to the Kitchen, to say goodbye to John. With the three of us together, I gave Kim a key to the chastity device. I told John that it was now up to Kim whether he was released and for how long. I gave Kim polite kiss and a hug, shook hands with John and off I went.

Outside I pulled, what turned out to be, a piece of paper from my trouser pocket. It was a mobile telephone number, followed by the words, "Call me. You wont be disappointed. Emily XXX"

Surprise visit

When I left Kim and John on Saturday morning, I gave no indication as to when I would see them again. I received a number of texts from Kim but did not respond. My availability needs to become unpredictable. Kim has already seen that her husband is not a real man. I am her only source of excitement, strength and, yes, love. Now, I want her to fear losing me. I want her to need me.

I decided to turn up unannounced, yesterday evening, somewhat enticed by the prospect the prospect of meeting Emily. Alas, Emily was not home but Michael was and it was he that answered the door.

"Hello, remember me?" I said, with fake chumminess.

"Unfortunately," said Michael.

"I'm here to see your Mum," I said.

Michael called to Kim, over his shoulder, standing in the hallway with one hand on the door and me standing outside. Kim's face was a priceless look of confusion when she saw me. Michael lingered in the hallway, a mixture of protector and spy.

"Thanks Michael," said Kim, signalling for him to get lost. He lingered. She said it again and he went inside. "This is a bit...errr...unexpected," she said.

"Do you want me to leave?" I asked, adding quickly, "I thought you might be pleased to see me?"

"No, of course I am," she said, with a sigh. "Come in, come in. It's just a bit awkward with Michael here."

As I followed Kim into the hallway, John came down the stairs.

"I know," I said, "you weren't expecting me." As I spoke, my hands started to roam gently over Kim. " But the problem is that I was thinking about your wife and decided that I needed to fuck her, right now."

"Well, it's a bit awkward because Michael is here and is staying tonight," said John, uneasily.

"That's okay," I said, "we'll just go upstairs and fuck now."

"You can't. Not with Michael here," he said. At last, John was putting up a modicum of resistance.

"Can't," I parroted, "can't! Didn't we agree some rules?"

"Yes," said John, "but not while..."

"There was no 'but while' in the rules, John," I interrupted. He frowned.

I turned to Kim and pulled her into my arms. "I have to go away for a couple of weeks," I lied. I kissed her softly. "I was really hoping we could spend some time together before I go. Wouldn't you like that?"

"Yes, yes, I would," she said, eyeing John anxiously.

"Let's have a chat alone," I said to John, steering him into the kitchen.

I told John that he had three choices. First, I fuck Kim upstairs, right now. Second, he finds Kim and I an hotel and takes us there. Or third, I tell Michael about what is really going on and leave it for John to deny it. And to make the third option a bit more persuasive, I showed him a little video I have of Kim on my mobile telephone. I left the kitchen and walked into the living room, leaving John to ponder his choices.

"So how are you, " I said to Michael, as I sat down. But my bottom hardly barely touched the seat before John appeared at the door, asking for a word. "Be right there," I said to John. I paused and turned to Michael, as John disappeared. "You know you really look like your mum. But I cannot see your dad in you at all," I said.

"Everyone always sees what they want," said Michael.

"Perhaps," I said, "anyway, good to see you again." He grunted something as I left.

And so John chauffeured Kim and I to a nice small  country hotel. I'd love  know what he told Michael.

***

Kim was a bit uneasy about how she came to be with me last night but she is now needy enough to put that aside. In fact, I felt confident enough to use her pretty roughly. There seems to be a tipping point beyond which bad treatment seems to reinforce  a person's need more than considerate treatment. The old aphorism, 'treat them mean and keep them keen,' is mostly true, although there does need to be some tenderness mixed in as well.

And in case you are wondering, Kim told me that John has been looking for the key that he swallowed but hasn't found it yet.

Cruelty

When I arrived, yesterday evening, it was that Kim answered the door. I had suggested to Kim that she dressed classy but sexy. As I have become accustomed, with her dress sense, she hit the nail on the head. She wore a cream linen two piece suit , the skirt nicely above the knees, a white blouse and deliciously high, cream stilettos. The blouse was pleasingly low-cut and translucent, revealing a lacy push-up brassiere. Her hands were all over me as I stepped inside. My slut was hungry.

