Bring on the geeks

Unsurprisingly, Kim was dressed to please when I arrived, yesterday evening. She was also very keen, to please in other ways and was on her knees, unzipping me, as soon as the door was closed. I did not speak as she got to work.

It was her who spoke first. Looking up at me, she said, "perhaps I should be punished for yesterday?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Are you really sure that you want to play that game?" I asked.

"I'm sure," she said. No smile, no laugh. Instead, a look of anxious sincerity.

"Okay, just remember that you asked," I said. She nodded.

I took a fistful of hair from the nape of her neck and pulled her up onto her feet. Then, still holding the fist of hair, I guided her up the stairs and into the bedroom. I put her face-down onto the bed and rummaged around in the draws of the dresser, to find some stockings or tights. I secured each wrist with a stocking tied as tightly as practicable. I started to spank her with my hand, carefully gauging her reaction as I did so. She squirmed a bit and her buttocks were reddening but it was still clearly playful.

"Not hard enough for you, slut?" I asked.

"No," she said in a barely a barely audible whisper.

"I can't hear you!" I said. "Do you want it harder? Speak up?"

"Yes," she said. She could hardly get the word out, such was her anxiety.

"Perhaps I should use my belt on you? Do you want that?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Yes what?" I persisted.

"Yes, I want you to use your belt," she said. I was tempted to press on to get her to say 'please' and 'Sir' but I didn't want to push her too far.

Now, a belt can be a very severe tool, even on someone experienced. I was, therefore,  pretty gentle; though it probably didn't feel that way to Kim. After about a dozen strokes, I was tempted to take her anally; something I hadn't yet done. But, again, intuition told me not to go too far, too quickly. I kissed her neck, her shoulders and then kissed up her arms to her wrists, untying first one and then the other.

As I rolled her over to face me, I could see that her eyes were slightly moist and her face had a faraway look. Though it was a physically mild experience, it had obviously been an emotionally intense experience for Kim. I held her gently and entered her similarly gently. I wanted to be tender but was important to associate the intense emotions, from the spanking, with sex and not something separate. I told her I loved her and made love to her slowly, until she came back from her daydream, when we fucked to a climax. This time it was Kim's turn to say "I love you."

After that we ate, drunk some wine and fucked some more, until it was too late for me to go home.

***

This morning, I asked Kim if I could use her PC, to check my email. She told me that I could use her work laptop but that it was old and very slow. I asked about the large-screened Sony PC I had seen in one of the rooms off of the landing.

"That's John's PC," she said, "but it's password protected. God knows why?"

"Maybe he's got something to hide?" I said, sounding jokey.

"I don't know. He said it's to stop me and the kids from messing it up but I would love to know what he gets up to on a Friday night," said Kim.

"How old is the PC?" I asked.

Kim's expression told me that she thought this an odd question but she answered anyway. "He bought in the January sale," she said. Probably Windows 7 or Vista, at worse, I thought.

Now, I am not technical but I know someone who is. The Geek is a subject who is a partner in a large international management consultancy. Ordinarily, a partner in that sort of firm would have left his technical skills a long way behind, as he moved up the ranks. The Geek, however, manages a practice that specialises in stuff like security and something he calls forensics. He's still an über-geek. Even if he cannot help personally, he has loads of socially inadequate pointy-heads, who work for him, that he can enlist to help me when I need something geeky.

I fancy that tomorrow, Kim will get her wish and find out what John does on a Friday night.

The truth can be trite

Expressing disappointment is a very effective tool for correcting errant behaviour. If the subject genuinely wants to please, disappointment is much more effective than, say, physical punishment. The reason should be obvious. Disappointment happens inside the subject's head. It lingers, festers, grows and shames. School teachers try to use disappointment but are generally unsuccessful because their subjects don't really want to please; the expression of disappointment leads to embarrassment not action. But to hear that one has disappointed a newly found love, who has awakened the subject from a slumber, is powerful stuff.

So, yesterday, evening when Kim opened the door, I expressed disappointment that she was wearing casual clothes, not dressed as a slut or even a high-class whore. The tone I use in these type of situations is, I think, important. In the past, I have described it as 'theatrical' or fake' but I am not sure that quite captures the spirit of it? I try to express the disappointment is a light-hearted way. The point is serious and is still made but it isn't like a dagger that deflates the subject. It stabs the conscience nit the heart.

Kim said she was sorry and that it had been a long and trying day. I said that if she wasn't in the mood to meet then it might be best that I if  come back another day. I took care not to make this sound like a fit of pique. I adopted at tone of care and concern. Kim demurred but I saw this as an opportunity to correct any misconception about my ready availability. I leaned forward and kissed her gently. I told her not to worry and get a good night's sleep. Then I departed, leaving her to ponder.

After I left, she called me a couple of times. When I didn't answer she started sending texts, saying how much she wanted me. Then she started to send me pictures of herself dressed in slut-wear. These got more and more explicit. I can only assume that the camera on her mobile 'phone has a timer function because both or her hands seemed to be very busy in the pictures. Finally, I sent a text that simply said, "See you at 7pm tomorrow, slut."

