We returned home to Saturday’s post, although we didn’t see the letters in our letterbox until the following morning.
“Ben did well,” I said as I woke my partner with breakfast in bed.
She reached for her phone, loading the results of the prison event. “Fuck!” She squealed. “Nineteen seconds. Jesus wept. The boy was seriously motivated!”
“That’s nineteen pictures. You’ll be sending a package, not a letter. Oh, and he’s written to you.” My partner sneered at me as she took the white envelope, her bowl of muesli and cup of coffee from the tray, and I slid into bed beside her.
“He must have written this before he did his run!” she said, as she read out his letter.
Dear Renée,
If I do not beat my personal best on Saturday, then I think I will leave the prison in a body bag! Half the ward has offered to help with my training, and I am aiming for 23:15, at least. That feels achievable. Each letter you send brings a smile to my face, and every photograph is a sheer delight. You make each day better.
You said I need to describe what I want to do to you. I hope this is not too inappropriately explicit, but I have tried to do justice to what you have demanded.
I’d love to kiss every square inch of your body, rolling my tongue over your curves and push my finger into your wet pussy. I’d enjoy tasting you and then press the head of my cock into you. It would be the best day of my life, as I feel you squeeze me, bringing me towards my peak. And when I climax, I’ll cum deep inside you, and watch as it drips out onto your thighs.
I love that you sometimes think about me. You consume my thoughts and those of so many men here. I’ve re-read every letter a hundred times and examined every picture. I can’t stop staring at your nude photographs. You look incredible in black lingerie, and your naked body makes me hard instantly. Your breasts are amazing, and if I ever have a girlfriend who is even 1% as beautiful, as intelligent and as much fun, then I have lucked out and turned my life around.
And I’ve been fantasising about you since the first run, and I can’t describe how much I want to pleasure you, worshipping your body, exploring every inch with my hands and mouth.
I know you have your boyfriend, and he is the luckiest man in the universe, but in my imagination and fantasies, it’s me you are teasing and enjoying. You’re so fucking sexy, Renée. I can’t stop thinking and dreaming about you, and I’d give anything to have a few hours with you.
You said you wanted to know if I wank while fantasising about you or looking at your photographs. Yes. Every night. And most mornings. My days are spent training for my run, studying, preparing for my release from prison and wanking. The picture in the bar is crazy and wild. I loved it so much. It’s so confident.
I am confident about Saturday. I have the image on the finish line of you, waiting naked for me to finish. And I need to get to you as soon as I can.
Horniest regards,
Ben
“Do you know what you have unleashed?” I asked, and she shrugged.
“He’s horny. And it is kinda sweet. It’s a pity you don’t want to do a bit of swinging, because I’m certain he and Poppy would be well up for a session.”
I hummed. Although I grasped Renée’s logic, we both had experienced infidelity from partners before, making me reluctant to share my amazing girlfriend. But fuel her exhibitionism, I would do. “So, when do you get the photos from the shoot?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, and messaged a couple of her friends. “Lucille said she should have them this week. Apparently, there are thousands. Which makes sense; there were three cameramen and four hours.” She sighed, tapping at her keyboard. Her phone pinged immediately. “Ah, Poppy has agreed I can send those of us two together.”
“What?”
She showed me her messaging app and the message she had sent: Hey Poppy. You know how you said you loved how I was a pen pal with a cute prisoner. I want to send him a photo of you from the photoshoot? I know he’ll adore it and fantasise about you. What do you say? Lots of love, your favourite lesbian kisser.
“You’ll still be short a few.”
Renée pouted. “I’ll find some. Maybe I can pick a couple from each set I wore.”
I argued and advocated for the jailbird lusting after my partner. And his right to see more of my girlfriend’s body. Why did I want and encourage my partner to flaunt herself more and exhibit herself fuller? “That’s not fair on Ben,” I said. “He’s run nineteen seconds quicker. You should make much more of an effort!”
“I have some work to do today!”
“Do it later. Let’s have a bit of fun taking pictures!” So, Renée and I went to London with a picnic for the day. She wore a simple summer dress, and we took the train and a bottle of wine to Hyde Park. Despite it being busy, we found a secluded spot, and my lover sat on the grass with her legs spread out.
