Part Ten: April
“And what’s this room ?” Chantal asked, pointing with her finger.
She was a pretty, bubbly brunette, with her mother’s vivacious looks, her father’s intelligent green eyes, and a perfect pair of 34DDs all of her own. They were sat round the makeshift kitchen table in Portugal, looking over the plans for the house; Chantal, Kelly and Mart, along with Dylan, every-inch the professional architect and designer.
“It’s a cellar. For your father’s wine.”
“Under your bedroom ? Dad, you’re going to be uncorking bottles at night ?!”
Everybody laughed.
“You know your father.” Kelly replied with a chuckle.
Well, you think you do.
“Actually,” Dylan said, leaning in, “it’s because of the rock formation. I would have placed it here but for the weaker substructure.” He tapped an area of the floor with his foot. “Another advantage is that if you decide to rent out the property, your private suite can be closed off, along with the wine cellar. Best to prevent other men helping themselves to Mart’s First Growths !”
Kelly caught Dylan’s eyes vacuuming up Chantal’s cleavage as he talked.
Leopards never change their spots.
The conversation moved on.
“I love it.” Chantal said. “I’d love to come back here with Greg later in the year.”
They drove her to Faro Airport the next morning and she flew back to London, where she was staying with friends for a couple of days, before returning to Los Angeles.
“Bye Love.” They waved.
Kelly sat in the back of the hire car with Dylan while Mart drove home.
“You have a lovely daughter.” Dylan patted her knee.
I noticed, Kelly thought.
But she didn’t stay pissed with him for long. They had behaved themselves during Chantal’s visit. Soon they were necking while Mart drove them up into the hills.
Back at the house, the contractor and eight labourers were working flat out in the dusty, humid sunshine.
“Hoi.” Dylan said to the contractor, patting Mart on the back. “Tenho mais um trabalhador para voce.” Dylan spoke reasonable Portuguese, having worked on several projects in Lisbon. I have another worker for you.
The contractor scratched his bald head and frowned. “Mesmo ?” Really ?
“Sim. Ele vai ajudar.” Yes, this one will help you. “Mart.”
The contractor asked what kind of work Mart could do.
“Qualquer.” Anything. Dylan replied. He explained that Mart would do basic labouring and he didn’t expect to be paid. Just for exercise.
At this the contractor laughed and seemed much more enthusiastic.
“Vamos.” He said, passing Mart a shovel. Let’s get started.
Kelly watched from the bedroom balcony as the platinum April sun reached its zenith and began hammering down its rays on the toiling crew. Mart’s white body contrasted starkly with the nut coloured skin of the gnarled local workforce. She had thrown him down a tube of high factor cream and his skin glistened with it and sweat as he laboured.
She lay back down on the sunbed and adjusted her skimpy bikini. She picked up her book again and started to read. It amazed her that Amazon sold such things ! But she had to admit it was good, very good.
The drilling noise from inside the bedroom made it hard to concentrate. Dylan was personally supervising the formation and lining of the ‘wine cellar’. A big digger had carved out a huge hole and now breeze blocks, concrete and rubber linings were being used to create the space. He wanted it finished within a week !
She adjusted her bikini again, aware that her nipples were firm and her vagina was clammy. She slid a finger under the triangle of her thong.
Roll on the end of the working day.
Her book was called ‘Female Domination; an exploration of the male desire for loving female authority’ by Elise Sutton. It made Kelly feel good to read about forty other couples like her and Mart. She smiled. As soon as she’d finished it, she’d lend it to Nao.
How was the naughty girl, she wondered.
As it happens, Naomi was sitting in a toilet cubicle at her offices. Her skirt and knickers were round her knees and she was texting with Jack on her cell.
‘C U 4 lunch ?” appeared on her screen.
‘Lunch ?!’ she typed, smirking to herself.
They exchanged messages, setting up a rendezvous for 1.30 p.m. in a bar halfway between their two buildings.
It troubled her that she was having an affair. She knew that’s what it was. And yet, it didn’t concern her. After all, Nick was getting what he wanted. She was hard on him, domineering, strict. She let him set the agenda, even though they both pretended she was in control.
And in return ? Well, instead of her suffering the frustration that he enjoyed, or the boredom she’d felt for years, she was having her petals watered by another hose.
Was that really so bad ? Jack used a condom. She bathed. So Nick still got a healthy and clean pussy to slobber over when she felt like it.
It was cuckolding. Like Kelly.
Just without doing it in Nick’s face.
They met at a slick, modern bar that did a decent chicken salad and glass of wine. The place was emptying as other customers returned to work.
“Mmm, you look good enough to eat.” Jack said.
“You too.” She tapped her glass against his.
After eating and small talk, she looked at him wickedly.
“You ever do it in a public toilet ?”
Jack raised an eyebrow. He shook his head, grinning, pulling her by the hand.
They bolted the door and Nao fumbled with Jack’s zip.
“Fuck !” he muttered. “I didn’t think … no condoms.”
She sighed. Damn.
“You could do … something else ?” Jack whispered, licking his lips.
Yeah ? And what about me ? The little room stank. She didn’t fancy getting down on the tiled floor to blow him.
She shook her head, easing his zip down the whole way, kissing him.