As I have noted on previous occasions, things often don't go according to plan. Follower types get frustrated and disappointed. They cannot see beyond their failed expectation. Leaders look for the opportunity. The phrase 'bring me opportunities not problems' has become so trite that followers actually steel themselves against looking for opportunities. The aphorism that entered common parlance has become self-defeating. Leaders see the truth in the cliché.

One door closes

It turns out that John's work is taking him offshore, onto an oil rig, for the coming week. He is flying to Stavanger today. This has scuppered my plan for the coming week. John, and his integration into my relationship with Kim, was going to be my main focus.

But change brings opportunity. I was going to make myself less available to Kim in the coming week; this is pretty standard practice to make someone want you more. The opportunity presented, however, is such that I am going to take the risk of seeing a lot of her, with a view to intensifying the relationship and accelerating her development.

Also, I understand that their son is home from university and may be around for some of next week. I am keen to meet him, so it would be an added bonus if I can manage to bump into him a couple of times.

Three little words

When I selected John and Kim as my next subjects, I expected that I would be using John to manipulate Kim. Discovering Kim's premarital past as a slut turned that plan on its head. I am now wondering how far I can get her to go without coercion; my instinct is that she will go quite far.

I am tempted, at this point, to indulge in a discourse about the spectrum of persuasion, from manipulation to coercion, the thin line between them, and their respective pleasures. I touched on this in my very first post and feel a slight qualification is necessary. First, I never promised to be consistent. Secondly, I am starting to think that my subjects might offer a heady mixture of both. We'll see.

With this in mind, I met with Kim today for some more consolidation and little more exploration.

For the third time this week, I went to Kim's home. I had not set up a role-play nor had I set any expectations about how she would dress. I had a hope but not an expectation. The hope was fulfilled. Kim opened the front door, further than she had on Wednesday, dressed as a total slut. We looked at each other with mutual pleasure. This time I didn't linger to long on the doorstep. I was keen to find out if she was already wet. And she was; very wet indeed

After telling her how much her appearance pleased me, I took her by the hand and lead her straight upstairs to the bedroom for a good, hard, slut fuck. After a decent pause for recovery, I rolled her onto her back, took both of her hands in mine and pinned them to the mattress, palms up, each side of her head.

"I should punish you for being such a dirty slut in your marital bed!" I said, playfully.

"Chance would be a fine thing!" said Kim.

Her answer was along the lines I expected, so I was ready to flip her over and administer a mild spanking. There was no real pain but I was only interested in establishing the principle, on this particular occasion. When I finished, I slid my fingers into her, to gauge her response.

"You've done this before?" I said.

She looked back over her shoulder with a smirk. "Not for a very long time," she said.

"Maybe you like being tied up as well?" I asked, with a raised eyebrow

The chuckle that this elicited told me all that I needed to know. Her stocking came off easily, in just two movements. One. Two.

"On your back," I said, mock sternly.

She rolled over and as she did so, she offered her wrists. I bound each one gently with a stocking and secured them to the headboard. She could easily of slipped out of her bonds but made not attempt. Like the spanking, it was just playful but, similarly, it established a principle, to serve as a base-camp for more challenging adventures. For now, it was just a game. A gentle ripple in the vanilla.

***

There were a couple of other things that I wanted to achieve today so, after we fucked, I suggested we go out to lunch. 

"I'll just have a shower," said Kim.

"Oh, no, no," I said, "I want you to go as you are. Well fucked and dripping with me." Kim looked at her slut clothes with apprehension. 

"Wear something modest but, perhaps, no underwear," I said. We dressed, Kim without underwear, and went to the pub where we had our first 'date'. 

Over lunch, I asked about the children. Kim told me that they don't get on. If one of them says they like something the other will dislike it and vice versa. It wasn't always like that, she said. Up until the boy was thirteen, they were inseparable. Maybe he started to resent his sister when he realised how clever she was going to be, she said. But whatever it was, it had now festered into a genuine dislike and they were rarely home together. I sympathised, of course.

It was beautiful afternoon and after lunch, we went for walk, just as we had done that first time. And just like that first time, I pulled her close to me and kissed her.

"I love you," I lied, as I had lied before.

"And I love you," she said, reciprocating, as she had done before.

The first time that she uttered those three words was in a state of post-coital bliss, as reflex to my words. So what else could she say now?  Whether she meant it or not didn't really matter. She probably did mean it in those specific moments, but not in a lasting way. However, people have a deep seated need for consistency. Having taken a position, they feel obligated to stick to it. Moving in another direction causes dissonance. So whether she really had fallen for me or not, she had twice repeated those powerful three words. She will find it increasingly difficult not respond similarly when I give her the same cue. And you know what happens when something is repeated often enough?

A true vocation

Kim did not disappoint. She answered the door wearing a translucent cream coloured blouse, over a lacy black brassiere, a very short red skirt, very high red heels and what I assumed to be red hold-up stockings. She was well made up with scarlet lipstick and long earrings. She held the door in a half-open position, half-hiding behind it.

Role-plays are a great way of resetting norms. Initially, it provides the opportunity to set aside inhibitions and explore those dark corners. Over time, repetition blurs the boundary between the role-play and reality. Repeated frequently enough, the role-play becomes a new reality. If the subject is reluctant then it may take many repetitions. Often, however, the subject is releasing an inner desire that one taps into, and then the transition can happen quickly.