“Take some photos,” she commanded, sliding the dress down to expose her breasts and then bunching it higher to showcase her slit. It was daring and sexy, capturing the swell of her bosom in the dappled sunlight through the shade.
And we were not alone. A man from a picnicking couple looked up, just as Renée flashed herself at me, and smiled at him. Renée’s fingers teased the hem higher, his expression shifting from surprise to excitement. She arched her back, letting the sun warm her bare skin, then rolled onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. The dress pooled around her waist, leaving her backside exposed. “Tom, take another,” she murmured, winking at the ogling guy now openly watching.
It was tense and exciting; his girlfriend hadn’t noticed yet, too engrossed in her book, and Renée lifted her hips slightly, shifting her thighs apart just enough to tease. The man stared, not pretending to hide his obvious enjoyment of Renée’s exhibitionism. Enjoying the view.
She attired herself a little better, and we ate our picnic, sharing our wine. We discovered a small park on the south bank, and Renée stripped off completely for thirty seconds, standing in the flowers and bushes, as I took a battery of images.
She also found the penultimate day of a CLOSING DOWN SALE of a women’s clothing store, and she bought a tight top that showed the bumps of her nipples. Standing on the banks of the Thames, now bottomless, looking across the water at the mother of parliaments, showing her bare buttocks to the camera was a racy, sexy picture.
We returned home, and while I edited the pictures from the day, Renée wrote to her pen pal.
Dear Ben,
Your PB is just amazing. You must have worked really, really hard to meet that time, and I’m more than a little proud of you. As promised, I will include twenty photographs with my letter. Nineteen for the personal best, and one for the absolute filth that I read earlier today.
Along with some friends, we had a boudoir photo shoot. The other woman in the pictures is my friend Poppy, and she is desperate for a threesome with me. I love my boyfriend but she kisses so well. You can see she has a nice, tidy pussy, and I want to bury my face in it. It’s enough to turn a straight girl rampantly bisexual!
Firstly, the boudoir shoot. There are multiple pictures of me naked, stripping, in my lingerie, swimwear, a French maid-style outfit and a dominatrix costume. Do you want to be disciplined, Ben? How naughty have you been? You’re in prison, so I’d say very! Some domme should give you a thorough spanking. Would you like that?
I also wore the French Maid for my friend’s private party and flashed everyone there. They loved it! I wanted someone to lie me on the grass and use me, and I nearly got lucky with Poppy! I’ve enclosed some pictures of me at Hyde Park and on the South Bank. It was exhilarating and daring, and risky. Strangers watched me, and got flashes of bare skin, and I knew they craved more. The man in the photo? He saw an eyeful when his girlfriend wasn’t looking. I could tell he was imagining bending me over the picnic blanket.
The thought of you reading this, stroking yourself twice daily while staring at my pictures makes me so wet and horny. That you are dreaming of a rampant evening is so much fun. But as you sent me a little fantasy of yours, let me send one back.
I want you to imagine me with my boyfriend and you with Poppy. We’re naked in a large hotel room, curtains open, champagne chilling, music playing. Poppy’s eager mouth is on your prick as my hands explore your body and then we trade, warming you up nicely. My boyfriend’s fingers slide inside me—slow at first, then faster—as I arch against him, moaning. Your eyes meet mine as I push you onto the bed and mount you, sliding my wet pussy onto your bare dick.
I’m going to ride you, Ben, my tits bouncing, as I roll my hips over your cock, watching my boyfriend sodomise the cute little slut who fluffed you. She’ll eat the cum from my dirty cunt when you blow your fucking load. And us two girls will be on call for the entire night, servicing your prick every time you want to screw. In any hole. Take turns.
Think you can handle that, Ben?
Think you can satisfy a pair of dirty nymphomaniacs?
Now, onto next week. Since you’ve been so good, I’m attending a gala for our company charity on Sunday. The dress is backless, slit to the hip, and held together by sheer luck. If you shave another second or more from your time, I’ll send you a photo of what’s underneath it—or rather, what isn’t.
Don’t think I hadn’t noticed in your reply that you were preparing for your release. When are you getting out? What are you studying and going to achieve?
Sauciest regards,
Renée.