I pushed her against the wall and mauled her roughly, my tongue thrust deep into her mouth. This was the way she liked it now, she had told me on Tuesday night. She craves being taken by a real man. A desire reinforced, in my not so humble opinion, by the spectacle of her husband's crumbling masculinity.

"You are such a fucking natural slut," I whispered to her, as I bit her neck.

She made a sound of approval, that sounded something like, "errr....mmmmmmmm!" as she fiddled with my flies.

"I love you like this," I said

"I love being like this," she echoed.

"I do love you," I said.

"And I you," she said without hesitation. 

I smiled and lead her into the living where John, dressed in a dark suit, sat nervously on a chair. "John, do you think that it is right that your mistress should answer the door?" I asked.

"No, I suppose not," he said.

"I suppose not," I parroted in a whiny imitation. "I suppose not?"

I walked into his personal space and put my face inches from his. "You suppose fucking not!" I spat. "Where is the fucking respect?" I grabbed a handful of hair and pulled him to the floor. As expected, he showed no resistance. "Shall we fucking start again?" I barked at him, still holding a handful of hair. "Do you think your mistress should have to answer the door?"

"No," said John.

"No fucking what?" I said, pulling his hair tighter.

"No, Sir, it isn't right that my Mistress should answer the door."

I watched Kim's reactions carefully, as we played out this little scene. She was clearly surprised that John just took my apparent venom, without objection. I walked up behind her, reaching around to massage her breasts. I kissed her neck softly and whispered into her ear. "Aren't you surprised at how easily yields?" I said to Kim.

Kim looked over her shoulder at me. "Yes, yes I am, actually. Very surprised" she said.

Still caressing and kissing Kim, I said to John, "did you get the things I told you to?" 

"Yes Sir," he said.

"Well, go get them then," I said, feigning impatience, and off he scuttled.

"What things?" asked Kim.

"You'll see," I said.

John came back with a riding crop and a small cardboard box. I told him to kneel, put down the crop, and show Kim what was in the box. He opened up the box and held it up like an offering. Kim walked towards him and peered into the box. Perplexed, she took the small perspex sculpture out of the box. "No idea," she said, looking at me.

I couldn't help grinning. "Tell her what it is, John," I said.

"It's a chastity device," he said. 

"It's a what?" said Kim, her eyebrows shooting up.

"Show her, how it works John," I said, "and don't forget to call me Sir."

"Yes, Sir," he said, undoing his belt and lowering his trousers. I had told him to practice fitting the device when I last spoke to him alone. His practice paid off and it was in place within seconds.

Now I know what some of you are thinking. A chastity device sounds a bit far-fetched. So here is my challenge. Go to Amazon and search for "chastity device" and see what comes out at the top of the list. Shocked eh? That's how mainstream it is. Better still, type "male chastity device" into Google and you will find that there is a whole industry out there. The device I chose for John is known as a CB-6000 rather than Amazon's security scanner challenging item. And by the way, Amazon also stocks a delightful range of riding crops and even has them in pink! Have a look. Next day delivery guaranteed!

"Keys," I said to John, who handed me the keys to the tiny padlock. I put one key in my pocket and said, "I am a bit careless with things like keys. I tend to lose them" ....dramatic pause...."so you had better have one," I said, handing the other one back to a relieved looking John. "Glass of water please, Kim," I said. I handed the glass of water to John. "Now swallow the key, so you don't lose it," I said with a smirk. 

"But..." began John, but there were no other words.

"Don't make me force you," I said . He swallowed the key and gulped down the water.

I then gave a bit of a speech about how bad John's behaviour had been and handed Kim the crop. It took her a few swipes to get the hang of it but she have gave John half a dozen decent strokes across the buttocks. John squealed pathetically as each one landed. 

When she was finished, I took the crop from Kim. I lashed out hard. Once, twice in rapid succession onto John's buttocks. He yelled in pain, reeling away and rolling onto his side, trying to escape. A third stroke crashed down onto the side of his thigh and the hand that was trying to protect him. As she screamed out, his saucer eyes, looked up at me, with mixture of disbelief and an appeal for mercy. He blew on his bruised hand. My cock hardened. "It's your own fault for moving," I said. 

Then, after a pause, "it's not a little boy's game anymore, John."