“I’m on the pill.” She murmured into his ear. “We don’t need condoms.”
Mart hung from the sturdy beams of the porch.
His wrists were strung up and his ankles were separated by a spreader bar. Around him mosquitoes and night flies buzzed in the orange glow of the sunset. His skin was red with sunburn and streaked with dusty sweat.
Kelly and Dylan were sitting some distance away at a table. It was lit by a candle in a hurricane lamp. Two glasses, an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne, and a saucer of almonds, completed the idyllic scene.
He stared at them. He should have hated them. But he didn’t.
How do you explain that to yourself, let alone to somebody else ?
A buzzing insect pricked his helpless ankle and he kicked as effectively as he could.
This was slavery, pure and simple. Relentless toil in the sunshine, meagre rations, brutal bondage, mosquitoes at night. He hesitated to assume that no 18th Century plantation slave had suffered worse, but he was at least in the ballpark. And he was here by choice.
Dylan rose and walked over to tend the barbecue on which he was grilling sardines and then steaks. Enough for two. Mart had already eaten.
“What’s the plan for later ?” Kelly asked, cutting into her steak.
“I would have thought that was obvious !”
She rolled her eyes. “Apart from that !” She nodded. “Him.”
“Mart ?” Dylan tilted his head to one side. “Something new.”
She chewed, considering. “There’s … something.”
“Mm ?”
She paused. She’d never become so open and frank with somebody in such a short time. But there were limits after all.
“Mmm ?” He repeated, a little more persistently.
She couldn’t get the words out.
“Can I guess ?” he suggested.
She carved another bite of meat and nodded.
“Is it something to do with that little bottom of yours ?”
She winced. He knew her too well already.
“Am I that predictable ?”
He stroked her cheek kindly. “No. But …”
“But what ?”
“But great minds think alike.”
She raised her glass, tension eased.
“Tell me.” He whispered.
“I’ve never had the … courage … to go all the way.”
“Meaning ?”
“I’ve peed on him numerous times as you know. And he’s licked my bum. I’ve passed wind in his face. I’ve not always been that … fresh. I’ve even, well, you know, used the toilet while he’s been kneeling there giving me cunnilingus. But I’ve never … watched him actually take it in his … you know …”
“Mouth.”
She nodded. “And it pisses me off that Ingrid did that, and I haven’t.”
There. It was out. So to speak.
Dylan leaned over and kissed her on the lips. “Good on you.”
They munched in silence for a few moments.
“Why ?” he enquired. “Why do you want to do it ?”
As if she knew. She was ashamed, and yet … excited.
“Why do I like making him drink my urine ? Why do I climax easily when I cuckold him ? Why do I enjoy teasing and humiliating him ? I don’t bloody well know Dyl. I just do ! Sometimes I feel bad about it. I never used to want to do such things.”
“Is it anger ? Resentment ?”
“No !” she answered too quickly and too loudly. “Well, I don’t think so.”
“Would you like me to do it to him as well ?”
“Do you want to ?”
“You answer first.”
She paused to think. Hold on here, Kelly. This is Mart. Your husband.
“No. It would be a memory I couldn’t shift.”
Dylan smiled. “Good answer.”
“But would you want to ?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Sure. As far as I’m concerned Mart is fair game. He gets all that’s coming to him. This month is all about taking him to the edge.”
She stared at him, revelling in his handsome features as he talked.
That was it. It was about going too far. She wouldn’t normally behave like this.
Dylan wiped his mouth on his napkin. “We start tonight.”
Mart was helpless. Absolutely transfixed.
Eye bolts had been drilled into the bathroom floor. It was almost as if they had been fitted exactly to his measurements. His arms and legs were stretched to maximum in an ‘x’ and he was lying on the cold, freshly tiled floor.
Dylan tugged the last knot to give it a final check, patted him on the chest and left the bathroom.
He lay there, deep breathing, wishing he could scratch his insect bites.
A few minutes later, Kelly walked in carrying a book. She ignored him, raised the toilet cover and sat down in her robe.
He heard the turn of the page and a whisper of passed gas. Next she emptied her bladder noisily in that drenching waterfall way she had. He’d watched her guzzling down plenty of wine with their dinner.
Then there came a noisier ripple of gas, a loud fizz, and a splash.
After a moment, he heard her nonchalantly turning her page.
A second and a third splash followed, along with a very unladylike trumpet of released air. The stench reached his nostrils and filled the room.
Eventually he sensed her placing her book down on the edge of the bath.
He waited for the sound of tearing tissue as she ripped off a piece.
But instead he merely heard the creak of the seat as she rose.
She stood above him, a crooked grin on her sun-kissed face. She was flushed shiny red with a little too much sun and alcohol. Her robe was open and she had her hands in an aggressive pose on her hips.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, darling. The easy way is just the two of us, nice and gentle, in private. The hard way involves Dylan, a crop and a lot of rough nastiness. Which is it to be ?”
She opened her legs and stood astride his waist facing him.
He wasn’t sure, but he thought he knew what she meant.
“The … easy way …”
She smirked. “Good boy.”
He watched as, very slowly, like a muscular prima ballerina, she elegantly spread her knees and stepped forward. Inch by inch, her buttocks came nearer and clearer. The remnants of her bowel movement were smeared like gravy on a dirty plate. Eventually she hovered an inch from his lips.