She read the letter to me, looking for my response. “Too much?”
“Yes,” I said. “But it’s perfect. You know how to really surprise him?” She shrugged. “Do the prison run again.”
She hummed. “But it is a long way away. I can’t visit next weekend as we have the Cancer Kids event. Could go the following Saturday. Should I tell him?”
“No. Just turn up. Give him a ninety-second head start and then race him to the finish line!”
Renée’s eyes darkened, and her fingers tapped the edge of the paper, smirking. “You’re evil,” she murmured. “But I love it.”
She gulped as she put her letter to the side, waiting for the photographs from her photo shoot. “I know you are desperate to introduce another person into our bedroom,” I said. “But …” My hands gripped the hot cup of coffee. “… as sexy and horny as the fantasy is. And it fucking is. I don’t want to repeat what happened with my ex. Plus, I don’t know how my body will react to someone else. Whether I will perform.”
Renée looked up at me. “Poppy’s cute. I want a threesome with her before we go to a full-on orgy.” She coughed. “And we head off to Cap D’Agde soon. We need to be ready for that.”
“We aren’t swinging on holiday or hunting for threesomes.”
Renée shrugged. “I was going to see how the mood took us. It may happen if we both want it. Or not.” Her fingers touched my chest. “Now leave those thoughts alone for a minute and come with me to our bedroom.”
Renée really was insatiable, and her 10km-a-day run, her career, and her demand for sex became part of her daily routine.
And continued to be for a couple of days, furthering her incessant need for sexual gratification. On Tuesday, she came home excited and downloaded five gigabytes of pictures from a shared storage facility, ordering two of every image from the local printers on their “rush service” along with those from our trip to London. Our photo printer wouldn’t do justice to the work of the amazing photographers. Her mail to Ben entered the first-class post on Wednesday lunchtime, before travelling away to Munich for two days, returning on Friday teatime.
A swanky, upmarket hotel in Manchester hosted the charity gala. We dressed in formal evening wear. Renée looked stunning in a lacy black dress with two impossibly high slits up her waist, off the shoulder sleeves and a plunging back line. “See anything you like?” she teased, spinning slowly—the ensemble clinging to every curve before flaring slightly at her hips. The fabric gripped her skin as she moved, with the lace effect on the translucent material showing her lack of underwear. Sexy, eye-catching, and elegant; my girlfriend made a statement.
She always did.
“Remarkable,” I murmured, pressing my palm against her bare back—hot skin under my fingertips. She arched into my touch, exhaling softly. “You know everyone will stare at you.”
Renée grinned, adjusting the slit that showed a dangerous amount of thigh. “Good.” Her fingers brushed mine as she turned, the fabric sliding against my wrist. “But not quite. Because Angelica and India and Nel from my team were looking for dresses on their work computers last month. So after bollocking them for wasting work time, I said I’d buy their outfits from the site they chose because they’re representing the company. It’s made abroad but sent to the UK. So I took their sizes, and I ordered them what I thought they should wear.” Her lips curled into a smirk. “They’ll look fabulous. Angelica has already complained, but Graeme, the CEO, is here tonight and they need to make a positive impression.”
She showed me three pictures on her phone. A similar, high-slit garment to hers, with sequined black fabric. A green dress with a corseted waist and a bright orange, intricate number. “Angelica’s will be backless and India’s will be low-cut and see-through at the front, while Nel’s will be ass-huggingly tight. My girls are going to be the talk of the town!”
I held out my hand to my date, and we walked from our hotel room, her heels tapping faintly on the hotel carpet as we headed out of our room and into the hallway. “Oh, Ben didn’t beat his time. He was a few seconds out.”
Renée muttered. “Shame. But at some point he’s going to stop making big gains.” She paused as we waited for the lift, her fingers tightening around mine. “Unless …” Her lips curved into that dangerous smile I knew too well. “Maybe I need to incentivise him differently.”
The doors slid open, and we stepped inside. “I think you have to accept that not everyone can go faster every week. You’ve pushed him and he obviously couldn’t quite get quicker.”
She hummed as the carriage descended. “Imagine if I told him I’d visit him in person if he breaks 22 minutes. Just me. In the visitation room. Skirt. No panties.” Her breath hitched. “I would uncross my legs slowly. Let him see everything. A hug too.”