***

When John had regained his composure, I reminded him that he had, effectively, agreed to be our servant. Either he could start thinking like a servant, I told him, and anticipate our needs, or I could beat it into him. He looked genuinely scared which I found pleasingly erotic.

But he still wasn't thinking like a servant when he climbed into the driver's seat of his car, to take us to the restaurant. I stood silently on the pavement, holding Kim's hand. Eventually, he realised his mistake and got out to open thee back doors for us. I glared at him and said, "I wont forget. Do better."

"Yes Sir, sorry Sir," he said. Now I know that this sort of response is him just 'playing along' with 'the role'. Or at least that is what he thinks. He was thinking to himself that he would play along and get it over with. But as I have observed before, repeated often enough, it will become his new reality.

John closed the door, got back in and drove us to the restaurant. Kim and I made out loudly in the back. He drove, sneaking looks in the rear-view mirror. John's behaviour was better at the restaurant. He jumped out of the car, smartly, and opened the car doors for us. His good manners continued, opening the restaurant door for us, getting us drinks and sorting out the table. Kim and I had champagne. John had water.

At the table, I let Kim order first and then I followed. When the waiter looked at John, I said, "I'll order for him." I picked the plainest things I could find on the menu. A plain consommé to start and a salad for the main course. I decided to make dinner a relaxed affair, getting John to talk about work and, of course, rugby. Kim talked about the children. I flirted with Kim and touched her often, letting anyone who cared to notice that she was mine. 

Though I thought the small-talk to be a necessary evil, it yielded a little diamond of information. Their daughter, Emily, is at school in Cheltenham. Term ends today and she will be coming home tomorrow. But best of all, she will be having a party, at home next Friday, to celebrate her eighteenth birthday. The whole family will be there, including their son, Michael. It would be rude to miss it.

Between, the main course and desert, I took Kim by the hand and lead her towards the toilets. We disappeared into the generously sized disabled toilets, where I bent her over and  hiked up her skirt. I fucked her good and hard from behind, filling her with a large load that I had been storing up for this occasion. All eyes were on us,  as we walked back into the restaurant, Kim a little dishevelled, with me leaking down her legs.

Back at the table, I said to John, "your wife is such a good fuck, John. When was the last time you had her?"

"I can't remember," said John.

I looked at Kim. "Can you?" I asked her.

"Not really," she said.

"You must have made a big impression," I said to John. Then turning to Kim, "can you remember our first time?"

"Oh, yes," she said grinning at the memory.

"Did John make you feel that good?" I asked

"Never," she said.

I looked John in the eyes. "Never, John, you hear that?" And then after a pause. "And never again."

I decided that we would skip desert and signalled for the bill. When the bill came, I pushed it towards John. "Her husband will pay," I said, leaning over to kiss Kim on the neck. "You can eat your desert at home," I said to John. 

***

John ate his cream pie, like the docile little boy that he is. After that, I shut him out of the bedroom while Kim and I had noisy fun. But I also wanted to talk to Kim alone. Involving John, had been a big shift in gears and I wanted to ensure that she was on board.

I needn't have worried. She admitted that my cruelty towards John had made her horny. At first, she had tried to deny it, thinking her moist reaction to be wrong and perverse. But, she said, that walking back from the toilets in the restaurant, she felt a sense of elation.

"Is it wrong to enjoy being cruel?" she asked semi-rhetorically.

"Not if you do it right," I said.

Submission

Sunday was pretty intense for both John and Kim, so I departed early on Monday morning. I guessed that there would be a lot of emotions flying around and I didn't want to be part of it. I have better things to do with my time than be their social worker. I was pretty confident that they would work things through and, if not, I have plenty of insurance. The only advice I gave to either of then was to Kim. I told her not to tell John what she had seen on his computer.

Kim called me on Tuesday and asked me if I could come around that evening. When I arrived, Kim answered the door and ushered me into the living room where John was sitting on the sofa. Kim sat down beside him. It was Kim that spoke first.

“I told John that I had been seeing you for a while,” she said.

“Okay,” I said, glancing at a nervous looking John.

“John told me that he suspected I was seeing someone and he doesn’t mind,” continued Kim. The after a pause. "He is happy for me to keep seeing you."

I looked at John. “I told Kim about my fantasies,” said John. “I am nervous and I am anxious but I do have this deep need. I always have."

