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."

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.

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.

The key turns

I stayed overnight with Kim overnight on Wednesday, as I had done on Tuesday. She was the perfect slut and readily agreed to my suggestion that we fuck in every room in the house before John returns on Saturday. Actually, my main objective was to fuck Kim in her daughter's and her son's beds, in their respective bedrooms. I enjoyed looking around at their possessions and decorations, as I soiled their beds, with their mother. I took her anally, for the first time, in her daughter's bed. I want to own all of the beds in that house.

On Thursday morning, after we had fucked in Kim and John's bed, I asked if I could use John's PC. Kim repeated what she had said about it being password protected.

"I am sure I can get around it if I try," I said.

"Be my guest," said Kim

I took the memory stick, with the software that The Geek had sent me,  put it into a USB slot, and fired up the PC. With a few nifty key-strokes, I was logged in. I did some reconnaissance, to find what I was looking for, before calling Kim.

"I think you might want to see this, " I called to Kim, who was in the kitchen.

First, I flicked through the bookmarks in John's browser. One bookmark, entitled 'cuckold', had about half a dozen sites on that particular topic. Another bookmark, entitled 'Femdom', had even more sites, all on the topic of women dominating men; lots of leather, bondage and whips. Kim was keen to sit down, to see what he had been looking at. I had something else in mind, as the first course.

"Look," I said, "he has been chatting about you to a bloke on-line. There are logs of their conservations."

I opened the last one on the list and stood up, freeing the chair for Kim to sit down. Kim started to read the conversation that John and I had last Friday. As I have mentioned before, John enjoyed chatting through his fantasies, even if we had covered the same ground before. I had a particular aim for the chat that Kim was now reading. I wanted all of the elements of John's fantasy, that I had helped him to evolve, consolidated in one place; including the darkest corners. I wasn't sure whether John logged our conversations, so I had logged them myself, just in case; not needed as it turned out.

There were a lot of lurid details but the core of the fantasy is as follows: Kim takes a dominant lover who teaches Kim to dominate John; with the lover also dominating John. The log ends with John practically begging me to make his fantasy a reality. He affirms multiple times that he wants it to happen for real. 

Kim read it open-mouthed. She was not at all impressed by the way that John talked about her and the things he said he wanted to happen to her.

"Shocked?" I asked.

"Yes, I am," said Kim. "What, I think, surprises me," she paused to collect her thoughts, "is the level of detail. Just how much he has thought it through." 

I left her mind to churn for a bit, before asking, "what are you going to do?"

There was a long pause before she  looked up straight into my eyes and, with firm conviction, said, "I guess we had better give him what he wants."

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

Thank god for rugby

Thanks to the wonderful sport of rugby, I not only have a picture of Kim, I also have a very good idea of where she will be working, every morning, for all of next week. Can you feel me grinning?

John loves rugby and I can bluff it pretty well. It is a big rugby weekend in Europe, with two cup finals. John was only too pleased to talk to someone who agreed with everything he said. One objective was to find out roughly where Kim would be working next week. From previous conversations, I already knew that they lived in a small town in a certain county in the South East of England. Also, John had told me that "Kim sometimes "helps out in the cafe in the High Street." Now, I'm not sure whether he meant that its literally named "The High Street", which is not uncommon in England, or whether he used it as a general description. But, I reasoned, with the help of Google Maps and its streetview capability, I could have a good go at finding the location of the cafe if I knew their local station.

This was slightly tricky because he wanted to talk about the matches this weekend. I, however, had a reason for wanting delay that part of the conversation until later. So given that one of the matches is in the Welsh national stadium, I got the conversation round to the merits and  demerits of various national rugby stadia. Now one of the demerits of England's national stadium, Twickenham, is its awful location on the edge of town. I know John goes to there every year for the internationals, so I instituted a moan-in about the difficulty of getting there.

Bingo! John said something along the lines of "it's not too bad for me going as I am only twenty minutes from Waterloo on a fast train from my local station. But coming back is a bugger because it's usually outside peak times, so trains are more infrequent and I have to go to the main station. It's only a ten minute drive but I have to get a cab or ask Kim to collect me." That narrowed it down to one or two stations. Then I took a virtual walk with Mr. Google. I have four candidates where I think Kim may work.

So on to my second objective. I turned to the subject to sex and indulged John's fantasies with some adventures from my past and suggestions about some from his future. Knowing he was getting pretty horny, I suckered him into a bet on the result of yesterday's rugby match. If he picked the winning team, I would send him pictures and some video clips of some of my adventures. If he lost, he would send me a picture of Kim.

He lost and is, I have to report, an honourable man.

Manipulating the weak

Most people like to think that they are strong-willed. They will often describe themselves as "someone who knows their own  mind" or "not one to be pushed around." It's an ironic description. People rarely know their own minds. Most are followers not leaders. They are weak-willed and full of exploitable frailties. They are there for the taking by those of us who know our own minds and get to know their's.

There are a number of ways of getting people to do what one wants. Violence and blackmail can be effective and both have their place in a puppet-master's tool-kit. But it is much more effective and sustainable to get inside the mind of the subjects.  One starts by tapping into explicit needs and desires. Then one moves on to the dark corners of the mind. Those needs and desires that the subject knows but dare not admit. The final step is to create new needs and desires, through careful and patient conditioning. What could be more rewarding than changing a person's perception of what is "normal."