“Probably against the rules somewhere,” I remarked as we entered the hotel’s opulent lobby. The slit in her dress parted as she walked, flashing her thigh.
Renée scoffed, adjusting the fabric. “Since when has that stopped me?”
It didn’t. The charity gala was an enormous success. Soap stars came, and the company raised a six-figure sum for their associated partner. Her staff looked wonderful in their dresses, and Renée wasn’t even close to being the most scandalously dressed.
She was prominent within the business and couldn’t afford any whiff of scandal, so it was probably for the best. The CEO had a frank, cheery discussion with Renée and Angelica in the ballroom’s corner, and then, when the dancing started, Renée’s younger protegee tangoed with the ageing chief executive.
“He’s retiring at the end of the year,” my partner reminded me. “So Terry, the COO, is stepping up and I want his position,” she explained. “And Angelica gets my old job. And India is in the running for Angelica’s.”
“That’s quite a reshuffle.”
Renée pouted, swirling her wine. “Terry’s known for months. It was between me and Richard for the COO position, but Richard’s moving to United, so he’s on garden leave. I’ve been prepping Angelica since Dubai.” Her gaze flicked to where the elegant woman finished her dance. “I want so much to get out of this dress.”
We stayed for another hour, but as the gala unwound after the auction, we walked towards the lift, standing behind Angelica and her boyfriend. The red-headed, lithe woman introduced her partner to her boss, and Renée greeted him. “I’ve got a bottle of Prosecco in my room,” she said. “You’re welcome to join us.”
“I just wanna get out of this dress,” Angelica remarked. “It’s tight.”
“I know. Men wear suits, and they’re fitted for comfort. Our stuff, we can barely eat a piece of garlic bread without the seams creaking!” She cleared her throat. “You’re welcome to get a drink with me. I have relief from tight clothing. For both of us.” Her partner nudged Angelica in the ribs; he tried to be subtle, but we both saw it, and Renée shot me that look.
At our floor, the young protegee hesitated. “We’ll take you up on that drink,” her boyfriend said without saying a word to his partner and steered her out of the lift. Renée’s fingers dug into my hand excitedly.
Our room was immaculate, and we had a couple of bottles of Prosecco in the fridge. “Pour the wine,” she said, rifling through her suitcase. My partner pulled Angelica into the bathroom, holding two items of fabric, and I heard a shriek and laughter from behind the door.
Renée had brought a pair of nighties with her. Both were short, and she wore a black negligee, while her staff member had a white silk nightdress that barely reached her upper thigh. “I always bring two. But they are so much more comfortable than those evening gowns,” she said, taking a glass of wine from me and flopping onto the bed. “But only one is my size. So, young lady, are you going to take the job if and when they offer it?”
The poor woman was stunned in so many ways. During the evening, her boss’s boss had offered her a secret promotion. In the last five minutes, she had entered her boss’s hotel suite, changed into a sexy nightdress and looked directly at her manager sitting on her mattress as the rest of the group sat on armchairs.
Angelica gulped, clutching her glass like a lifeline. “I—I hadn’t even considered refusing,” she admitted, her gaze flicking to Renée’s bare thighs where the negligee rode up. “But I didn’t realise you’d been grooming me for the role.”
Renée stretched, the black fabric pulling taut across her breasts. “Honey, you’ve been running many of my projects with minimal oversight since Geneva. The Dubai presentation just sealed it. I could have stayed at home and we’d have got what we wanted. You fucking aced it.” She took a slow sip of wine, her eyes dancing over the rim. “Though if you’d worn this in the boardroom, Graeme would’ve signed off immediately.”
Angelica blushed. “How long have you known?”
“Thursday or Friday. When they sounded me out for the operations gig, I asked about my succession and recommended you. They already had you marked for the role.” She turned to Angelica’s boyfriend; his eyes had traced the line of Renée’s thighs to the apex and hadn’t moved since. Although I could tell Angelica trimmed her pubes and had a pierced nipple. “Your other half is about to get a two hundred per cent pay rise, company car, flights budget. The works. And she’s going to be on the executive committee. Seriously impressive promotion.”