"I understand," I said, in my best therapist voice.

John continued his little speech. "I know Kim really likes you. She’s happier and sexier since she started seeing you. I like that. It's what I want.” I remained silent. “I think you may the person to help us. To teach us,” said John.

"Well, John, " I said, "you have to really sure you want this. It will not be easy for you."

"I know. That's part of the attraction," he said. " I know it's weird but the idea of it being difficult, even forced, turns me on no end . I don't understand it but I have felt this way for as long as I can remember. I am hard now thinking about it."

"Very well but rest assured," I began my lie, "that if you ever decide it's too much for you, we can stop."

"Thanks," said John. "Knowing that helps."

“It will be our secret game,” I said. “But every game has to have rules. Shall I tell you my rules?”

John looked at Kim. "Please, yes please."

"They are pretty simple," I said. "First, I am your superior. You will call me Sir, whenever you interact with me. Agreed?"

"Agreed," said John, looking at Kim.

"Kim will be my slut. You will not be allowed to have any sort sexual interaction with her, without my permission. Agreed?"

"Agreed," said John. Kim had a sheepish half-smile.

"Kim, as my slut, will be your superior," I said. "Even when I am not around you will treat her as such. But don't expect her to bark orders. You need to anticipate her needs. Be helpful, be deferential. An implied instruction is an instruction. Understood?"

"Yes," said John.

"Yes, what?" I said.

"Yes, Sir," said John.

All of the time, I watching Kim's reactions very carefully. She was clearly surprised by John's passivity but the anxiety of Sunday seemed to have gone. Instead she had a quizzical expression, like someone trying to make sense of something she had never encountered before.

"You will try hard to please me, wont you John?" I said

"Yes, yes I will Sir," he said.

"And you will try hard to please Kim?"

"Yes, of course, Sir," said John.

"Kim already knows how to please me," I said, smiling and looking at Kim. "Do you think you should be sitting beside her?"

"No, Sir," he said, standing up. I glared at him and he dropped to his knees. John is such a sad, weak specimen. I think I am going to have to push him quite a long way before he breaks.

I walked to the sofa, gave Kim my hand, guiding her to stand. As I started to touch her, I told John to lick my shoes. He hesitated. I gave him a gentle kick and her started to lick. I kissed Kim and John slurped. One of my hands made its way inside her blouse and the other up her skirt. Wet or dry? I wondered. Readers, she was wet. Very wet indeed. I raised the foot that John wasn't licking and pressed the sole down firmly on his head. There was no resistance.

What fun I am going to have with these two.

Consummation

A mistake that normal people often make is to think that there is something called ‘the truth’. Religions say they have it. Parents ask their children for it. Policemen want it. Politicians go to war over it. The truth is that there is no such thing as the truth. There are only different narratives. Narratives about the past and narratives about the future, all seen through a personal lens of assumptions, values and prejudices. And, take it from me: that’s the truth.

Originally, I wanted to spin together the narratives of John, Kim and myself into one yarn of shared truth. But I couldn't, in my own mind, find a satisfactory way of doing so. I am not good at long-range planning. I am impulsive. I tend to make things up as I go. I get what I want, by telling people what they want to hear, as long as it suits my purpose. But that creativity is in the moment, not in the future. Finding a way to spin a new yarn was nagging away at me.

On Friday, it was a spontaneous decision to suggest to Kim that we wouldn't tell John what we found on his PC. There would be no tears of confrontation, recrimination or angst. Instead there would be a tool that could be used to manipulate John; a weapon if you like. Kim would be inside John’s head, without him knowing it. I was already inside his head.

This train of thought lead me to an insight. I had intended to disappear from John’s cyberlife, when I started to cuckold him for real. On Sunday, I had thought, I would simply be Kim’s new lover, slowly acclimatising John to his future as a cuckold. He would have no idea that I was the person he chatted to and nor would Kim.

But I am impatient and I realised that there was a fast forward button. John and I could share a different narrative to the one that Kim and I shared. And those narratives need never come together.

***

It was just after midday. John was barely in the front door when he first laid eyes on me, sitting in his Living Room.

“John, this is Harry,” said Kim, introducing me to John, “we used to work together at Bart’s. He tracked me down on Facebook.”

