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.