He nodded, his eyes glancing upwards to see Renée’s coy smile. “She deserves it,” he said, voice stilted and thick. “She works hard.”
“Indeed, she does. Fully merited and deserved. And sealed with a very uncomfortable evening dress. But one that really accentuated her youthful figure.”
Angelica nodded. “Yeah. The seam was tight.”
I poured our guests more of the Prosecco as the two women chatted about work. Angelica’s boyfriend was a mechanic, and there was reticence in his voice at how well his partner was doing. She already brought in three times his salary, and with her new promotion, his wage would be little more than beer money in comparison.
I understood how he felt; Renée out-earned me by a much larger margin, and I could never afford to live in the house we called home if it was just my salary.
But as they drank and fidgeted, both Angelica and Renée’s nightwear rode higher. I pretended not to notice, but both of our guests had an excellent view of my girlfriend’s shaven slit. “Pass the chocolates,” she demanded, gesturing to the box of treats we’d brought earlier in the day. She stretched for it, spreading her legs a little further as she took them from me.
Obscene. Delicious. Plausibly accidental.
Renée’s thighs parted further as she popped a chocolate between her lips, the hem of the black silk now around her waist. Angelica’s gaze flickered downward before snapping back up to meet her boss’s wide smile, savouring the artisan treat. “I love these,” she said. “So creamy. It’s a lovely, smooth texture in the mouth.” The mechanic’s eyes never left Renée as she passed him the box of expensive candies.
“Thanks,” he muttered, taking the tray from her.
“You need to get a ring on this girl’s finger,” she teased. “And do whatever she says to keep her happy. She’s going to be running the company before she reaches forty. Because she has got everything.”
Angelica blushed, shifting slightly as her lover nodded.
“She’s so smart, incredibly diligent, well organised, unbelievably popular, determined, and doesn’t take any shit whatsoever. Plus, she looks fabulous in a decent evening gown and even carries off a silk nightdress while sharing a bottle or two of wine.”
Angelica coughed. “I was terrified that I’d be in trouble when you caught me looking at dresses online.”
Renée’s laughter was genuine. “Please. You think I don’t know how many extra hours you give the company? You earned ten minutes of retail therapy.” She stretched again, deliberately this time. “Besides,” Renée purred, “how else would I know your measurements when I bought the silk nighties?”
Angelica’s expression changed to one of slight confusion. “Pardon?”
Renée’s smile deepened. “Size six dress, 32C bra,” she murmured. “Though I suspect you are closer to a D now. That green corset was fighting for its life earlier. I knew I needed to get your size nightdress for our after-gala chat.” Her gaze slid to the mechanic and held up her glass of Prosecco. “Oh, and you’re welcome, by the way.” Angelica’s boyfriend choked on his wine, his cheeks turning crimson as he realised what Renée was explaining to them. “I knew we’d need to chat, and you’d want to get out of evening gowns. The dresses look fabulous, but they’re horrible to wear.”
“So this isn’t you buying the wrong size nightdress, but my size?” Angelica said, gripping the white negligee.
“Yes, although I didn’t realise it would be so short. Sorry about that. Although your boy doesn’t seem to mind quite so much!” She gestured at her exposed crotch. “And mine’s a bit risque too! But better than spending another hour in the bar talking about work, drowning in fabric. Eh? And I don’t think the men in our lives will complain too much about our nightwear being a little too sexy.”
Angelica glanced at her boyfriend, who was staring at Renée on the bed, mouth agape. She chuckled and stretched again, deliberately pushing the hem of her negligee higher before covering herself. “Ah, sorry,” she murmured, not sounding apologetic at all.
The mechanic coughed, adjusting his trousers awkwardly, and Renée looked at her watch. “We better get going,” he remarked.
“Oh, it’s nearly 11pm. The best thing about this hotel is the beds. The mattresses are divine.” Her eyes met Angelica’s. “I am sure you two will have a wonderful night and so as it is getting late, and we’ve had a long day, I’ll see you in the morning at breakfast.”
Angelica stood, the white silk clinging to her hips, her boyfriend’s gaze flickering between the pair of professional women. Renée stretched again, pretending to yawn as she performed a languid, smooth movement. Letting the black silk slip dangerously high before tugging it down with a smirk. “Night, you two.”
