Part Eleven: May
Mart had lost track of time.
In the dark silence of the cellar, day was night, and minutes were indistinguishable from hours. He lay there listening to the beating of his heart and the echoes of silence.
Regret is a dish best left uneaten.
He was stretched on the St. Andrew’s cross, his limbs fully extended but not overstretched. The main discomfort was from lying in the same position for so long and the void in his empty stomach. At least Dylan had tilted the angle of the cross so that he was lying horizontally.
Dylan.
He hadn’t seen Kelly since she had bade him goodbye, and told him to have fun down here. Since then, he had been ‘looked after’ solely by Dylan. Mart guessed that he had been locked down here at least 72 hours, but maybe it was already four days, or even more. In that time, Dylan had paid him just four brief visits.
Sometime later, he wasn’t sure how long, his semi-conscious reverie was disturbed by the clunk of the ceiling hatch, the sound of footsteps on the stone steps, then the flicker of the overhead lights coming on. Dylan smiled that nauseating smug grin at him again. He was carrying a bowl in one hand and a flash of steel in the other.
“Hi Mart. Sleep okay ?”
Mart was silent. He turned his gaze to the concrete wall.
Dylan ignored the rebuff and chuckled cheerfully.
“Let’s get your bib on shall we ?”
It evidently amused Dylan to call the mouth-ring a ‘bib’. It was a steel and rubber spider gag that held Mart’s jaws wide open for feeding.
But Mart knew he had no choice. The first time he had refused, Dylan had simply shrugged, turned tail and left. At first it was thirst but now the hunger pangs were kicking in to a similar degree.
He opened up his parched lips as wide as his jaws allowed.
Dylan nodded approvingly and quickly inserted the gag, allowing the spring clip to snap open before Mart could change his mind. Mart had grown several days of beard round his mouth and along his jaw line.
“There’s a good lad.”
Mart knew better than to try to reply. The gag made attempting to utter intelligible noises a totally humiliating waste of time.
Dylan’s eyes smiled down at him, clearly enjoying his helplessness. Mart’s legs, groin, torso, arms and mouth were defenceless. He was naked and afraid, his dick shrivelled by fear and the underground chill.
Dylan sniffed, his aquiline nostrils flaring with amused distaste.
“You really must control yourself mate.”
Mart had peed several times in the dark. His own urine had sprayed up onto his stomach and then dribbled down his sides to puddle and dry on the floor. Fortunately he had not yet needed to use the bucket placed under the x of the cross for ‘solids’.
Dylan placed a hand on Mart’s beating chest. Then, with a smirk, he slowly trailed a finger down over his ribs, his waist, to his groin. There were tiny bristles of pubic stubble that had grown since he had last been shaved.
“Not feeling horny ?”
He stepped into the v of the cross between Mart’s thighs and casually handled each of Mart’s testicles in turn, separating them.
“Don’t worry, mate. I’m not gay, as you know. But I’m comfortable enough in my own masculinity that handling a dick doesn’t worry me.”
Fingers began teasing Mart’s penis, lingering on his inner thighs.
“Just relax. Let it happen. How long is it since you came ?”
Mart simply stared sullenly. Even he had lost count.
Dylan shrugged. “Weeks, huh ? Months ?”
He felt nothing but, in spite of that, his thighs tensed and blood started to flow. Very slowly his penis thickened and became more sensitive.
“I remember when I first saw you naked.” Dylan said, looking down with a satisfied grin. “It was after rugby. You have nothing to be ashamed of mate. It ain’t what I’d call big but it’s not a tiny one either.”
Mart felt his cheeks blushing hot. Dylan was masturbating him now. Actually manipulating his shaft in a casual jack-off manner.
“Ngahahgh ..” he tried to object through the gag.
Dylan simply laughed. “Oh don’t be silly ! Beggars can’t be choosers. This is as good as it’s going to get, mate. It’s my hand or nothing.”
It had been so long. It was true. He felt his hips shift in a reflex response.
Immediately, the fingers were pulled away leaving him high and dry.
“Nmahngh ..”
Dylan chuckled again. He had evidently made his point. He licked the ends of his fingers suggestively and used the tips on Mart’s sensitive ridge, enough to arouse, but way too slowly to induce orgasm.
“Before she left, Kelly said you’d be up for it.”
Mart’s brow creased. Left ? His brain shifted from his groin.
“Yes.” Dylan said, letting his erection drop. “She’s gone to England for a few days. Business to attend to. Something about legal documents and money. She left me in sole charge of you, Marty boy.”