Managing this does take some skill - particularly reading people; knowing when to push and when to draw back. Reading people was something I developed and honed when poker was my main source of income. One quickly learns to differentiate between confidence and fear, between weakness and strength, between predator and prey. A lion doesn't have to be empathetic to choose the weakest or slowest wildebeest. That's just observation and natural selection.

But one did't need those skills to notice that Kim's feet were planted shoulder-width apart. Or to notice that her hips were pushed forward. Or to notice that her chin was tilted upwards. The excitement was plain to see. I could almost smell her.

"Open the door, slut," I said, "let me get a proper look at you."

She opened the door wide. I did not hurry to go inside and ease her nervousness at being seen. But, equally, I could tell she was aroused by the risk. I so wanted to take her for a walk, dressed as she was, but it was way too soon for that.

"You look good, slut. I am pleased," I said, as I went inside. She smiled, pleased at the affirmation of her aptitude for the role.

"Thank you, Sir," she said.

Her use of the word 'Sir' was, to a large extent, a reflex, trained into anyone who serves customers and patients. It wasn't, like John's use of the word: an acceptance of submission. However, as it was spoken in response to the epithet 'slut", it was a pleasing show of deference, in this context.

Kim walked towards the foot of the stairs but I had other ideas.

"Aren't you going to offer me a drink," I said. At his point I gave her a theatrical wink to remind her that it was a role-play; I didn't want her to think I was bossing her about.

She lead me into the living and I sat down in an arm chair, drinking it my surroundings, as I had done on Monday, in the hallway and in the bedroom. I was particularly interested in the family photographs, of which there were relatively few. Except for the wedding photograph of Kim and John, they were pictures of the grown up children and just one of the young children together. It's too early to know whether the choice holds significance but I will make it my business to find out.

I asked Kim for a glass of red wine but she came back with two glasses.

"Did I offer you a drink, slut?" I said.

"No, Sir," she answered, obviously shocked at my dominant tone.

"Put it down and get on with it, slut," I said, opening my flies, and emphasising the word 'slut' to remind her it was just a role play.

She went down on me and I gently pushed my fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp. Gradually, I took her hair between my fingers, twisting it into my closing fist. I tightened and twisted slowly, until I was pulling her hard onto me. At the same time I talked to her constantly and as crudely as I could, telling her what a slut she is and what I was going to do to her.

As I came close to climaxing, I used the fistful of hair to pull her to the ground. I lifted what there was of the skirt, pushed aside the gusset of her thong and entered her hard and deep. She was was what I can only describe as dripping. As I  felt her tighten around me, my eyes sought out the family pictures. The sight of the family watching Kim, dressed as a slut, being fucked in the family home was more than enough to trigger the stain I would leave behind.

My face was inches from Kim's, as I felt her spasm, an after-shock, gripping my penis. I hugged her tight. I showered her face with kisses. She gave me that beatific smile that women have when they have orgasmed really hard.

"I love you," I lied.

"I love you too," she said. I kissed away the solitary tear.

"You were the perfect slut," I said.

"Was I?" she said, grinning, with false modesty.

And so went upstairs, where, reassured that she was cared for and valued, the line between Kim and the slut blurred completely.

Trust

I just finished speaking to Kim on the telephone. She told me that although she was nervous, yesterday, about taking a stranger into her own home, she found it extremely arousing to be fucking me in her marital bed. She told me that she contemplated leaving the bedclothes unchanged but chickened out, in case John, literally, smelled something. Obviously, the fact that she contemplated this slight cruelty to John was encouraging.

I told her I was disappointed that she still regarded me as a stranger, as I was very fond for her and not just sexually. She reciprocated the expression of fondness, as I expected. I added quickly that I understood her reservations and was glad she had decided to trust me, despite them. Incidentally, I thought I had picked up a gas or electric bill yesterday. It turned out to the the telephone bill. What joy! Don't you just love the way that BT lists all of those favourite "friends and family" numbers together in a group? So considerate.

Kim had called me to say that she was free this afternoon and wanted to repeat yesterdays excitement. I lied that I couldn't make it today. I was very tempted to say yes, to consolidate yesterday's gains, but as I am a firm believer in the laws of supply and demand, I declined. Instead I suggested that we meet tomorrow, on condition that she pretends to be a cheap slut welcoming me into her home. If one could hear a grin over the telephone then that's what I heard.

Home sweet home

I walked into the cafe this morning about ten minutes before it was due to close for the post-breakfast break. Kim was open-mouthed in surprise, as she approached my table.

"Aren't you pleased to see me," I asked.

"I am...I am," she said hesitantly, "I didn't expect to see you until lunchtime."

"Ah, we need to talk about that," I said. "Just something light for me. Granary toast and marmalade, please." Her eyes narrowed and she pouted her lips, in fake petulance.

As she went back to the counter with my order, the eyes of the men at the next table followed her. This was a far cry from the sexless woman that I first encountered four weeks ago. Granted, she was dressed for work but she dressed and moved like a woman with confidence, with ride in her appearance. Gone was the shapeless blue overall. Instead, she wore a tight off-white apron, over a figure-hugging black jumper that accentuated the curves of her ample breasts. Below that, she wore cream calf-length trousers that seemed designed to draw attention to the ankle chain, sitting above the sensible but not too sensible black patent shoes.

