The Summerhouse: Chapter 16 (Kevin)

he female copper averted her eyes. Martin’s skimpy shorts revealed more than was appropriate, and my T-shirt with an “I love cock” logo emblazoned across the front was equally risque.

Scott was naked, but with his effortless charm and cheeky grin, he seemed to lack any inhibitions. He nursed his bloodied arm with a damp cloth and looked at the blushing police officers. “Aye, I reckon you’ll be wanting a statement.” He spoke in his broadest Geordie accent and flashed his all-embracing smile.

“We’ll be round later to collect a witness statement. When you all have dressed.” She replied without smiling and turned to face her colleague, who had man-handled the trucker into the back seat of the squadron car.
The events of the previous five minutes were dramatic.

As Scott, Martin and I had burst into the house, the angry man stood in the middle of the large, expansive lounge, brandishing a large hammer. Martin’s religious neighbour lay bloodied on the luxurious carpet, silent. Derek, Virginia’s husband, roared angrily and swung the weapon with his bulging right arm. “Where’s Virginia?” He yelled at the prostrate homeowner.

“Put that down,” Martin shouted. “She’s not here.”

“Fuck off, or I’ll fuck you up too.”

“I’ve got Virginia,” the nippy winger yelled from behind me. “She’s with me.”

I gulped as the murderous brute took two steps towards us, holding the weapon in his right arm.

Martin backed away, speaking calmly to pacify him to no avail as Virginia’s ex launched himself towards Scott.

Scott was fast. His footballing game is about a swiftness of thought and a lightness of feet. His nimbleness provided him with chances on the pitch, and it was key to slipping away from the door frame and into the room.

“We’ve been banging for two years, mate. Every week. Does she make you scream? Oh God, the complaints we’ve had.” He taunted the lorry driver. Scott wanted to taunt him, rile him, and anger him and smirked as he gestured to Derek.
He wanted to make this dangerous thug mad.

And he succeeded.

With a table between them, Scott continued. He pointed to his “big balls” and “pleasure stick” and grinned. The man pulled his hand back to launch his weapon, when I felt Martin’s body brush past me. Instinctively, I followed, and we grabbed hold of the hammer, yanking it from his grasp.

He turned, threw his arm out and caught Martin in his midriff with a powerful smack of his right hand. Derek never saw Scott’s motion as we grappled with him. The solid Oak table smashed over the attacker’s head and the Geordie’s fist jammed into the side of the brute’s face as he staggered towards the ground.

Scott and I had to hold him down, as Martin tied his hands using the telephone cord.

Upon which, two coppers barged into the house to see two men on the floor covered in blood, with two half-naked guys wrestling with one of them and a bare-ass Geordie cry, “Hi, it’s not what it looks like. Please arrest him.” The situation took a little explaining.

Unsurprisingly, the actions of Virginia’s ex dulled the lustre of sex in the house, and I slept cuddled up to Clare that night. Victoria even granted Martin rare bedroom privileges for his heroism. The following morning, he even had access to Victoria’s pussy for some rarer vanilla sex.

Our hosts, who had never got on with their neighbour, had a sense of guilt about the incident, so Clare and Martin went to see the man in hospital. “He’s moving,” Clare said over tea. “He is going to live in his second home in New York state for a while. Says it’s safer. It’s a gated community.”

“New York safer than Cheshire. Now that is funny!” I joked, and Martin shook his head.

“You know we took those pictures of his office. There were a couple of rows of interesting books. Lolita and more. Turns out he never allowed his wife to go in there, and he wasn’t keen on me discussing his tastes in erotic fiction with her present. So we had a nice quiet discussion man-to-man while Clare and his missus talked in the canteen,” Martin explained. “I also told him with his Wi-Fi codes, I could see every website he visited.”

“You haven’t done that. You need to set up a DNS server, and… it just doesn’t work like that,” I argued.

“Of course I haven’t. But he went very white when he thought I had seen what he had been visiting and I said that unless that he moves away and doesn’t come back, I would ascertain that it was my civic duty to share what I know with the local coppers. And the parish community. And the village newsletter.”

“Oh…”

“And the parish vicar, but I don’t think he’ll care. That sleazy twat will probably want the dodgy books. So our horrid neighbour isn’t just moving out, his is selling up,” Martin added.

“His wife didn’t say that to me,” Clare snapped.