“Nmmgn ?”
“What ? I’m sorry mate, I didn’t understand you.”
He bent down and picked up the bowl from the floor. Mart caught a glimpse of the contents. The spoon appeared to be standing on its own in the thick, glutinous mush. Dylan sidled up to stand by Mart’s chest.
“Mmm …” he sniffed the bowl appreciatively. “Hungry ?”
Very slowly, Mart moved his head up and down twice.
“I fixed this for you myself. Loads of good stuff.”
Mart watched the spoon descend in slow motion. He felt the steel against his stretched lips and saw Dylan’s quizzical stare as he tipped the first mouthful onto his tongue.
There was no distinct smell, just a whiff of earthiness. The first things he noticed were the lukewarm temperature and the texture as it assailed his tongue like a slug. It gurgled into the back of his throat and trickled down. Mart couldn’t swallow or speed up the process due to the gag. Eventually, came the taste; salty and bitter and rancid, like a two day old bin’s contents that had been liquidized and recycled.
Mart retched, almost bringing up the whole lot. Somehow he managed to keep it all down, acid burning the back of his throat.
Dylan nodded approvingly. “Well done.”
He immediately lifted another spoonful to Mart’s mouth.
While he fed him, Dylan talked. It was almost a speech, as if he had prepared the words, ready for this moment.
“I want you to know that I’ve nothing against you mate. I’m doing this for you. You want this, Kelly wants this. You’re my friend and I will never squeeze you out. Heck, I like having you along for the ride. So long as you learn your place, you’re welcome in our lives. Forever if necessary. I know you’re not enjoying this too much at the moment. But as I’ve just proved with your dick, it’s a question of … training. In the end you’ll learn to respond to it. Until now, you’ve been in your comfort zone. But since we came to Portugal, Kelly and I wanted to take you beyond comfort, to …”
He gestured round the cellar with the spoon.
“… this. Welcome, my friend to your new life.”
Mart felt it and tried to suppress it. But there was nothing he could do. The bitterness of the taste in his mouth. A single, salty tear trickled out of the corner of his eye and down the side of his face.
“Oh.” Dylan said. “Don’t cry. This is all for a purpose. Once you’ve learned to think and behave like a true slave, not just a self indulgent cuck, we’ll let you out of here to serve us properly. We were all born for this. You, Kelly, me. This was always our destiny, we just didn’t know it back then. That’s what makes it all so powerful and delicious now.”
His words flowed into Mart’s brain like the gunk into his gullet. He didn’t react. Just lay there and ate. Only later would he digest them.
“I want you to know something, Mart. Something serious. I love her. I’m not doing this to get at you or to exploit her. I’m not interested in your money like James was, or just in casual sex like Jack. I truly love Kelly. So you can take comfort she’ll be in good hands. I’ll look after her. And I’ll look after you as well.” He smiled, scraping the last remnants from the bowl. “So long as you play your cards right !”
Another day passed. Or what seemed like a day. Maybe it was less ? Or more. He lay in the dark, in the stinking cellar, unable to get the bitter taste of the slop from his mouth or the words from his mind.
He had so much time to think. She’s gone to England, business to attend to. So long as you learn your place you’re welcome in our lives. I’ll look after you as well if you play your cards right. I’m not interested in your money or casual sex. I truly love Kelly.
The ceiling hatch opened and Dylan appeared. Mart squinted at him as his eyes got used to the searing light.
“Please … Dylan …” he gasped, “… no more !”
“Pfaw, Mart. What a disgusting stink !”
They each ignored each other’s words.
“Dylan … !” Mart managed to shout.
“Well at least you got it into the bucket.” Dylan replied.
“This has to stop … now !” His voice gave out into a high pitched croak.
Dylan looked at him, his expression switching from amused annoyance to genuine rage.
“Shut the fuck up, Mart !”
They stared. Eyes burning. Mart had raised his neck up so that his head was straight, as if that somehow made him more of an equal. He blinked first.
Dylan was dressed in an open towelling robe. His swimming trunks and hair were wet, fresh from the swimming pool.
“You want me to empty this bucket ? Or you want me to tip it over your head ?”
Mart sighed, stifling tears of frustration. “Empty.”
“Empty what ?”
“Empty it … please … Sir.”
Dylan nodded, calming down. “Okay. But a little test first.” He fished into his robe pocket and produced the gag. “Open up.”