The door clicked shut behind them, and Renée exhaled dramatically, flopping back onto the pillows. “That was fun.” Her fingers traced the hem of her negligee, eyes glinting. “Did you see how hard he was staring? Poor guy looked like he might combust. Photograph me, and then fuck me,” she demanded. “And then photograph me again.”
I reached for my phone, capturing her as she arched her back, one hand trailing down her stomach. The shutter clicked just as her fingertips dipped beneath the silk, bunching the fabric around her waist. “Tell me,” she murmured, spreading her knees wider, “would you have fucked her? Right here, with me watching?”
The camera clicked again—her exposed slit, her ruffled hair. “No,” I lied smoothly, zooming in on her expression.
Renée laughed, hooking a finger under the strap of her negligee. “Liar.” The fabric slid down her shoulder as she rolled onto her stomach, ass raised provocatively. “You kept adjusting your pants every time she moved. I saw. I know you wanted her, and that’s OK. I do too. But I can’t have her because it’s work. But she looked so sexy in that white nightdress. Her boy’s in for a fucking treat tonight.” She glanced over to me. “Does she shave down there?”
“No. Trimmed,” I replied as I lined up her next photograph and she squealed.
“See! I know you were looking!” Renée twisted onto her back. “I bet he’s already got her against their hotel bedroom wall,” she mused, dragging a finger down her sternum. “Hands under that little white slip, finding out she’s bare under it too. Wonder if she’ll moan loud enough for next door to hear.” Her fingers dipped into her slit and she beckoned me towards her.
I undressed; my cock slid into her wetness effortlessly. We had both been teased all evening, and she panted as I thrust deep within her.
Her thighs clamped around my waist. “Harder,” she cried, staring into my eyes. “Do me like you wanted to fuck her.” She twisted beneath me, arching her back, black lace stretched taut over her breasts, and I obeyed, driving into her with punishing strokes. Renée’s moans pitched higher, nails scratching on my flesh. “Yes, oh God, yes, just like that!”
“Tell me,” she gasped, “that you imagined her like this, spread out, wet and so horny!” Her words dissolved into a whimper as I pinned her wrists above her head. Her hips rolled with every thrust, and I stared into her eyes.
“Oh, she craved me. She kept fidgeting, looking directly at me, making her nightdress ride higher. As you flashed your cunt to her boy, she did the same to me. And now you’re fucking me like you wanted to fuck her boyfriend. Aren’t you?”
The black negligee clung to her sweaty skin, the fabric slipping further down her shoulders. Her breasts were barely contained in the silky garment. “You imagined watching us,” she demanded, her voice breaking as I angled deeper. “Just as you dreamt of fucking that little slut.”
I panted. “Yeah. Of course I did!”
Renée squealed, shrieking as she danced on the precipice of her orgasm. “Harder,” she gasped, trembling underneath me. “Ruin me like you wanted to ruin her.” I obeyed, slamming into her with reckless abandon; each thrust punctuated by the wet slap of skin on skin and the desperate pants of two ravenous libidos. Her thighs trembled, her body tightening around me as she came with a shuddering cry. “Fuck,” she whimpered.
But I couldn’t stop. I chased my peak, and slammed harder and deeper into her, breathless as my lust surged from within me and painted her insides with my cum. Renée gasped, biting her lower lip as she felt me empty inside her. “God, yes,” she whispered, savouring the sensation. “Fill me up.”
I pulled out, and we shared a shower before rolling into bed, cuddling up together. She reached for her phone with a lazy smirk, her fingers brushing against the screen. “Angelica just texted,” she murmured, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “Thanks for tonight. We think you’re the best boss ever.” With a winking emoji. She laughed, tossing her device onto the nightstand. “I reckon her boy worked her over good.”
I cupped her breast. “And you’ll never know, will you?” Renée hummed. “She is truly a forbidden fruit.”
We saw Angelica and the rest of the company for breakfast, and then they decamped to the Manchester office for the day. I logged into my employment remotely, and we returned home that evening.
My girlfriend got another invitation to the prison run that weekend, and on Thursday, she received a handwritten reply from Ben.