“His wife didn’t know. He hadn’t told her.” Victoria scowled at her husband as he spoke her best friend. “Apparently, there are some marriages where the woman isn’t in complete control. I know, it’s absolute madness.” I knew Martin would suffer for his cheap shot at my fiancée, and later that evening Victoria unleashed hell on the unbroken flesh of her husband for daring to show “disrespect” to her friend.

The status quo, restored.

Martin’s neighbour returned home, but he said nothing to Martin and myself when we were in the driveway cleaning cars in just our thongs. Clare had three dates that week; I helped her prepare for every single one. I spent an evening with Scott and Virginia in the summerhouse, sharing a couple of bottles of wine and two large takeaway pizzas.

The Police charged Virginia’s husband, and the courts remanded him in custody, but she was still anxious about how her ex had traced her. “I suspect your phone is reporting your location to Google. If he had access to your account, then he would see your location history. Either that or it’s a tracking app,” I idly replied. “You left your device in the summerhouse one night, didn’t you and you were in the hot-tub when he attacked the neighbour. Change your password and reset your device. I’ll help you if you want.”

“You’re not seeing my phone. There are too many incriminating photographs,” she said firmly and sipped her wine.

“There can’t be anything too bad. And if Scott’s on there, I’ve seen him and had him lots. Although he’s demanded a lot less sex from me since you moved in!”

“When he is with me, he’s mine,” she said firmly. “I don’t care about what he does outside of our house, and you can have the pleasure of his cock when he’s at the summerhouse.”

“Well if ever you need a night off, please outsource your sluttery!” I suggested and she giggled.

Later that week, friends invited Martin and Victoria to an exclusive sex party in London’s Mayfair at a five-star hotel. I could tell Martin was ambivalent about going, but Victoria had fond recollections of dominating “Sir Evan” and had told her hesitant husband that she would not tolerate his reticence. The promise of “Lady Ann’s strapon” was enough to turn his unwillingness into excitement.

With Victoria and Martin away from Thursday until Monday, and the football team’s game cancelled because of a waterlogged pitch in Macclesfield, Clare and I were alone. I had planned for some couple time, and planned a trip to Chester Zoo, but my constant exchange of charged WhatsApp messages with Bobby presented another option.

He wasn’t working on Saturday, and neither was his girlfriend. Scott didn’t have a football match. I suggested we meet up in the pub and then use the hot-tub on the decking of Victoria Brathwaite’s grandiose house.

Clare had selected a short black dress with mesh panels down the side and across her bosom, that was delightfully sinful and sexy, and yet very inappropriate for the village pub. “Isn’t that a bit…” I asked, and my beau beamed at me.

“Of course. But that sexy waiter is on tonight. I’ve had dates with all five bar staff except him and I want the set.”

“Perhaps he’s gay. Or has a girlfriend.”

“You have a fiancée and it’s not stopping me. And Annabella is married, and she still went on a date with me. Says she’s straight but half-a-bottle of wine and she licked cunt like it was the best thing since a chocolate fountain.” She adjusted herself in her dress and straightened the wide mesh panel, which revealed that she was without underwear. “I have a bet on with Victoria. If I can collect the full set of waiters naked and fucked before she returns, she has to muck out the horses bare-assed, with an audience. And you know how randy the stable boys get! The sexy waiter lives with his mum on Tatton Close, and he’s not working tomorrow. So I am going to nab his attention and invite him over for an afternoon of sordid entertainment and hot-tub fucking.”

“You never stop.”

She kissed me on the lips and wrapped her hands around my flanks to cup my buttocks and squeeze them gently. “That’s why you love me,” she whispered in my ear. “The slutty dominant vixen is your sort of woman, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” I replied, and Clare slapped me on the backside.

“Now, go get ready!” I wore smart trousers and a shirt, and escorted my hyper-sexualised fiancée to the local pub-cum-restaurant. It was only a five-minute walk, and several heads turned and eyes lingered when my partner strode into the plush eatery.

Bobby’s beau, Heather, was not what I expected; the childcare worker was short and had dressed in a black dress with vampire or gothic influences. The lace arms and velvet body, combined with her dark makeup, presented an image that was a far cry from Clare’s welcoming and embracing sluttiness.

Bobby smiled as he sat down. “Find it OK?” I needlessly asked.

“Yeah. We got lost coming off the bypass, but the road signs took us back.”

“Clare, Jon,” my friend introduced. “This is my girlfriend, Heather.”