She came back to the table with a concerned look. "Is there a problem with lunchtime?" she asked quietly.

I looked at my watch evasively and said, "I need to make a quick 'phone call. I'll be right back." I left the cafe, waiting for the final customers to depart, before going back in.

"So," she said, "what's the problem?"

"Let's talk in my car," I said, "can you leave now?"

She went back to the counter and chatted briefly with the chef who kept sneaking glances at me, over her shoulde. She turned and came towards me, looking sightly flushed. I made sure that my hand lingered on her hip as I opened the cafe door and ushered her through it.

In the car, I lied that I couldn't meet at lunchtime. I told her I was free all morning. I stroked her cheek and I told her how much I was looking forward to seeing her. Her hand reached inside my jacket, as I leaned forward to kiss her. I pushed my tongue deep into her mouth as I caressed her breast.

"Christ, I need fucking," she said.

"Well, let's go somewhere now," I said.

"Can we get a hotel at this time of day?" she asked.

"Doubt it. What about your place?" I asked disingenuously.

I felt her body tense with apprehension. "I'm not sure about that," she said hesitantly. "Maybe we can meet for lunch tomorrow?" My hands roved over her body and kissed her neck as she spoke.

"The rest of this week will be difficult," I lied.

This ping-pong chat went on for a little while until her libido got the upper hand over her logical brain.

As we approached her house, I began to drink everything in. The street name. The types of cars. The address. Going through the front door, the adrenalin hit my veins, opening up my senses and slowing time, like in a car crash. The smells, the furnishings, the pictures and the letters on the hall stand - every detail I could take in. As we moved towards the stairs, I slipped a utility bill, unseen, into my pocket.

In the bedroom , she was ravenous, almost tearing the clothes off of me. On her back, legs wide apart, she paused suddenly. I asked what was wrong.

"I don't have my diaphragm in she," she said. "Give me five minutes."

"I have had a vasectomy," I said, pointing to the scar. "But I have some condoms, so I am not asking you to trust me."

She needed it badly, so she trusted her medical eye and she trusted me.

At this point, you could be forgiven for thinking that I could have easily used a knife, some time long ago, to self-inflict a fake vasectomy scar. You would be right in thinking that I am capable of such deceit. But you would be wrong in thinking that, in these days of DNA testing, I would want to risk a knock on the door from the Child Support Agency, god knows how many years into the future. It is just not worth the risk of me impregnating subjects personally.

And so we fucked every which way in Kim's home, in Kim's bedroom, in Kim and John's bed. Another boundary crossed.

The slow dawn of reality

John told me that he thinks Kim may be having an affair. He says that he has noticed lots of little changes. She is on a diet and goes to the gym regularly. She has bought new clothes and shoes. She is routinely wearing make-up and doing her hair. And to cap it all, he told me, she has started wearing an ankle chain: a public symbol of cuckolding for many married women.

I pointed out that it is very unlikely that Kim appreciates the significance of the ankle chain. This he accepted. That did not, however, prevent me from asking what he felt when he looked at the chain. He said he gets a tight knot in his stomach; a mixture of anxiety and excitement. He says he tries not to notice the chain at mealtimes because he finds it difficult to eat.

Now that reality is upon him, I wanted him reaffirm that he really wants Kim to cuckold him.

"Let's pretend it is true," I told him, "whether it is or not."

"I'm pretty sure it is Sir," he said, "but yes OK."

"And you want this don't you John?" I said. "You need it?"

"Yes. Yes Sir, I do," he said.

"You want your fantasy to come true? To be brought to life? Don't you John?"

"Yes Sir, I do," he said.

"Then here is what you must do," I said.

I told him not to tell Kim with what he thought he knew. Don't do something clumsy like saying, "I think you're having an affair and I don't mind." Instead, I told him that he should be supportive of anything she wants to do from now on. Tell her the new clothes suit her. Tell her how great she looks. Don't question her about her day or how she is feeling. Make her feel good about herself. Tell her how pleased you to see her looking so happy and relaxed.

But don't just do it with your words, I told him. Do what you can to make her life easier. Anticipate chores that need doing and do them. Don't leave them to Kim or wait for Kim to ask you to do them. Prepare for submission but anticipating and doing what she wants, not what you want.

All of this, he agreed, was good common sense. His only concern, he said, was that the person she was seeing would not understand him as well as I did. This was sweet. I reassured him that I still wanted to be the one to have her regularly. I wasn't worried if she fucked someone else first; it would simply mean that the gate would be half open for me. He said he was reassured, the poor, weak, little lamb.

The other thing of interest that came out of the conversation was that Kim will be working at the cafe on Monday, Wednesday and Friday next week. I had planned to meet her for lunch on Monday but now think I will surprise her instead.

Vegas

Las Vegas is a manipulator's paradise. Shoals of visitors swim into the huge, windowless, clock-less casinos that have turned hustling into a corporate science. Feeding off of the casinos is an ecology of hustlers, pimps, whores and drug-dealers, who will get you just about anything you could want, as long as you are prepared to pay.