He wanted to gag.
“I’m not coming down, Mart. Instead I want you to lift your head up to me. Pay homage to your queen.”
Yes, this was all consensual. But he doubted he could stop her now, even had he been prepared to sacrifice everything to try.
He raised his neck and pushed out his tongue.
Dylan smiled, and pressed the remote.
The picture on the 50-inch widescreen he was watching in the bedroom zoomed a little closer. Mart’s upturned face and Kelly’s inner thighs were caught perfectly by the hidden camera.
Damn he loved this crazy kinky bitch !
He watched her rub her anus sensuously across Mart’s nose, leaving a smear like some Salvador Dali painting. She was literally making love to his face with her butt.
He switched to the second lens and the picture cut to her tits filling the screen. Not as good as her daughter’s, but still a fine pair. Her nipples were like swollen raspberries, ripe for picking. He panned upwards to film her face, mouth open in an ecstatic ‘o’. He’d enjoy teasing her about it when they watched the recording together.
Home movies.
Kelly found she had one last blast of gas in her barrel. She saved it up deliciously for a few moments, enjoying the rumble in her jungle.
Mart was gagging and choking but soldiering manfully on, his pursed lips pecking her rim like a polite nephew saying goodbye to his dreaded great aunt.
She pushed down so her sphincter enveloped his nostrils and let rip.
He groaned as tiny droplets spattered his face.
“Oh no, Kel, that’s too much !” he spat. “Please.” He dry-heaved, producing a fleck of stained vomit that dribbled onto his chin.
She straightened her legs and rose up to her full height, still astride him.
“Tough shit, Mart. Don’t you dare look up insolently at me like that !”
She strode over to the toilet and he heard her wiping her bottom clean on tissue. She washed herself with a hot flannel and soaped her hands thoroughly. Finally she brushed her teeth and then he saw her out of the corner of his eye removing her mascara and makeup.
Eventually, she stood over him with a plastic cup full of mouthwash.
She knelt down carefully beside his head.
There was a strange look in her eyes. They swirled like stirring a blend of dark ingredients into a creamy coffee cup; there was anger and irritation, and heat and lust, and a bit of embarrassment. And pity, gentleness, love.
“Here.”
He raised his mouth and she tipped the cup.
He spluttered but choked most of it down.
“Why ?” he whispered, his eyes quizzing her own.
She popped a tablet onto his tongue for him to swallow.
“Here, take this antibiotic. Don’t tell me you hadn’t thought about it too ?”
He gulped the tablet down and blinked in vague acknowledgement. “But fantasy is … one thing.”
She fetched the still warm flannel and began wiping his face softly.
“No, Mart. This isn’t fantasy. That ended last July. This is reality. It really is happening. And pretty soon you have to decide what you actually want. Because I’ve told you before. I can’t live out your fantasy.”
He slowly nodded, as if truth was dawning.
“It has to be mine.” she added. Five Words.
“But why that ? Please.”
She shrugged. “Because I can. Because I want to take you to your limits, Mart. And beyond. But mostly because I wanted to know what it feels like. It amused me.”
“Was it … a one off ?”
She smiled sadly at his clean face, throwing the dirty flannel into the basin.
“I doubt it, Mart. I can’t make promises.”
She stood up, walked over to the toilet and peered into it before flushing.
“I think …” she said, looking at him, “… today was just your starter.”
The next morning Mart was labouring hard, helping lay tiles round the pool and deck area. It was gruelling work in the hot sun, his body stiff, skin tender and feet blistered. Thankfully they’d lent him gloves for his hands.
Kelly had left a few minutes before, dressed skimpily to drive down to the local shops in the hire car. The labourers’ eyes had devoured her butt.
Mart looked at her bum as she walked and felt nauseous.
Minutes later, Dylan appeared on the balcony, holding a mug of coffee. He waved down then gestured for Mart to join him upstairs.
When Mart arrived, Dylan was lying down on a sunbed parallel with Kelly’s. He was naked, his big dick lolling in a thick nest of pubic hair.
“Hey, Mart, morning. How’s the tiling going ?”
“Slow.”
Dylan smiled at him. “Sir.”
Mart gritted his teeth. “… Sir.”
“Here. Rub cream on me.” He held out an orange tube. Mart stared at it, frozen to the spot. “Here. Do it !”
Slowly, Mart took the tube and bent over the bed.
“No. Kneel on the floor. Get nice and comfortable.”
Mart obeyed and squirted cream onto his hand. He dabbed it onto Dylan’s chest and tentatively began rubbing it in.
Dylan smirked. “Don’t be embarrassed, Mart. Use some pressure.”
He started massaging it into Dylan’s skin and hairy chest. Dylan shut his eyes and sighed.
“She’s a good woman, your missus.”
Mart didn’t reply.
“Don’t get me wrong if I mainly focus on the sex. I also think she’s great in every area; interesting, witty, caring, and still very attractive. But sexually she’s the best I’ve had in a long while, Mart. Not because she’s a keen cock sucker or she loves anal. As you know, she doesn’t. But she’s so fucking horny and uninhibited. She has the juiciest, greediest cunt I’ve known.”
Mart squeezed another blob of cream and started doing Dylan’s legs.