Clare embraced her warmly, and Heather’s eyes lingered on my fiancee’s dress, and she barely hid her incredulous expression. “How do you two know each other?” Heather asked. “I forgot to ask.”

“Sorry, I met Jon as he is a friend of Piotr who moved back to Poland. We met at a social function earlier in the year.” I nodded at his deception.

Clare knew the truth. Clare knew I had met the warehouse worker as we had blown two dozen men together at a gay sauna one day; an establishment which Bobby had frequented for years. Bobby kept his cocksucking lust and sexuality a secret from his partner. This was not the first time he’d lied to her about his activities, and it would not be the last. I excused myself to go to the toilet and dropped Scott a message to remind him that Heather was not aware of Bobby’s bisexuality. After a few drinks, Scott was incredibly indiscreet.

The nippy winger and his new partner arrived a few minutes later. Virginia had selected a brightly coloured – yellow, green, blue, pink and purple – jumpsuit that was just as eye-catching as either of Heather’s or Clare’s choice of garments.

Virginia loved to be the centre of attention. “Listen, this is our treat,” Clare said as the waiter handed menus to us. “I have a nice little bonus from work, so we’ll get the meal.” She looked at me. “But if my other half wants to take a bite out of their vintage whisky collection, he can pay for that himself!”

Heather opened up a lot more after her third glass of Pinot Grigio. The food was excellent, and the six of us polished off four bottles of wine. Clare kept refilling half-full glasses, and the imbibed drink loosened tongues.

Clare toyed with the waiter. The young man dropped a spoon onto Clare’s lap, and she followed him to the bar to “get a cloth to wipe off any residue.” His eyes never left her thighs, and she subtly slipped him her phone number on a business card. “I want you tomorrow afternoon to play in our hot-tub.” He stuttered at her brazen words. “You are coming. In so many ways.” She demanded and patted him on his bum. “And don’t bring your trunks.”

“You’re too old for him,” I whispered to her, and she shook her head. “He’s only nineteen or twenty.”

“And I’m only twenty-four!”

“He’s too scared,” I muttered; Clare’s phone vibrated, and she smiled at the message.

“Ah, so sweet. He asked if I was serious. I’ve told him not to be late. That’ll be a win for Clare, and Victoria prancing naked ankle-deep in horse shit.”

We staggered back to Martin’s house in the slight drizzle and took the insulated lid from the large hot-tub on the covered decking. Steam drifted from the heated water, and Bobby was the first to strip and jump into the bubbling liquid.

“C’mon,” he called. Heather looked at him and then Scott. “It’s only a few friends,” he added while I opened the drinks cabinet to make cocktails.

Clare’s dress was a puddle on the wet decking, and my fiancée smoothly gripped the zip at the top of Heather’s dress. “I’ll help you out of it.” Before Heather could object, her garment peeled from her body and Clare knelt down in front of Bobby’s girl. “Hey, look at this lovely tattoo.”

Inked upon Heather’s left thigh was a flying unicorn that stretched to the top of her muscle. She blushed. “Ai, it’s the national animal of Scotland so I had a wee tat.”

“It’s so colourful,” Clare remarked and lifted Heather’s knickers from her body. “I thought it might go through there.”

“Oh, no!” Heather cried. “I couldn’t.”

“Yes, you could,” Clare enthused and tugged her white cotton panties to her knees. Heather squealed, but Clare pretended to not notice. “See, imagine a flock of them in the distance coming across your mons and upper thigh. Then this one in flight look it is at the head of a group. What do you think, Virginia?”

Clare’s finger traced the top of Heather’s slit and slid down her inner thigh as Scott’s girlfriend stared at Heather’s groin. “I see, yes. That would be nice. But wouldn’t you want something on your right leg too?”

If Clare had planned to use the tattoo as a way of stripping Bobby’s fiancee naked, then it had worked. Heather discarded the dress and underwear on the decking, and she slipped into the hot-tub to bury her body under the bubbling water.

The cocktails flowed. Heather’s unease with nudity disappeared and the six of us drank and chatted rudely. Within an hour, Heather knew I was a cuckold, and that Scott, Virginia, Clare and I were bisexual. Her eyes widened when Clare described her week, with all her sexual partners and adventures.