People come here expecting to be manipulated, so getting them to do what you want is pretty easy. Where else do people spend their leisure time, giving away money, playing games they cannot win? They are in a mindset to be tempted by things that seem to good to be true and usually are. But they don't care. Whoever invented the town's motto that "what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas," was a genius. Instead of feeling like idiots, the duped know that by the end of the week they will be on their way home and no-one will ever mention whatever it was was that would cause them anger, guilt or embarrassment in their usual humdrum lives.  Las Vegas is where I learned my craft.

My hosts on this trip are The Gamblers. Mrs Gambler is about fifty and Mr Gambler a little older. They come from Canada, where Mr Gambler owns a logging company. He is what the casinos call "a whale." A very high stakes recreational gambler.They come to Vegas two or three times a year, so that Mr Gambler can gamble while Mrs Gambler, with his blessing, indulges in her own particular brand of fun.

I met Mrs Gambler when sat next to me at a fairly high stakes poker table in the Bellagio. She was immaculately dressed, in a cream two-piece suit, white blouse and very high gold stilettos - I peeked under the table to see. Her clothes were clearly expensive, without a single label on show. Pure class. The clothes, the stakes and the ring, signalled that she was wealthy married woman, cruising for solo fun. I didn't need much encouragement when she who initiated a conversation. And it wasn't too long before her right hand found its way to the rest on the inside of my thigh. People are often not what they seem in Vegas, so, momentarily, I did wonder whether she might be a very high-class hooker. But what hooker would risk so much money at a poker table?

The situation didn't get time to develop because we were interrupted by a friend of mine, who stopped by to say hello. He is the poker equivalent of the young Jimmy Page. He is good-looking, famous, rich and shares Jimmy's private proclivities. As she looked at him, Mrs Gambler's pupils visibly dilated and whether she realised it or not, she was literally licking her lips. "Jimmy" and I chatted briefly about where one could find the best game, before he made his excuses and left, with a polite "good to meet you" to Mrs Gambler.

After he left, she simply said "wow," in a barely audible whisper.

I interrupted her reverie. "Would you like to meet him?" I asked.

"I just did," she said.

"No," I said, "I mean really meet him."

And that's how I got to know The Gamblers. I introduced them to "Jimmy" and his proclivities. His private, non-poker, games were new to her but she would have done pretty much anything to get a taste of him. And so she did.

I used to spend a lot of time in Vegas in those days, so Mr Gambler used to call me up when they were in town, to ask me to help Mrs Gamblers find her new found brand of fun. I was, of course, happy to help. She repaid me with expensive presents which I sold for cold hard cash. I am not in Vegas very often these days but I still know the key people. So when The Gamblers visit they are still kind enough to invite me over, all expenses paid, to help Mrs Gambler indulge, without putting her safety or reputation at risk. It's not that often, so would be churlish to refuse. And I do get lots of side benefits, not least participating in her fun.

***

The time difference between here and England, and the twenty-four hour nature of my existence here, has made it difficult to stay in touch with John and Kim. Kim and I have, however, been exchanging text messages.  Some of her messages have been wonderfully pornographic. We will be meeting on Monday, when I am back in England.

Also, she tells me that John has noticed the ankle chain. He simply told Kim that it suited her, with no comment as to how or why she came to be wearing it. I am sufficiently intrigued by this to try to rendezvous with John during his usual Friday night trolling, in a few hours time. I haven't slept yet but some chemicals will help keep me  going.

The power of suggestion

Kim arrived dressed in a simple, black, one-piece dress that finished above the knee. She wore patent red stiletto shoes, with a matching red clutch-bag and red belt. I had planned no further role-play, so her appearance was of her own choosing.

I drank her in. My eyes roved from her bright eyes, down past her scarlet lips, lingered on her pale neck, caressed her ample breasts, down past the belt - pausing momentarily for an involuntary sniff, though I was some distance away  - and then on down her legs to her bright red feet. And then the same in reverse, finishing at a face that was begging for approval.

I smiled reassuringly and said, "you look very sexy Kim. Very sexy."

"I didn't overdo it?" she asked, still seeking reassurance.

"Not for me. For me this is perfect. What a change from when we first met," I said.

"You said I would look good in black?" she said.

"You do," I said.

"And you said you like red?"

"I do," I said

"And all men like high heels?"

"They do," I said.

"So, I look OK?" she said.

"Maybe we should skip lunch?" I said, tongue-in-cheek, the half-joke finally relaxing her into a smile. "You would be able to earn a lot of money like that," I said. She blushed at what she assumed was a joke. "Have you lost a little weight?" I asked.

"Yes, just a few pounds. Does it show?"

"It does indeed," I said.

After lunch, back in the room, I sat in an armchair and said, "why don't you slowly undress for me?"

She undid the belt and dropped it to the floor, One foot moved to the heel of the other, on its way too kicking off a shoe. "No leave them on," I said.

She reached around and unzipped her dress which fell to floor revealing more of Marks and Spencer's finest lingerie. "Mmm," I said, with pleasure and approval, "why don't you pose for me?" She hesitated for a moment but was soon into it. I encouraged her by unzipping my flies and showing my obvious pleasure at her display.