“She cums so loudly and often. Makes a guy proud when he can do that to a chick, doesn’t it ?” Dylan opened one eye and squinted at him.
“Oh, I guess you wouldn’t know.”
There was a silence for about a minute, except for the occasional sounds of the workmen tiling below and the background hum of chirping crickets.
Mart had reached Dylan’s ankles. He’d done both his arms and legs.
“Do you w … want some on your face … Sir ?” he managed to ask.
“Do my groin first. Don’t want my dick burned. Kelly would hate that.”
He looked up at Mart, smiled casually and winked.
“Don’t be shy. It’s only a dick, mate. Flesh and blood.”
Jaw set hard, Mart put cream on his fingers and touched Dylan’s shaft. Dylan watched him, clearly amused, his dick starting to stir. There was a crusty residue at the base, evidently dried excess fluids from recent fucking.
“Mmm … that’s good. Rub it right in. Hey, if I ever manage to get Kel to take it up the butt, I’ll remember that you can do the lubing for us.”
The dick twitched, thickening. Mart jerked his fingers away.
“You want some on your face now ?” he enquired.
Dylan shook his head. “I’ll do my own face. You put loads more on my groin. Do my dick, balls, inner thighs, ass rim, the lot.” He shut his eyes and opened his legs, spreading his knees apart to give full access.
For several minutes, Mart covered every millimetre of Dylan’s clammy genitals. Eventually he finished. Dylan gleamed like a Roman wrestler.
“You remember Virginia ?”
Of course he remembered Virginia. His first proper girlfriend. Virgin by name, virgin by nature. He’d had such a crush on her.
“Yes, sure. Sir.”
Dylan smiled. “Married with two kids now. I bumped into her a few weeks ago.”
Mart nodded. He remembered the freckled teenage face, the pert boobs, spending long hours necking and trying to get his hands on her tits. He’d gone out with her for over six months but never got past second base. They had eventually split up and she’d got it together with an older boy.
Dylan was looking at him, watching him reminiscence.
“I fucked her, Mart.”
What ?
“Yep. All those years ago. I took her virginity Mart. She got so fed up waiting for you to push her. You never did. So she asked me to do it. Not in so many words of course. But she wanted it. We fucked several more times while she was still with you. We laughed about that when I saw her again.”
It was twenty five years ago but it stung as if it was yesterday.
Dylan smirked. “I’ve been cuckolding you for years mate.”
Mart stared unable to speak. His cheeks burnt.
“Go into the bedroom,” Dylan said, “and bring the black leather case from my bedside.”
He put the cream down in a daze and walked through the sliding doors. The room was plastered but still unpainted. There was a massive flat screen on the wall. The bed was a ruckus of crinkled sheets.
He picked up the black leather case and shook it.
Dylan twiddled his toes as Mart walked back out.
“I need a pedicure. Go fetch a bowl of hot water, soap and towels.”
When Kelly returned, she poked her sunglasses up onto her head and put the plastic shopping bags on the makeshift kitchen table.
Upstairs she found Dylan and Mart on the balcony. Dylan was lying on the sunbed and Mart was kneeling, filing his toenails. The leather manicure set was open on the ground along with a bowl of sudsy water.
“Hey, love. You get what you needed ?”
“I see you two have got better acquainted !”
“Oooh !” Dylan teased. “Bitch. Don’t be jealous. You can have one after me. Mart’s doing a lovely job !”
Kelly leaned down and kissed Dylan on his glistening forehead.
“Hot ?”
“Boiling.”
She peered over the railings at the men tiling. Then she pulled back and removed her cotton top over her head. She was wearing just a swimming set underneath and tiny shorts. She undid the strings of her bikini, allowing her boobs to tumble out.
“Nice.” Dylan said, reaching out to handle them.
Mart glanced up from Dylan’s feet.
“No looking.” Kelly admonished him. “Unless you’re invited.”
She pulled off her shorts, standing in just her black swimming thong. It was a Brazilian costume. A ‘fil dental’. Dental floss ! The whole thing was barely more than shoelaces linking a tiny triangular patch.
Dylan patted the sun bed next to him.
“Lie down. Shall I cream you ? Or do you want Mart to do it ?”
She smiled, settling down on the bed, lowering her sunglasses.
“You, please. I don’t want him touching my breasts any more.”
What is erotic ?
Mart knelt, listening to Kelly and Mart talking as if he wasn’t there. He filed Dylan’s toenails and buffed each one in turn.
Sometimes it’s easy to say, like when you are watching a woman slurp on your spurting dick, or you are hunched between her thighs licking her excited, fragrant nubbin until her hands scratch the headboard in orgasm.
Those sorts of moments are sensually erotic and the physical response in your genitals would tell you that, even if your brain didn’t.
For a submissive, other things that wouldn’t be exciting for the average vanilla are self-evidently erotic like the tug of velvet bonds or the slap of a hand on your butt. No dispute there.
But then there are the meats and poisons. The sub male who finds it erotic to be dressed as a baby and given a bottle of warm milk. Another sub male cannot see anything exciting about being ‘adult babied’. In fact, the idea is a turn-off, but instead he adores the look and feel of a woman’s stiletto heels. One sub’s meat is another sub’s poison. Mart found it exquisite agony to be cuckolded by Kelly and yet Nick would poison Naomi if she tried to do that to him.