“Harry Powell, pleased to meet you,” I said, with a broad, but not too ingratiating, smile. “She’s still as gorgeous as ever, isn't she? You are a lucky man, John.”

“Thanks...” John began. 

Kim interrupted. “Harry has to be at a conference nearby on Monday,” said Kim, hurriedly, “and I said he could stay over. I hope that’s okay?”

“It’s fine,” he said wearily, his brain not quite engaged.

Kim poured us all a generous glass of red wine, before going to the kitchen to prepare lunch, leaving John and I to “get to know each other”. 

This was the plan that Kim and I had agreed upon. What happened next, wasn't. When Kim was out of earshot, I leaned forward in my chair and looked John in the eyes. “The time has come John. I am going to make your dreams come true. I am going to turn you wife into a dominating slut.”

John stared at me open-mouthed.

“And you are going to watch me fuck her, just like the docile little boy that your are... aren’t you John?” I said. 

John’s mouth moved but instead of words, there was just this odd gargling noise. I looked at him, fascinated, as his face contorted and his body twitched.

“Oh come on John,” I continued, “you and I have talked about this enough on Friday nights. We both know it’s what you have dreamed of. But no need to call me Sir in front of Kim. Not just yet.”

I leaned back in my chair, as Kim came into the room. “Everything okay?” she said, with breezy anxiety, looking at John and then at me.

“Couldn't be better,” I said. “It turns out John and I have a lot in common. Isn’t that right John?”

"Great!" said Kim, looking towards John for reassurance.

John looked like a man who had been whacked around the side of the head with a large plank of wood. “Yes, yes we do,” he said through a dissonant daze.

Dinner was a bit awkward but I stuck to the game-plan that I had agreed with Kim, flirting and making mild physical contact whenever the opportunity presented itself. A touch her and touch there. Each time, Kim glanced at John, to see if there was any objection. There wasn't. 

After the meal, we moved from the dining area into the living room. Kim sat down on the sofa. I sat down beside her, after shooting John a ‘don’t you dare’ look. Kim and John had both drunk quite a lot of wine, to calm their respective nerves. I had pretended to drink. 

I initiated a stream of small-talk; something in which I am well practised. Kim was blurting out her words like a machine-gun. John talked like an engine trying to start; bursts of spluttering words, followed by silence, then suddenly spluttering into life again. And while this was going on, I was increasingly touching Kim, who tensed and looked at John every time I did so.

I decided that it was enough of first gear and timid plans. It was time to fast-forward through what I had agreed with Kim. I slid my hard up Kim’s skirt, onto her thigh, and leaned over and wrapped my mouth over hers.

“You don’t mind, do you, John?” I said, as I broke off and looked at him. 

“No....uh...not at all,” he said, the words barely escaping his throat.

“She’s sexy woman isn’t she John?” I said.

“Yes, yes she is,” he said.

“There, I told I didn't think he would mind,” I said, turning back to an open-mouthed and stunned looking Kim. Okay, so I had moved a lot more quickly than we had agreed. But we all knew where this was heading and soon no-one would care about nor remember plan-A.

My hand moved inside her blouse and I whispered into her ear, “tell him to get us some wine.” She gave me a ‘I can’t do that frown’ but I said, “go on, just try it out.” And so she did. John responded by silently going to get the wine. “Venus in Furs,” I whispered into her ear, as my fingers entered her. She may have been anxious but her wetness told its own story.

Kim and I began to make out on the sofa, John staring on silently. Kim kept glancing at him, to gauge his reaction. As we began to fuck, Kim noticed that John was touching himself, through his jeans. “Tell him, he can get it out but not come,” I whispered to Kim. This she did and this he did.

Kim lost herself, her pupils completely dilated, her mouth lolling open, as I fucked her harder and harder, on the sofa, in her living room, in front of her silent masturbating husband. It was quite a scene...for a first time anyway. I studied John as I fucked. Of course, he couldn't help himself when her heard the way that Kim orgasmed, screaming out, without inhibition, as I had taught her. And as she did, I too let myself go and filled her up.

There may have been some discontinuities and puzzles left in the old narratives but that was forgotten. A new narrative had been started.

***

That night, john ‘slept’ in Michael’s room. I took something to ensure that I could go all night without sleeping. Unbeknown to Kim, I slipped some of the same into her drink. Thus we fucked nosily all night, with John in the room next door. 