"Turn away from me and touch your toes, " I said. She turned back, to see my mobile phone pointing straight at her. "Just for my private pleasure. To remind me of you when I am away next week, " I said.  She looked slightly unsure but I pressed on, "go on, do something naughtier for the camera. Show me the inner porn star." And so she did, the inhibitions dropping away as her arousal increased, fuelled by our mutual masturbations. And so it was that here came to a video on my mobile phone, of Kim fingering herself and asking me to fuck her.

What Kim didn't realise was that it wan't her appearance that had aroused me; though I admit to have found her it easy on the eye. What really aroused me was that she had dressed to please me, as a consequence of my suggestions. I  had not attempted to tell her to do anything. I had merely let her know the things that that I liked and she had responded. I think she may be very suggestible. I wonder how far I will be able to take that game before she begins to resist?

As we got dressed, after a couple of hours of fucking every which way, I said, "you know, I will delete all of the pictures from the phone if you want?" It was a lie, of course.

"Well, it might..."

But I didn't let her finish. "But it would be sooo good to have something to remind me of you and to wank over while I away."

"OK then," she said, "but what do I have to remember you?"

I went over to my jacket and pulled out a small grey box. She opened it, to reveal a short, thin, gold chain, with a clasp at the end. "Oh, for me?" she said, surprised and then perplexed as she raised the tiny chain it towards her neck.

"It goes around your ankle silly, " I said. She gave one of those I'm-so-stupid looks and  secured it in place. "Dare you not to take it off while I am away," I said. She smiled sheepishly but I have to report that she was wearing it when we left.

So tomorrow, I fly to Las Vegas. I will chat to John tonight, as has become usual on a Friday, and I will communicate with Kim and John while I am away. I may not, however, get time to post on here until I return. If I do get time, I will keep you updated and maybe tell you a little about Vegas and perhaps my hosts, The Gamblers.

Lady in red

After Monday, I was in regular communication with Kim, through email, text messages and some short telephone calls. Every interaction was about sex and her desirability. Monday's emotional outpouring was necessary but now I wanted her to let go and move on. I told her how much I wanted her. I sent her erotic pictures. I asked her about her fantasies. And I asked her whether she would play a game with me. She agreed.

The game meant that we had to meet somewhere well away from where she lives, so that risk of getting recognised was negligible. The game was simple. I wanted her to pretend that she was a high-class "escort" and I would pretend to be a wealthy but shy businessman. The businessman had certain preferences that he found difficult to articulate but was known to tip heavily if his needs were met. We met in the bar for a glass of champagne before lunch.

One of my objectives was to get her to feel sexy, to feel sexual and wanted, despite not being happy with her shape or weight. Under the pretext of helping her to see how a high-class escort dresses, I sent her some links to escort sites populated by real women who do it for a mixture of the thrill and the cash. Some of the women on the site are very classy and some are not. Some are slim but many are not. Kim compares well enough against the majority. I urged her, look at their faces and their body language. Someone is sexy because of the way they act, their sexual confidence, I told her. Another objective, of course, was to see what she would be like as a whore, if I decided to turn her out for real at some point in the future.

I had told her that the fictional, shy businessman liked red. She she did not disappoint, in an elegant red dress that crossed over at the bust, a wide black belt hanging loosely on her hips, red high heeled shoes and scarlet lipstick. She must have been on quite a shopping trip. I couldn't wait to see what was underneath. She was marvellously in character from the start. As we went to lunch, she sashayed to the restaurant, turning heads and soaking up the lustful eyes of every man in the place.

"See how they envy me," I whispered into her ear. She smiled with pleasure.

Over dinner she stayed in role, confidently asking me about my background and my business, before moving on to enquire about my sexual preferences. I played along and enjoyed seeing her describe the range of acts that I might enjoy. She was very impressive. As indeed she was upstairs in the bedroom, resplendent in Marks and Spencer's finest red and black lacy brassiere, with matching thong and red hold-ups. A little more confidence and practice and I could get quite a lot for her.

It was me that broke my role play, tired of pretending to be shy and nervous. Kim and her play-character became one, as she sucked and fucked like a whore. When we were done,she laid back on on the bed grinning like a Cheshire cat. Sweaty and sticky, well-used, still in the now disarrayed underwear, she just grinned and grinned.

"By the way," I asked, "leaning close to her, "what did you make of Venus in Furs?"

"Horny, very horny," she said.

It was my turn to grin.

We will meet again on Friday, before I leave for a week in Las Vegas, where I will be the guest of The Gamblers who are playing their favourite tournaments in the World Series of Poker.

Family matters

Given how quickly Kim dropped into slut mode last week, I had to restrain myself from moving the journey on to quickly. My rule of three exists for a reason; it works. Breaking the rule and going too fast has been proven to fail. Sure, we had skipped making love three times, as I originally thought necessary, and had gone straight to fucking but I had to make sure I fucked her on three separate occasions before I could be confident she would keep coming back for more.