Each to his, or her, own.
He waited patiently, head down, while Dylan sat on his sunbed and rubbed sun cream all over Kelly’s body. Eventually Dylan lay back down and pushed his unfinished, cheesy right foot back under Mart’s nose.
Take last night. Rationally, it wasn’t erotic. At the time, it hadn’t been remotely exciting. It was disgusting. He had despised Kelly for doing it. Had despised himself too.
And yet.
Now, the morning after the night before, what did he think ? The disgusting stink and taste, the nauseous reaction and instinctive urge to vomit were all gone. What remained ? A strange, overpowering buzz. It wasn’t the act itself. It was the totality of her domination and his submission. The subspace he had entered was complete. He was a ‘no limits’ slave.
And so here he was giving a pedicure to her boyfriend. Not just her boyfriend, as the others had been. His Master. There was no denying it. Was it erotic kneeling at this man’s feet ? Not really. It felt like last night had. He despised himself. He felt no response in his groin doing this. He was flaccid inside his Gerecke. But he was right at the limit of subspace, not knowing whether he would like to live like this for the remainder of his life, or whether he would have to walk away.
Kelly laid out a healthy meal of sardines, cheeses and fresh salads.
She found some leftovers in the fridge too. For Mart. She dumped them in a bowl and poured him a pint glass of chilled golden nectar. Gotta keep up your fluids !
The Portuguese crew were huddled under the shade of olive trees taking a lunchtime siesta. But the house was progressing well. Aside from knocking down a few walls and building the cellar, most of the work was only modernising and refurbishment; tiling, lighting, plumbing, plastering, painting. Dylan’s design kept the essence of the original artisan structure but blended it with high tech facilities and 21st Century comfort.
She reached for a bottle of chilled rose wine but decided against it.
No Kel’ dear, you’re drinking just a wee bit too much.
The problem about her new life with so much freedom, money and time on her hands was self-discipline. On the one hand she enjoyed the contrast with Mart’s forced labour, frequent exercise and strict, non-alcoholic regime, but on the other she’d always been proud of her own work ethic and self control. Her mom had brought her up to follow a simple folksy saying; just coz you could, doesn’t mean you should.
The long, cloudless days started to merge into each other. For Dylan and Kelly they were largely a holiday, punctuated by paperback novels, swims in the cleaned and warmed pool, and plenty of sun, snoozing and sex.
For Mart, the days comprised a basic diet of household chores and labouring alongside the Portuguese, interspersed with petty humiliations. But the evenings each featured a different idea designed to take him yet further down the path to abject servitude.
Dylan, in particular, loved to watch Mart masturbate himself to the brink without reaching orgasm. He would be their ‘entertainment’ over cocktails or dinner, while they drank and ate as the sun went down. Like most celibates, Mart found that so long as he didn’t get excited, the build up of testosterone and need in his loins produced a kind of tantric, positive energy.
But being unlocked and forced to stroke and pump his dick for their amusement, sending production signals to his testicles, and stirring the memories of just how good that longed-for-orgasm would feel, left him feeling negative and resentful afterwards. And hugely frustrated.
After the jacking off ordeal, Dylan had Mart doing nude exercises “to take his mind off his balls”. He would have to do jogging on the spot, press ups, stomach crunches and, worst of all, ‘star jumps’. Mart had to do endless repetitions of the humiliating jumps stretching his arms and legs wide, then to his sides again, while his dick and scrotum flapped around uselessly.
But at the end of their first week, Dylan came up with a new one, combining masturbation with exercise. He stretched three linked elastic bands tight across an open doorway at waist height. Then Mart was ordered to put his erection through the middle one and to start ‘fucking’ the elastic. The thin piece of rubber provided a small amount of friction as Mart stood in the doorway, thrusting his body backwards and forwards manically, teasing his shaft. It was enough to keep him hard and exasperated, but not sufficient for him to reach an orgasm.
“Come on Marty. Just one more minute. If you can make yourself cum in that time, then you’re allowed to spurt onto the floor.”
Yet another ‘game’ Dylan enjoyed was producing his set of poker dice and allowing Mart the chance to ‘throw an orgasm’. To do so, Mart had to throw five dice, one at a time, and they all had to come up aces. The odds of course, were tiny, but the theoretical possibility made it amusing, especially if Mart threw an ace with his first dice.
“Two chances, Mart.” Dylan joked. “Slim and none. But go for it.”
Each night, spreadeagled on a mattress in what was called Chantal’s bedroom, Mart lay awake. Yes, his insect bites itched, his limbs ached, his stomach growled and his dick was uncomfortable.
But it was his pride that hurt most.
This was all his own fault.
He knew he was near to breaking point.
It was strange. At times, he actually wanted everything that was being dished out to him. Maybe even more, worse, harder. But the moments of doubt were more frequent now, greater misgivings. There had been a beginning to all this - that sultry night back in July last year. There had been a middle - at Christmas, over New Year.
But what was to be the End ?
He lay there and thought about his career, his company. There had been a time in the mid-nineties when a competitor had targeted Mart and Kelly’s business and tried to undercut them. At first, he had accepted it, hoping that clients would remain loyal to his level of quality. But once the third major account had been lost, Mart had fought back.