The threat was obvious. It hung in the air like a bad odour.
Slowly, he parted his lips.
“Wider.”
Dylan skilfully inserted the steel jaws into Mart’s mouth and released the spring. Then he reached down to the floor and picked up the bucket, peering into it disdainfully.
Without warning, he seized Mart’s hair with his other hand, holding his head completely still.
Mart tried to wriggle away but couldn’t. It was too painful.
“Nngghhaah …”
“If I didn’t think you deserved one more chance mate, I’d shove all this down your filthy throat. Got that ?”
Mart stared up at him. Their faces were only three inches apart.
Dylan had won yet another round. He knew it.
Mart knew it.
There was a break of a minute or two while Dylan carried the bucket up the steps out of the cellar. In the distance, Mart thought he could just hear the sound of flushing. Then he appeared with the bucket smelling of some strong disinfectant. He plonked it back down under Mart’s waist.
“You stink. Your breath smells, you ass is dirty and you need to shave.”
Mart gave a slight nod. He couldn’t argue with any of that.
“Luckily we thought of all that.”
There was a panel in the wall. He watched Dylan release the catch to reveal a coil of green hose and a dark plug hole in the floor.
The water was icy and it took his breath away, making him gasp through the gag. Dylan sprayed his legs, body, arms and face, before applying the nozzle to his anus. Then he used a plastic bottle to spray Mart’s body with liquid soap, finally hosing him clean again with the cold water.
“We’ll do your teeth and shave you tomorrow.”
Mart’s mind was numb. He lay shivering on the wooden x frame.
“In the meantime …”
He watched transfixed, as this man – who he’d thought he’d known well, his one time best friend, his Best Man, but now his wife’s lover, his tormentor in chief – lowered his damp swimming trunks and revealed his penis.
It was like a coil of flesh coloured hose nestling in a dark mass of hair.
Slowly, arrogantly, without a word, Dylan started massaging himself. He was already semi-hard and he quickly lengthened and thickened.
“Here it is, Mart. Kelly’s favourite toy. You’ve already had a taste of what it has to offer. But in Kelly’s absence, you’re going to get it straight from the horse’s dick, so to speak.”
Mart shook his head, shutting his eyes. He couldn’t look.
“Open your eyes ! Unless you want me to piss in them.”
He opened up and looked at Dylan’s strong fist pumping his swollen crown two inches from the gag, four inches from his eyes.
“When I cum, you keep that mouth wide open in this direction.”
Dylan’s hand was a blur, the purple piss-slit moving hypnotically in his face. It went on for a couple of minutes, a strange ritual of dominance and submission. Eventually Mart recognised telltale pre-orgasmic grunts.
“Oh … yesssssss … mmmmmm …”
Thick pearly jets shot and uncoiled like an exploding cream cake all over Mart’s face. He tried to avert his eyes but felt Dylan’s strong left hand behind his head, gripping his hair. He tasted plenty on his tongue but there was more spattering his forehead, nose, a cheek, his chin.
“Phew …” Dylan exhaled, grinning, “… you make a good tissue.” He wiped his fingers over Mart’s chest and pulled up his trunks.
“You’d better lay here and pray your missus gets back soon to look after me properly, or I might have to start using you in other ways. I’ll be back later to remove the gag … if you’re good.”
Kelly looked up enquiringly when Dylan walked out to the pool deck.
He pulled off his robe and slumped down along one of the empty sun beds.
“And ?” she asked.
“All going to plan.”
She shut her eyes. All going to plan. Easy to say, difficult to be sure.
“What did you do ?”
He shrugged and tilted his head. “Cleaned him up. He’d used the bucket. It smelt foul down there. I’ve got to shave him and brush his teeth tomorrow.”
There was a silence. Dylan glanced over at the other sun beds. “Where are the lovebirds ?”
Kelly made a face. “Where do you think ?”
As if on cue, a female shriek tore through the open window. Naomi was the noisiest tart on the planet. When she was having a good time she wanted the whole world to know. Or maybe that’s what she wanted everybody to think.
“Aaaah, Jack, ngghm … yes … yes … oh … yessssss …”
Dylan rolled his eyes. “Lucky the builders have left for the day.”
“She dragged him indoors as soon as they closed the gate.”
It was true. Naomi had arrived with Jack two days earlier. She and Nick were divorcing. No negotiations, no discussions, no attempts to save their marriage. Unfortunately Nao thought she was in love with Jack.
Worse, she even thought that Jack loved her.