Bobby, who sat next to me, had a firm erection that I fondled under the water. “You don’t buy all your shopping from one supermarket,” she said airily. “You can get your insurance from the electric company or your gas from the Pru. So why should Jon’s meet all my needs? He’s a great fiancée and will make a great husband, but sexually, I need more than he gives. He’s not really small down there, but a girthier cock stretches nicely. Average doesn’t cut it. Mostly, I need variety and sometimes I need a bit of cunt.”

“Yeah,” Virginia added. “Women know what women like. They are more in tune with what turns us on. Scott’s great in the sack, but in bed girls are much, much better. Victoria is just amazing. Men can make you see stars, women can introduce new galaxies to you.”

Heather, who at the start of the night would have run at such chatter, nodded and drank more of the bright red drink. “Ah’m not sure I would find the time or energy with finding men or women every week!” She joked in her Scottish accent. “Sounds exhausting.”

“Only with the right men,” Clare joked, and the three drunken women giggled raucously. “Some guys leave you knackered!”

An hour in the hot-tub, and we moved inside to the house. Clare had, I think deliberately, left the clothes we had been wearing on a deckchair not underneath the covered decking, and the rain had soaked all of them. I got towels from the cupboard and Clare insisted on taking Heather to Victoria’s dungeon.

Her eyes widened as she stumbled into the underground lair of the vicious dominatrix. Her towel had come loose, but the Glaswegian nursery nurse hadn’t noticed or didn’t care as her gaze took in the vast array of sexual paraphernalia and furniture. “What’s that?” She asked and Clare grinned as she turned on the fucking machine.

“It’s for when naughty boys or girls need a good seeing to! This can do 300 thrusts per minute.” Heather gulped, and Clare picked up a crop. “It’s really nice to give them a bit of a smack while they are undergoing their rodgering.”

“This is… incredible. And insane.”

“Yeah,” Clare said with a grin. “Do you want a go?”
“Oh, no!”

“I can demo it on Jon or Bobby. Or Virginia. She adores the fucking machine.”
Heather squeaked. “No, it’s OK. Is that a hammock?”

“No, a sex swing. Here, let me show you!” Heather’s face of wondrous excitement turned to a concerned look. “I’ll be gentle!”

“No, I… um… couldn’t.”

“I said it was full of every sort of sex object and you didn’t really believe me, did you?”

“No,” Heather admitted and wrapped herself tightly in her white towel once more. “I thought these places only existed in dodgy films.”

“Well, they have filmed a few porn scenes down here. Victoria told me that a local director asked her if they could shoot some pornos he was making.”

“Wow!”

We settled in the lounge, in front of a crackling fire, and I passed round a set of cards. “No good playing strip poker,” Clare moaned and sat naked on the sofa on top of her towel, with her knees apart. Virginia sat naked and cross-legged on the floor, with her head resting against Scott’s bare knees.

“Do you play strip poker often?”

“Not really. It’s tame. Fuck Poker is much better.” She giggled as she shuffled the cards. “I have an idea. We could play Spanking Poker. We have three couples, so we could handcuff the boys can together. The girls play and the winner spanks or canes the loser’s partner.” Her eyes glistened as she spoke.

“Yeah, OK,” Virginia replied before Scott could say a thing. “I’d love to see Scott get a good spanking. He deserves it!” The cocky footballer gripped her shoulder, and she writhed under his touch.

Heather mewed and glared at her partner, who nodded as well. “It’s been awhile since Heather got dominant in the bedroom,” Bobby said.

“Bobby!” She cried. “You can’t say…”

“What?” He interrupted. “You know I love you taking the lead. But you don’t do it much.” Heather blushed. Clare opened a cupboard beside the sofa and pulled out a box. In which were several handcuffs, and she pointed to a stout rail that ran over the fireplace. It looked like it was part of the decoration of the 150-year-old property, but the bronze effect metal had been securely fastened to the wall. There was no way I was going to escape, even if I wanted to.

“Your fiancée is taking liberties at me,” Scott hissed at me as Clare fastened his hands to the wall.
Clare smacked him on the rump, and she whispered in his ear. “Behave, Scott. Or I will get my strapon out while you are immobile. We can see if the top can bottom.”

Bobby beamed with a wide grin, and his sexual excitement was obvious. Heather won the first hand, and Clare passed the shy Glaswegian a short, stout paddle.

Scott yelled in pain as she smashed the weapon into his exposed backside. “That really hurts,” he cried.

“Yeah, that’s the bloody point, love!” Virginia teased. “I think three times per loss.”