Also, given that I wanted Kim to talk about her emotions, I wanted to mix in some making love with the fucking. I sensed that there a certain amount of catharsis in our first meeting. There was a venting of pent-up,  unbridled lust. I had remind myself that she still needed wooing. She needed to feel like woman who was desired, liked and, yes, perhaps, even loved. It turn, she would desire, like and love. The desire within human beings to reciprocate is very, very strong.

So, as much as I wanted to have her on a concrete floor, in damp, smelly cellar, I booked a posh hotel with a four poster bed, with lunch and champagne in the room. I brought massage oil and skilled hands, to soothe her in between bouts of soft, gentle love-making and vigorous fucking. I gave her constant reassurance that everything was fine. That what she was doing was fine. That she was in the safe hands of someone she could trust; someone who made her feel good about herself. I want her love as well as her lust.

When I felt the time was right, I asked her, "What would John think if he could see you now?" 

I took care to use his name and not say "your husband." It was important to make it personal.

"Actually, he'd probably get off on it," she said.

"Really!" I said in mock surprise.

"Yes, he has a bit of a thing about it. I read that it's not that uncommon. Anyway, during the first half of our marriage, he suggested a few times that I take a lover," she said,

"And did you?"

"No. At least not with him knowing. It always ended in tears."

"What ended in tears," I asked.

"Him suggesting I take a lover."

"His tears?! I asked disingenuously.

"No mine."

"But why?" I asked.

We had gotten to the question I really wanted answered. My intuition told me that there was Rubicon to be crossed. Kim fell silent. Her mind drifted off and her eyes moistened. I took her in my arms and held her. She sobbed quietly.

"Because," she said finally, "because he is probably not the father of our children."

I pulled her onto her side, on the bed, and cuddled her. So there it was. In some way, John's encouragement had confronted her with a betrayal that she thought he would not forgive.

It was now imperative that I got her through this. If she disappeared now into a well of emotion and remorse, I doubted that we be another meeting. So slowly, very slowly, the reassuring cuddle became a massage. The massage became love-making and the love-making became a fuck. And all through this we talked. Or rather I got her to talk it out. Got her to talk it to death. Lenny Bruce taught us that if you repeat something often enough, no matter how offensive, it eventually loses its power shock. The words are separated from the emotion. The same is true of deeds. Deeds can be consigned to the past and the emotions put in a box.

So after about an hour, where we got to is this. The kids are grown. John has and does love them as if they are his own. If he ever suspected that they are not his, he has never said so and has never shown it in his actions. What was done was done nearly twenty years ago. Apart from  the odd, lagely unsatisfactory, dalliance, Kim has devoted her life to John and the children. Now it's Kim time. Maybe, just maybe it is also time to give John what he wants. This is where we, or rather Kim got to. And then we fucked and fucked hard for the third final time that afternoon.

Kim and I are meeting again on Wednesday. There will definitely still be champagne and wooing. It's needed now more than ever. But there will also be more fucking than talking. 

And, I nearly forgot. I gave Kim a present. It's one of my two favourites book of all time. It is a slim volume and I hope she read's it before we meet again. It's called Venus In Furs.

Facebook

I got John to add me as a friend on Facebook. At first, I didn't think this would be that useful because he can easily unfriend me and delete anything salaciously incriminating that I post on his wall. I have, however, been harvesting his list of friends. It seems that one doesn't have to be a friend of someone to send them a message, and that message can include pictures and videos. How delightful!

I am looking forward to meeting Kim on Monday. In addition to finding out about those tears, I want to find out about her sexuality and her fantasies. From my experience on Thursday, I don't think there will be much resistance to my sexual domination of her. I want to find out, however, whether she has it within her to dominate John. I don't mind if she doesn't but if she does it will be easier to get her to hurt him emotionally when the time is right.

This evening I am going to a puppet show, organised for me by The Banker. He is not a real banker but that's the way I like to think of him and what I call him: "My Banker". He's actually a barrister with some particularly unusual needs. Occasionally, just for fun, I will turn up in the public gallery when he is in court, to see the man that others see. I like to remind him how valuable it is being a banker as well as a barrister. I am taking a few friends to the puppet show and we expect to be entertaining ourselves through the night and all through Sunday, so don't be surprised if you don't hear from me until after I have met with Kim on Monday.

Plan B

I would like to have some "insurance" that John does not get difficult and back out when he finds out the Kim is cuckolding him for real, not just in his fantasies. As today is Friday, he will soon be at his computer, drinking a few beers and doing whatever he does when he is not talking to me - wanking over cuckold pornography I assume. The alcohol combined with his arousal makes him particularly malleable on Fridays. So in our conversation tonight, I want him to give away something that I can, if necessary, use to persuade him that making a fuss and upsetting my plans is a bad idea.

Originally, I had the idea of setting him with a professional Dominatrix friend of mine for a free session and getting lots of compromising pictures. But, even as I type it, it sounds far-fetched. I considered some equally implausible ideas but have to admit that I am struggling.  I would be too embarrassed to admit that I have no robust Plan A,  if I didn't have a Plan B.