Kelly pushed her sunglasses back down over her eyes.
She felt some guilt. But Nao hadn’t taken her advice. This Fem Dom thing isn’t a child’s game. And especially if cuckolding is involved. It should carry one of those warnings like cigarette packets.
Fucking other men can seriously damage your marriage.
She glanced over at Dylan’s handsome profile soaking up the late afternoon sun. His nose was elegant, lips masculine, jaw line firm.
She adored fucking him. But that’s what it was. F u c k i n g. It wasn’t making love. Mart was the only man she’d ever made love to. He was almost definitely the only man she ever would make love to.
Even if she never did so again.
Jack watched Naomi thrashing around on top of him like a rag doll. Beads of perspiration flew off her forehead as she rode him to her third shrieking climax. He gritted his teeth and postponed his own orgasm.
He knew this relationship was only going to last a few more days. He was still scared of any sort of commitment and, frankly, Naomi wasn’t his type. Besides, he had no intention of getting caught up in a messy divorce case.
But he knew that if he played his cards right, he could have himself some fun. A few hot memories for the cold winter nights to come.
Unlike Kelly who knew what she wanted, Naomi only thought she did.
She would do whatever he wanted to try to impress him with her rampant sexuality and open mind. So it was time to try some new things.
Give her something to really shriek about !
Mart stretched and rotated his jaw to try to regain its feeling.
Dylan folded the spider gag and popped it in his pocket.
“May I sp … speak … Sir.”
Dylan smiled as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Sure mate.”
“I surrender. I wave the white flag. I will do … whatever … Sir.”
Dylan beamed. “Really ? You mean that ?”
Mart nodded. His mouth was parched, stiff and sore.
And it was true. At least he thought it was. Like even the most resistant captive, he had his breaking point. The interrogator had worn him down. He had answered their questions, truthfully as far as he knew.
“Kelly will be absolutely thrilled.”
Five Words. Like the fingers of a hand encircling his heart.
“You have some papers to sign. You’ll be out of here in a day or two.”
Dylan smiled at Mart, reading his expression of concern.
“Nothing much. Just our marriage certificate. You’re the Best Man this time. Our witness. Other legal and financial stuff. Make it watertight.”
“But …”
“It has to be irrevocable. No comebacks, Mart.”
Mart shut his eyes. Was this really what he’d signed up for last July ?
“Hey !” Dylan said, excitedly. “Look.” He took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. It was glossy, torn from a magazine.
There, on the page, was a bright red car. A sleek sports car. Mart was no expert but he could recognise a black horse on a yellow badge.
A Ferrari.
“It’s a 1987 Testarossa.” Dylan enthused. “Four point nine litres, twelve cylinders, twenty years old. A thing of beauty, isn’t it ?”
Mart smiled weakly, fearing where this was going.
“A wedding present from my wife to be. And my Best Man too, I guess. I know I said I’m not after Kelly for your money but, hey, you don’t say no to the perks.”
Mart bowed his head.
“Don’t worry. You won’t need money. We’ll give you what you need.”
What was that website ? In the days when he’d been able to jack off in front of his PC, Mart had once joined a site called RPP. That’s how he felt now; raped, pillaged and plundered.
Dylan put the piece of paper carefully back in his pocket.
“Hey mate, gotta dash for supper. Kelly’s arriving any minute. I can’t wait to tell her the great news !”
That night, after supper, they left Jack and Naomi cuddled on the sofa watching ‘The Queen’ starring Helen Mirren, a new DVD that Kelly and Dylan had already watched. In truth, she was kind of fed up with Naomi’s constant yapping anyway.
“So,” she said, climbing into bed, “what is tomorrow’s plan ?”
Dylan reached for her. “Mmm … give a kiss to your best man and let’s discuss that later.”
She placed his hand firmly back by his side. “No, let’s talk now.”
He sighed. “He’s ready, Kel’. You can play it whichever way you want. It’s up to you. You can have your husband back. Or a … well, whatever you want to call him. A slave. I’m 99% certain he’ll go along with either.”
She wished she felt so confident.
Dylan reached for her again. His hand squeezed her boob greedily.
She turned her face and looked at him. It wasn’t worth fighting.
For ten minutes, Dylan thrust and grunted on top of her, until he moaned in orgasm, while she kissed his ear and hissed in fake ecstasy.
In reality, Kelly was staring at the ceiling, thinking about her future.
And her husband.