He smiled in the dark. He knew he was at heart a mild mannered man, a decent guy. But still waters run deep. He planned. He didn’t pay himself anything for 18 months. He had slashed unnecessary costs and undercut the competition, ruthlessly winning back accounts and then taking theirs, until their bankers closed them down on Christmas Eve 1997.
Merry Christmas fuckers !
So he had to make a plan now. His favourite film of all time was The Shawshank Redemption, the story of a character called Andy Dufresne who plans and achieves his own redemption against the odds. Mart had to do the same and he had to show the same patience and fortitude. He was fearful of admitting to himself, and to Kelly, that he wanted his old life back. He had to hope that she felt the same way.
Fear can hold you prisoner. Hope can set you free.
In the meantime, like Andy, he’d just have to grin and bear it.
Naomi grinned and clicked the ‘Purchase Your Flight’ button.
Nick was clanking about in the kitchen doing the washing up. Her lips tightened in a frown of disapproval. It was 9.40 p.m. Pretty soon she’d have to put on her ‘Mistress de Sade face’ and give him a verbal and corporal thrashing of some sort or the other.
Truth was, she’d rather be curling up in bed with a camomile tea to watch the News at Ten. This whole domination thing was so … wearing. Yes, there were the illicit perks. She was acutely aware of the well used throbbing in her pussy, and maybe that was part of the reason she just wanted to watch TV now. But she wanted Nick to just accept his lot, not bloody well come seeking attention all the time.
Ten minutes later, he was bent before her clutching his ankles as she gave him a dozen crisp strokes of the cane across his bare ass. She ignored his pitiful mewls and hit him harder than she ought to have.
He kissed her feet, dick confined in his Exobelt.
“Fetch the key.”
He scurried back and she unlocked him. It had been nine days.
She sat in a chair and watched him, as he frantically knelt the other side of a glass coffee table and jerked himself off to the point of orgasm.
“M … may I c … cum, M … Mistress.” He mumbled, salivating.
She glanced at her watch. “Hurry.”
He spurted a line like liquid cocaine over the glass tabletop.
She gave him a slight, thin smile. “Now lap that up.”
She studied him as he licked away then got up and left the room.
If she was quick, she could still catch the start of the News from her bed.
On Easter Sunday, 8th April, they took off to the beach for the day. The short drive to the coast took 30 minutes in the slow holiday traffic.
Mart carried their picnic and towels across the crowded beach. Dylan and Kelly lay next to each other sporting bronzed tans and smart swimwear while Mart crouched, still pale in places, burnt red in others, blotchy with bites, wearing baggy canvas shorts. At least he had been allowed to remove his CB earlier that morning.
Kelly patted the edge of her towel with a relaxed smile.
“Here, Mart, Rub some cream on my back will you.”
He eagerly complied, enjoying the feel of his fingers on her skin. It had been days since he had touched her. She peeked up at him.
“Mmm … nice.”
“Hey,” Dylan objected mock-seriously “don’t get too familiar, huh ?”
She slapped at him playfully.
“Come on, Dyl. Don’t take this all too seriously.”
Mart carried on in silence, running his hands as sensuously and soothingly as he could, tracing his fingertips as near her inner thighs as he dared.
He wondered what was going on in his wife’s mind. She seemed to have gone through a period of embarrassment after the evening in her bathroom. She’d left him to Dylan’s whims. Yet now, he sensed she wanted to build bridges again.
Dylan was silent a while, perusing the crowded beach.
“Hey, Mart.”
“Yes … Sir.”
“What do you fancy ? Guys or girls ?”
“Girls, Sir.”
“See those two gay guys preening together.”
“Yes.”
“And that group of four chicks.”
Mart spotted a quartet of brunettes, of varying degrees of attractiveness. One was pretty, two okay, the fourth very plain. Not of them looked to be more than late teens, early twenties.
“Yes.”
“Prefer the girls, right ?”
He nodded.
Dylan threw him a towel, paperback and a coil of white lycra.
“Go set up your towel as near to those chicks as you can. Open the book and obey the instructions inside.” He exchanged grins with Kelly. “Enjoy, Mart.”
The local girls pretty much ignored him as he laid down his towel. He caught one out the corner of his eye looking a little teed off that he was no more than five feet from her. To his other side there was an older husband and wife type couple and there were several other people nearby. Most of the sand was covered by sunbathers all the way down to the shoreline.
He sat down on the towel and opened the paperback.
‘Hi Mart. Turn to page 11’ was written in black biro.
He turned the pages.
‘Time to change. Stand up on your towel and remove your shorts. Then put on your new white racers. Take your time. Put on a show !’
Mart froze. Carefully he examined the coil of thin white lycra. It was the most meagre male swimming costume he’d ever seen.
He looked about him in a daze. Nobody was paying him any attention, other than he could sense Dylan and Kelly watching from further up the beach. The girls alongside him were engrossed in animated conversation.
With a sigh of resignation, he slowly stood up on his towel. Being a good Catholic country, nudity is not allowed in Portugal but people turn a blind eye to a quick change of costume.