Dear Renée,
Your last letter nearly broke me. Those pictures were incredible and wonderful. Poppy is sexy, but I think you are just amazingly beautiful. I’d love to see you act on your bisexuality with her. The boudoir shoots were eye-watering and you two together looked so delicious.
But the favourite has to be in the dominatrix outfit. I nearly came the moment my eyes saw that and read your letter. And I do not know if I could ever manage one nymphomaniac! But I’d enjoy trying!
I am, however, disappointed that I failed to beat my personal best. I didn’t warm up properly before I started, and every step was heavier than before. I struggled, and I felt down when I got my time. It shouldn’t be like that, but I didn’t deserve a reward, and I know I’ll not receive one.
I’ve looked at starting my accountancy studies and what I will need to do to join the course for my qualifications. A local college in Croydon offers them and I have contacted them, but that’s not guaranteed. I hope to be released in two weeks, when I reach my forty percent of time served. And I can’t wait.
I intend to beat my personal best on Saturday.
Warmest regards,
Ben
“Oh, he sounds pretty down,” Renée remarked as she packed her bag for the prison run. We had booked a bed-and-breakfast in the neighbouring town, and on the long drive, my partner turned to the events of the previous weekend.
“So, if Angelica is a swinger.”
“She isn’t,” I interrupted.
“As far as we know, she doesn’t swing, but let’s say she is. Would you be interested?”
“She’s not my girlfriend. You are. And you wear me out more than enough.”
Renée hummed. “Yes, but I don’t like anal.”
“That’s fine.”
My scheming sweetheart was silent for a few moments as she thought. “But imagine she does partner-swapping or dogging or swinging or whatever, and you had the opportunity for sex. Would you?”
“I’m not sure I want to open that can of hornets,” I replied, mixing metaphors. “Yeah, she and Poppy and half your friends are really sexy and from a purely physical perspective I’d enjoy ploughing all of them. Maybe Poppy gives amazing blowjobs and Angelica is a true butt slut and Lucille’s reverse cowgirl could get a monk to blow his load. But I love you. And only you.”
“But sex can be just physical enjoyment too.” She sighed. “The more I think about it, the more I want you to watch me with someone else. And I want to watch another woman make you come.” She put her hand on mine, on the gear stick. “I know it’s going to be weird at first. But I’m certain it will really enhance our relationship.” She paused again. “I wouldn’t suggest it if thought it would damage us. I really enjoyed it when I played with it before. And I’m older and wiser now. I think it would be even better.”
I groaned. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
I knew she’d continue asking, and I wasn’t completely averse to some sexual contact. I just wanted to keep some things special. “OK. We could experiment a little. Maybe with some non-penetrative fooling about.”
She beamed. “Handies, blowjobs, that sort of thing.”
“Yeah.”
“Really?” she asked, and I nodded. She coughed as she picked up her phone, and I hummed to the tune on the radio.
We discussed it deeper that night, and we agreed on what we’d do. It seemed weird, and I felt butterflies thinking about it. But it was clearly important to my partner, and we had to at least take a small step. The following morning, she had selected the skimpiest sports clothes with thin white Lycra briefs and a running bra. The wardens remembered us as we showed our IDs and we walked to the finish line, spotting Ben and many of his fellow prisoners.
His eyes landed on me first, and then Renée, as she wandered up to him.
Her pen pal’s face brightened immediately. He stopped his stretch, standing up to look directly at my girlfriend striding towards him. “Wow!” he cried, a wide, toothy smile beaming from his expression.
“When the run starts, I’m going to walk the first two minutes of the course, counting to a hundred and twenty,” she said. “And then I will chase you. And you do not want me to finish ahead of you.”
He gulped, looking up and down at her near-naked body. “Oh, right? Why?”
“Because in two weeks you are getting out. And I plan to put on a special party for you to celebrate. If you finish quicker than me, then there will be a lot fewer clothes, and more blowjobs than if I beat you. Is that reason enough?”
His cellmate slapped the stunned man on the shoulder. “Oh.”
“And I may well invite Poppy.”
He froze as Renée smiled, took a step back and returned to me and the rest of the guests at the remote prison.
Ben had his ultimate incentive.