Plan B is Kim. We exchanged emails today and we are meeting on Monday. Unfortunately, she cannot meet this weekend because it is half-term and her daughter is home from boarding school. But Kim is clearly keen and I need to get inside her head, now that I know she is not a shrinking violet. In particular, I need to understand why Kim got so upset when John raised the topic of her "sleeping" with others, given her enthusiasm with me (and a few other in the past). Actually, I have a strong inkling why but I need to know for sure and I want to hear it in her own words. If I can square that circle, perhaps Kim can become my accomplice. It would be appropriate anyway, for as low as she will be taken, she will always be above John, as long as they are my toys.

Anyway, I am off to talk to John and will see what I can get out of him.

Open doors

I had an email from Kim this morning and thought it was worth sharing in full.

thank you for yesterday. i am embarrassed by my behaviour but don't regret it. you happened to come along at the right time. the night before it was like a switch had been flicked in my head.  after nearly 20 years of bringing up children i decided it was time for me. i could see you were surprised and i was too. i hope you don't think badly of me. Kim xxx p.s. maybe you would like to meet again sometime?

Life is full of suprises

In contrast to our last meeting, Kim was dressed to impress. She was wearing a crisp pastel green blouse, with a brown suit style jacket with a matching brown skirt that came just to the knees. She wore green shoes with a fairly high heel and was wearing longish drop earrings, with a matching necklace and bracelet. Her eyes sparkled and her body language was confident rather than hesitant. This was not at all what I had expected.

She apologised for being late and, as she sat down, she said, "I'm gagging for a glass of wine."

The glass was half-empty before I have even had time to give her the books that I had bought as a present. The glass was empty by the time she had read the book jackets. I was surprised by what I saw but not disappointed.  

"I wasn't sure whether you would come," I said with false modesty.

"I decided it would be good for me," said Kim.

"Excellent, I'm pleased. Have you read those books?"

"No, no, I don't make enough time for reading but I will," she said.

My plan was, as before, to get her to do most of the talking. But Kim hadn't read my plan and wanted to know "all about" me. My background, what I did, what I liked. Fortunately, I had talked sufficiently to John to ensure that my lies pressed the right buttons.

Halfway through the main-course, I nearly choked on my food when Kim said, "do you know that have rooms here?" Not only was the motor turning, she had taken off the handbrake and was pressing the accelerator towards the floor. So much for the slow seduction of a shy, mousey woman. I didn't let on that I had already booked a room but I don't think it would have made a difference anyway.

When when we got to the room, the surprises kept coming. I had imagined myself unbuttoning her blouse and slowly undressing her; caressing, kissing and licking each inch of flesh as it was revealed. Instead, I got her hand grabbing my crotch and tugging tugging at the zip. I had imagined her gently yielding, as I made love to her with tenderness. Instead I got her saying, "fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck me...harder!" And dear readers that is exactly what I did. The rougher I got, the more she liked it. I even tried some hair pulling and name-calling, while taking her from behind. She responded like the perfect slut. 

It turned out that Kim was quite the slut when she first met John. She slept around a lot. And I do mean a lot. She actually met John through someone she was fucking. He told her that John would be "good for her." She found John was a little dull but he was clearly smitten and he took her to the cinema, bought her meals and generally fussed over. He didn't seem to notice that she was fucking other guys. Needless to say, absolved of social responsibilities and niceties, the guy who recommended John continued to fuck her.

That all changed when Kim became pregnant with their first child. She and John married and a second child followed quickly. There must have been doubt in her mind whether the first child was John's. I was tempted to ask but, instead, filed it away for later use. After the second child, she suffered post-natal depression and sex became a rare occurrence. 

She also confessed to having had a few "flings" over the years. I find this difficult to reconcile with John's description of her tears on those fraught occasions when he had openly encouraged her to see other men. But I wasn't supposed to know, so I wasn't about to ask. And why had she now embarked on a new fling with such willing gusto? But who cares? I have a 24 carat slut, with submissive husband, on my hands. It was where I wanted be, just sooner than expected. It just means that the darker part of their journey can begin sooner.

Silence is golden

As I start to write this, it is nearly 7 PM and I haven't heard from Kim. This is very good news. She has had almost two days to cancel and hasn't done so. I'll be surprised if she cancels tomorrow but one never knows. I wonder if she noticed that the place we are meeting has a few rooms for bed and breakfast? I have taken the precaution of booking the nicest room, in case things go better than expected.

I chatted to John earlier today, to see if Kim had said anything. I have to say that I did wonder how She avoided arriving home on Monday, smelling of alcohol. But John didn't mention it, so he is either complicit or in the dark. Either works fine for me, though I have a preference for the latter.

I also wanted to check  how his orgasm denial was going. He lied that he had been chaste. I knew it was unlikely, so challenged him on it and he caved. This actually left me with a dilemma. I wanted to punish him both for his failure and for the lie. Unfortunately, I don't really have mechanism to do so at the moment. So I resorted to telling me that he had cheated himself and that he had greatly disappointed me.

I know this sounds a bit limp but it does have a positive side. He now routinely addresses me as "Sir" and it would be good to train him to feel bad when he disappoints. But maybe that's a rationalisation? It doesn't matter to much. Once I truly own him, he will fear disobeying me for good reason.

My goal for tomorrow is modest. A few more snogs and a commitment to meet for a third time. But who knows, maybe I will get lucky? I often do.