He looked around, seeking a moment when there were no eyes looking in his direction. The instruction said take his time, put on a show, but he thought he could debate what was slow enough afterwards. Shutting his eyes in a silent plea, he undid the top button of his shorts, ripped down the zip, and pulled them down.
His heart was hammering. He rushed and tripped, staggering onto the sand. Suddenly he saw that the nearest girl to him was staring, mouth open. He kicked off the shorts and sought the leg holes of the white lycra trunks.
He blushed, realising what he looked like. An adult in his forties, pale and insect bitten, with a completely shaved pubic area. Now all four girls were looking at him, along with several other people. Somehow he managed to shrug, a gesture combining apology and nonchalance. The damn trunks had snagged in his toes, slowing him down.
One of them twisted her head to look away, but the other three started to laugh. It was like a slow motion scene from a horror movie; first their lips twisted, gradually they formed smiles, teeth flashed white, and then the snort of suppressed mirth. Finally, they broke into giggles.
He pulled the trunks up and somehow noticed in his haze the ‘s’ on the label. They had bought him small size ! He tugged as hard as he could and managed to get the stretchy material over his skin and up to his waist.
They were really only a white thong. What he’d heard referred to as a ‘banana hammock’. The waistband didn’t reach up to his waist and the leg holes were cut obscenely high on his thighs.
He stood there, beetroot red and deep breathing, as gradually the twenty or so pairs of eyes that had been watching him averted their gaze.
Feeling his eyes watering, Mart sat heavily back down on the towel.
Nick presented the big box to Naomi. It was wrapped in shiny red paper.
She shrugged. “You shouldn’t have. I didn’t get you anything.”
He opened his palms. “You didn’t need to.”
Inside was a large chocolate Easter Egg with a card.
On the front, there was a cartoon of a man dressed in a maid’s uniform doing the vacuuming, while a woman lounged on the sofa eating chocolates.
She smiled at him. “Thanks Nick.”
He nodded. “The card seemed appropriate.”
“Where’s her lover ?”
He frowned a moment, until she gave him a crooked grin, unwrapping the paper from an end of the egg.
“Only joking darling.”
He exhaled. Kelly was a bad influence on his wife.
“It really is a hard limit for you, isn’t it ?” she said, slightly wistfully.
He nodded again. “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure why he was sorry, but he figured an apology wouldn’t hurt.
She broke off some chocolate and popped a piece in her mouth.
“No worries, Nick. I much prefer chocolate to sex anyway !”
Mart lay on the towel in his ridiculous trunks.
He reopened the book.
‘Well done !’ was written on page 13. They’d known he’d do it.
‘Now think naughty thoughts and stroke your bulge until you get an erection. Then make a pass at one of your neighbours.’
He swallowed. This was going too far. But he steeled himself anyway.
He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the prettiest of the four girls. She was slightly horsy-looking but with lovely brown eyes and a lush mane of brunette hair. Her coltish body was slim yet curved in the right places.
He imagined her sitting on his face and sucking his dick in a classic 69. Surreptitiously, he ran his finger along the ridge of his lycra trunks.
He felt his body responding. His shaft slowly thickened. He squeezed his eyes tight and then opened them.
The girl was looking at him, a horrified scowl on her face.
He winked.
There was a flurry of Portuguese he didn’t understand. She was talking to her friends. They started seizing up their stuff, ready to relocate.
Suddenly Dylan was there, like Superman copping the bad guy. He spoke a mix of Portuguese and English to the girls, calming them down.
Mart got a load of sand kicked in his face as Dylan pushed him away.
“I’m sorry.” He said. “Please. Por favor. Sit back down. My friend is …” Dylan made the international sign of twirling his index finger at his head.
Mart lay there, too embarrassed and horrified to defend himself.
“Come.” Dylan said, pulling him up. “Leave these poor young ladies alone. Bring your book and towel.”
Mart watched them slowly sitting back down, as he skulked away.
Nick was downstairs when he heard the phone ringing.
The familiar tone of Naomi’s cell came from the hall. She’d left her handbag on the table while she took a quick shower. He ignored it.
But a minute later it rang again. He called upstairs.
“Nao !”
The noise of the shower pump and water jets was just audible.
He ferreted in her bag and pulled out the cell.
“Hallo ?”
There was a pause. Then the line went dead. Number withheld.
He frowned. There are moments in your life when you see the future. Nick sometimes knew that his beloved Manchester United were going to lose a match even before the game was played. As a student, he’d once won several hundred pounds at roulette because he just knew for certain that number ‘13’ was coming up next. Right now, he felt a cold, clammy shiver up his spine.
He heard Naomi still washing in the shower.
He couldn’t stop himself. He pressed a couple of buttons and pulled up the Call Register. Then he selected ‘dialled numbers’. He scrolled through. Most were identified as names from the Contacts List; her mum, Kelly, other girlfriends, himself, a few random numbers. Then one identified as Jxxx. The most recent time she had dialled the number was 11.27 that morning. While he had been doing housework and Naomi had been out in the garden.
Fingers clumsy, he selected ‘received calls’. The call that he had just answered was from Jxxx ! He quickly checked ‘missed calls’. The one before he hadn’t answered had also been from Jxxx.
Nick shut his eyes.
He heard the water go silent and the shower door opening.
Now or never.