Picture this

Not only had John bookmarked lots of sites, he had also downloaded lots of images. When I say lots, I mean hundreds. It must have taken him forever. I can only assume that whenever he saw something he liked, he clicked and downloaded it. And being an anally retentive sort, he had considerately catalogued them into albums in Google's Picasa picture management software. Now, Kim was flipping through them, fascinated.

She flicked through them quickly but slowed, tilting her head this way and that, as she looked through an album named 'femdom'. To be frank, I knew this was an ingredient in John's fantasies but I hadn't realised the extent of his interest. The album was subdivided into categories with names like: classic, inter-racial, cruella, amateurs, pro-doms, bondage, pain and water-sports. Kim paused at a picture of a young, slim, leather-clad woman, in impossibly high heels, holding a riding crop and standing over a naked man who appeared to be cowering.

Kim turned to me, frowning. "Is this how he wants me to be?" she asked, with a tone of disbelief.

"In his dreams, maybe," I said. "But you need to overlay these glossy, stylised images onto the conversation he had with that bloke on-line, where he imagines that it is you who is cuckolding and dominating him; not some idealised mannequin. I think what's important is not the actual image but the idea it portrays. Let's look at the amateurs and see if the women are...errr...more normal."

As Kim, continued to flick through the pictures, I stood behind her, kissing her neck. I reached around, fondling her breasts, gently teasing her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. There were more than enough pictures to keep it going for a while. I reached down and found her clitoris, rolling it around with my finger to the rhythm of the mouse click. 

"Stand up for a second," I said, then slid underneath her, sitting down on the chair. I pulled her hips back towards the chair and entered her as she sat down. "Let's look together," I said. And so we did, fucking as we flipped through all of the albums, with me adding a crude commentary of encouragement, suggesting how we might bring the image to our own reality.

Kim was close to orgasm as we started to look at a sub-category of the cuckold album, named 'humiliation'. I don't know whether the pictures had any impact on Kim but she happened to orgasm on a picture of a man, gagged and bound in cage, while two men took a woman from each end. 

***

Kim had to go to work, so she went off to have a shower, while I took the opportunity to download John's address-book onto my memory stick.

***

I came back on Thursday evening and, between fucking in various rooms, some light bondage games and protestations of love, we talked about what we have found. Or rather, I got Kim to talk about her feelings. The essence was that she had a mixture of doubt, anxiety and excitement. She said she felt more alive than she had done for many years and didn't want to go back. But she really wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to involve John. Maybe, we should keep it our secret, she told me, and no risk what we already have.

"I'll tell you what," I said, "we will not even mention what we have seen: the conversations, the websites and the pictures. We'll just do a gentle, low-risk test of  how he reacts to you having a lover, when he gets back on Sunday. We'll do it in such a way, that you only carry on if you are certain that it works for both of you. We'll make sure that there is an escape-hatch that causes no embarrassment to either of you. And if things work out, I don't see any reason why we would ever need to tell him what we found."  I hope you liked the unsubtle use of the word 'we'.

I told Kim my plan and she agreed that it was what we would do. Needless to say, I have no intention of turning back at this point. John deserves what's coming to him, whether he likes it or not. We'll get to 'not' at some point anyway.

***

Friday morning, Kim left me at John's PC, doing my email, while she went to work. The week had exceeded my expectations. Teeing up John's introduction to his new reality was gratifying. But what pleased me the most was that Kim now found it normal to fuck me in her own home and trusted me enough to leave me there alone.

But there was one more bonus yet to come. After Kim had left, I was sitting at John's PC, in John's dressing gown when I heard the front door open. It turned out to be Kim and John's son, Michael, who had come to pick up some clothes.

"Who are you," he asked suspiciously.

"An old friend of your Mum's," I said.

He eyed the dressing gown. "Are you staying here?" he asked.

"I did last night," I said.

"Does dad know?"

"I am sure he does," I said.

This sounds like a cordial exchange, given the circumstances, but I was doing my best to sound contemptuous of his questions. To treat them like an unwelcome distraction from something important. The conversation went on for a little in the same vein, with me bring as obnoxious as I could. I wanted Michael to dislike me and I believe I succeeded. I think the reason is why is obvious but, if not, it will become apparent in due course.