Mart watched Kelly teasing Dylan’s helmet with her tongue like a slut from a porn movie. He was so close to them both that he could see the thin strand of saliva stretching from Dylan’s purple plum to her scarlet lips. Dylan was grinning down at him, his glazed eyes half-closed in bliss, a hand holding Kelly’s hair back so that it didn’t obscure Mart’s view.
“Luckily your missus is back to look after me properly,” Dylan chuckled.
Mart woke with a jerk. He didn’t know where he was and then, moments later, it all came back. He felt cold, clammy sweat under his neck.
It might have been morning. But it might have been any time of day.
He drifted in and out of consciousness, afraid to go back to sleep.
Frightened of the dreams that tormented him.
Light suddenly flooded the cellar. He heard footsteps. The swish of slippers on stone. Kelly ! He turned his head and squinted against the light.
She smiled at him. She was carrying a steaming mug. It smelt of coffee.
“Hi darling.”
“Mm.” He replied, coldly.
She pouted. “That’s not much of a welcome.”
He shut his eyes, didn’t reply.
She walked alongside him, surveying. “You look a mess, Mart.”
“I feel a fucking mess.”
“If you swear once more I shall leave.”
No. Please.
He sighed. “Sorry.”
She was dressed in just a silk dressing gown and lingerie. He could make out the ivory coloured lace of her camisole. Her hair was tied up in a tousled bun on her head and her skin was tanned and glowing. He watched her blow and then take a delicate sip from her coffee mug.
“I warned you.”
He gave the merest nod of recognition.
“This is your big test.”
“Did I pass ?” he asked sarcastically.
“Not the way you’re behaving now.”
There was a silence. She took another taste of coffee.
“Where is he ?”
“Dylan ?” She looked into his eyes. “He’s gone.”
“Like he’d gone when I was tied on your bed in England ?”
“That was a tease, Mart. I’m not in the mood for teases now.”
“Nor am I.”
She turned away. “I can see you need some more time to cool down.”
“No. Please. I’m sorry.”
But he could see he’d pissed her off. She walked to the steps.
“I’ll be back in a few hours. I want you to lie here and do some serious thinking, Mart …”
“Wait. Please. Can you at least tell me if you’ve married him ?”
He watched her expression change for anger to amusement, a slow softening of her features into a sly smile.
“Is that what he told you ?”
“Yes.”
She paused, shaking her head in quiet enjoyment.
“No Mart. I did not marry Dylan.” She said. “I’m married to you.”
He let out a stifled sob of relief.
“As I was saying,” she continued, “do some serious thinking about the past ten months. Is any of this really my fault ? Honestly. Can you truly say I’m in the wrong here ? When I come back down, I want to know. How does this end, Mart ? Tell me, ‘cos it’s tearing me apart.”
Dylan was speaking on his cell phone when she walked back into the kitchen. He winked and signalled he was nearly finished talking.
Naomi and Jack were sat at the table eating fruit with their fingers.
Kelly put her coffee down and helped herself to a segment of orange.
Naomi raised an eyebrow. “Did it go okay ?”
She tilted her hand to and fro. So-so, at best.
Dylan closed his phone. At that moment, a car horn sounded.
“Taxi’s here.”
Jack and Dylan walked over to the pile of bags in the hall.
Naomi took Kelly’s hand. “I thought you said that one’s a keeper ?” she muttered, staring with Kelly at Dylan’s tight butt in his denim jeans.
“Depends what you mean by keeper.” She sighed. You just don’t get it do you Nao ? “I said it had to be a threesome.”
Dylan walked over, bags over his broad shoulders.
“I’ll call you when we land.”
She leaned up to kiss him full on the lips.
“I love you.” She murmured into his ear.
“No you don’t.” he whispered back. “I’m your best man and you like me very, very much.”
He laughed, holding her shoulders, his glistening eyes fixed on hers.
“But there is only one man you truly love”.
What makes for a happy ending ?
Mart lay in the dark and pondered the same question he’d already spent hours on to pass the time. It’s easy to define a sad ending; the hero dies, the couple don’t consummate their love, the mission is a valiant failure. Whatever.
But a happy ending ? It depends what the main protagonists truly want ? And even now, he knew that deep down he wasn’t certain what he really wanted. What Kelly truly, madly, deeply desired.
A happy ending of a book or film ends with the implication that, after the final page or the closing titles, everybody lives happily ever after. Maybe the characters’ happiness will be ruined as soon as the curtain falls ? After all, we know that one day the grim reaper will cause inevitable sadness.