He hit the green phone, watched the word ‘calling’ appear and the number on the display. His heart was hammering. The phone rang twice.
“Hi !” Said an excited voice.
He didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak.
“Nao ?”
It was male, vaguely familiar, and clearly on close terms with his wife.
He raised his arm high and then very deliberately threw the phone at the antique, gilt framed mirror in the hall. A gift from Naomi’s parents. It shattered into a million shards. Just like his heart.
He knew that voice.
Jack.
When they returned from the beach, the contractor gave them a big, gold-toothed grin. Dylan handed him an envelope of ‘overtime cash’. The cellar was finished.
It was a piece of art. A twelve feet by twelve feet square room, by twelve feet high, made of rock, concrete and a rubber liner on the floor, walls and ceiling. It was as safe as a padded cell, virtually sound proof, certainly escape proof.
There were – for the moment anyway – no wine bins. No wine even. The solitary items of furniture were a flat screen monitor mounted on the wall, and an adjustable St. Andrew’s ‘x’ cross, secured to the floor and set at a convenient angle.
An hour later, Mart was spread eagled naked on the wooden cross, his wrists, chest, waist and ankles all secured by nylon cord.
Kelly smiled at him, reached out to stroke his naked nipples, his uncaged dick. She had been waiting for this moment for weeks.
“Don’t worry, my love. We won’t forget you down here. You won’t die.”
She idly cupped his balls in her fingers, weighing their frustration. How long had it been since Mart had orgasmed ? She had no idea. Weeks ? Months ? She felt like an ex-smoker who suddenly realises that the habit is history.
“But you will suffer, Mart. This is your big test. I know you’ve been wondering how much more you can take. I can see it in your lovely green eyes. Well, it’s like the Gerecke. Sometimes you need help going beyond what you think you are capable of. So think of your time down here in this cell as being like a chastity device for your whole body.”
She slowly eased her fingernails away from teasing his scrotum.
“For your mind too. Goodbye, my love. Have fun down here !”
There were narrow stone steps on the side wall, up to a hatch. She walked up slowly, enjoying the sense of his eyes on her retreating legs.
“Kel’.” She heard him croak. “How lo … long ?”
She smiled and put her index finger to her lips. “Ssshhh …”
The closing of the hatch automatically opened four air vents. The cellar was highly sophisticated. There was an air quality detector, water supply, plumbing, microphones, cameras and lights. But Kelly left Mart in the dark to ponder on what she’d said.
She pulled a small rug and bedside table over the hatch door, rendering it invisible. Then she smiled at Dylan who was lying on the bed.
“Come here.” He said, blowing her a kiss.
She lay down next to him.
“Just the two of us.”
He turned and kissed her. “The beach was funny.”
She sighed. “Kind of.”
He made a face. “Sorry.”
She kissed him back. “Don’t worry. It’s just I’ve been looking forward to this. I find it difficult sometimes, keeping my head straight. It’s not easy you know … two men.”
Dylan reached out to fondle her breasts, sliding his palm down her thigh.
“What do you want ?”
She shrugged. “Time.”
“Time ?”
She felt her body softening, relaxing, responding. “Mmm …”
“You want to stick to the plan ?”
“Yesssss …” she sighed.
“Want to give him a show ?”
“More than that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Meaning ?”
“Please do me in the ass, Dyl’. Now. I want to try it. Make Mart watch me give you something he’s never had. Never will have.”
“Wow, Kel’. You sure ?”
“As eggs are eggs. Do me. Before I change my mind !”
Mart was not exactly uncomfortable, but he was hardly relaxing either.
Then suddenly the 16:9 monitor in front of him flickered to life. It took a couple of seconds but he realised he was looking at the bedroom above his head; Kelly and Mart’s room. Their bed.
His wife was lying in the centre of the bed with her legs splayed up in the air above her head. Dylan was holding her calves, thrusting gently between her thighs.
Hidden speakers crackled into life and then he could hear every sound as if they were in the cellar with him. Loud and clear.
“Yes … yes … yes …” Kelly was chanting.
“Mmmmmmmmm …” Dylan chorused in a continuous moan.
Kelly’s tits were bouncing from side to side.
“Oh it’s so fuuuul …” she shrieked, “… my ass.”
Mart did a double take. He tilted his head to look at a different angle.
“Your virgin ass.” Dylan hissed. “All mine.”
It was true. He could see that now.
Kelly was doing something that she’d said she would never do.
Just as Dylan was in the throes of his orgasm, the phone rang.
“Leave it.” He grimaced.
But Kelly hadn’t been able to ignore the phone since Chantal was born. A mother’s instinct. She twisted her head to look at her cell which was lying sideways on the bedside table. The Caller Display said ‘Naomi’.
She felt Dylan’s dick twitching, filling the condom. They didn’t use rubbers usually but this time was for hygienic reasons not safe sex. It was strange being unable to feel his hot fluid. To be honest, anal sex had been a bit of a let down. Not as bad as she’d feared and not as exciting as she’d hoped.
What was that strapline from Mart’s favourite movie ? Fear can keep you prisoner but hope can set you free.
She wondered what he’d thought watching her on the monitor.
The phone finally stopped ringing and voicemail clicked in.
She’d call Naomi back later.
After all, it was unlikely to be anything important.
End of Part Ten