His problem was that he wasn’t reading Chantal her bedtime story or watching a romantic comedy with Kelly.
He was living the story.
Fuck it, he WAS the story.
He stood on the shower and soaked himself for five long minutes in the steaming hot spray. Then he shaved his itching groin and stubbly jaw carefully, before scrubbing his teeth until his gums ached, and rinsing with mouthwash. Finally, he put on a T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops that Kelly had laid out for him.
She met him on the pool deck, holding out a glass of pink champagne.
“Sit.” She said, gesturing to one of the two chairs under the sun umbrella.
His mind went back to the warm evening when they had sat on a similar sultry evening and watched the sunset; Saturday, 8th July 2006.
“I’m sorry.” He said. “For earlier.”
She had finally released him curtly an hour before. “Get yourself cleaned up first.” The tension between them both was still palpable.
“Don’t worry.” She touched his arm. “I can understand it now.”
“Dylan told me that you and he were marrying. That you’d gone over to England to sign papers and stuff.”
“Dylan was just doing his job.”
“Dylan is a total bastard !” he spat.
She looked at him, taking her time, as if to underline her sincerity.
“No, Mart. That’s where you’re wrong. There may be villains in this story, but Dylan isn’t one of them.”
She still loves him.
“Well I bloody well hate him anyway.”
Kelly smiled, reaching up to stroke his cheek.
“That was his idea. His plan.”
Plan ? Mart stared at her, pausing to sip his champagne.
“I won’t lie to you Mart. We had fun too. But Dylan convinced me that if he could make you hate what was happening, really and truly hate it, then you would want your old life back. He knew that it would cost him your friendship. He knew that it would cost him … our friendship too. But that was a sacrifice he was prepared to make.”
There was a tear in her eyes. Mart reached up to wipe it.
“He used to say that was what any Best Man should do. Anything to get the groom and bride together.”
He chose a strange way to do it !
That’s what Mart thought to say, but the words didn’t leave his lips.
“You mean … he planned it all from the beginning. Treating me like shit.”
It had worked.
She flicked another tear from her cheek.
“Yes, Mart. If you want to blame anybody, blame me. I offered myself to Dylan. It was him who actually saw it as an opportunity to help us.”
“And did he help us ?”
The five words hung in the air. The sun chose that moment to melt below the horizon, lengthening the evening shadows.
She smiled, no longer crying. “I think he did. I hope he did.”
“You said you would offer me the choice to go back to how we were.”
“I did.”
“Does your offer still stand ?”
Later in bed, lying on crisp white new sheets, Mart lay spreadeagled in an ‘x’ position. But this time his wrists and ankles were untied, just held there by willpower.
Kelly was teasing him, stroking his flat stomach, muscular legs and hardened body. She ran her nails erotically up his inner thighs, probing the tender folds where the tops of his legs met his hairless scrotum.
“I can’t bear it … please …”
“Sssshhh …”
Her fingers danced like butterflies along his tortured shaft, making it jerk and twitch in the vein of a machine-gunned body.
“Hey,” she whispered, “do you know what a ‘happy ending’ is ?”
“Mngh …I … it’s when everybody lives … h … happily ever after.”
He was so near now. His spine arched off the bed.
Her giggle was a nice sound. Not taunting and unkind, but sweet and loving. Her hand tugged up and down on his most sensitive ridge.
“No, Mart. ‘Happy ending’ in slang. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it.”
He reached the point of no return. His legs locked in stages; feet, ankles, knees, thighs, groin. He was cumming, great waves of pleasure broke like tsunami across his chest, shoulders, neck, exploding into his skull.
“This …” she said, over his groan of release, “… is what a masseuse calls a ‘happy ending’, my love.”
He felt a spurt landing on his neck and fell exhausted back onto the mattress, aware of the hot dampness splashing his chest and stomach. And suddenly Kelly had thrown herself on top of him, planting kisses on his face, her camisole wet and sticking between them.
“You’re stuck to me, I’m afraid.” She laughed.
He joined in with her laughter.
No, you’re stuck with me. Was it really so simple to write off what had happened ? Could he simply have his old job back, just like that ?
It was as if she had read his mind. Her flashing eyes narrowed.
“Let’s just find out darling, shall we ? We’ll see what happens over the next few months. No more plans. No more analysis.”
He put his arms round her and hugged her tight.
“You know what ? Maybe it would help if I wrote it all down ?”
End of Part Eleven