“There will be punishment for this,” Scott warned her, and his partner blew a cheeky raspberry at him.

She loved to tease and taunt. She lost the next two hands and both Clare and Heather had further assaults on Scott’s butt, which had turned pink from the paddling.

“If you want to play poker,” he shouted. “And don’t know how, can we please change places?”

“It’s the cards,” Virginia squealed. “I had all red cards but apparently that ain’t a thing.”

“No, it bloody ain’t,” Scott hissed and Virginia shot me a grin as I looked over my shoulder. She won the next hand with a two pair and picked up the paddle from Heather. The camgirl stood behind Bobby and then leaned over and smashed the wooden weapon into Scott’s left buttock.

“Oh, sorry,” she said with faux-sincerity. “All these bums look alike. So easy to get confused.”

Bobby’s erection stiffened as Virginia rubbed his unblemished buttocks and gave Heather’s partner three sharp smacks of the wooden weapon. “Your boy has a very spankable butt,” she complimented Heather.

It was an even game. Every one of us got multiple paddlings by the wooden paddle which Clare exchanged for a cane, and then a tawse, and then a leather strap. For “variety.” Heather, who had been hesitant, was laughing and joking and gleefully took delight when she won a hand.

She loved giving the boys “a wee slap” and her behaviour was a world away from the reserved, reticent woman in the pub.

Scott moaned every time Heather or Clare smacked him, and Virginia took delight in teasing him. “Well, what did you expect?” She asked. “The girls on a night out get a little tipsy. Of course it’s going to be lewd! You spent an hour with us in the hot-tub. Be grateful! Most men would love that!”

“You’ve had fun and I’ve had to take it. You owe me!” He replied and raised his eyebrows at me. “C’mon love, give me a blowjob.”

“Oh,” Virginia mused and looked at Bobby and then me with a wry smile. “I tell you what girls, why don’t we have a game and the boyfriend of the winning woman gets a blowjob.” Heather’s eyes widened immediately, and she spluttered. “From the other two boyfriends.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Scott spat. Virginia smacked him on the backside with her bare hand.

“My partner doesn’t do that,” Heather whimpered in ignorance.

“Hey, I don’t mind,” Bobby countered. “I’ll take the chance, if everyone else is game!” Heather stared at him, and looked at the facedown cards on the carpet.

Clare shuffled the cards and idly parted them in her hands. “Excellent,” Clare cried. “Blowjob Poker is always a good way to end a game of poker.”

The three of us watched intently, as women had stoic expressions as they looked at their hand. A wry smile from Clare, or a thoughtful sigh from Heather, said so little. “Three aces,” Virginia announced.

“Oh shit, sorry love,” Heather mumbled and put her cards on the table.

“Royal Flush,” Clare said and giggled at Scott’s expression change. “No, King High, but Scott’s face was an absolute picture.”

Clare unclipped the handcuffs from us, and reattached Scott to the rail, so he was facing the room. He grumbled, but Bobby and I knelt down in front of him and I gripped the base of his solid prick. My partner sat down next to Heather and spoke in a low voice to the captivated Glaswegian. “Watching your partner suck on a cock is always an epic sight. It makes me so very horny. I’m anyone’s after watching him wrap his lips around a dick. It’s so dirty, but also so sensual. Watch.”

Scott’s cock fell from my mouth and I made eye contact with Bobby as his lips wrapped around Scott’s prick. I whispered to him, like I was guiding the expert cocksucker. Appearances for his fiancée. He groaned into the cock as he swirled his tongue over Scott’s head and he slowly bobbed on the dick.

Slow, sensual, gentle motions that teased the arousal from our mutual friend. Bobby gave the nippy winger long, luscious licks and gently sucked on the tip, leaving Scott grunting with pleasure.

I positioned myself underneath the footballer and took one of his smooth balls in my mouth, and sucked gently. Scott’s leg buckled, and he grunted.

I could see Heather staring at Bobby. Clare’s fingers danced along the nursery worker’s inner thigh as the women watched the show. The musky salinity of Scott’s balls lingered on the palette and on my nose, buried into his perineum.

I felt his body shudder and his legs weaken. His muscles quivered and with a squeal, he covered Bobby’s face with his cum.

Heather didn’t allow him to clean up, before dragging him to the spare room where they would be staying. It was next to Clare’s room, and we heard the bedsprings working double time ten minutes later. Scott borrowed the dungeon key from Clare, and took Virginia to the spanking bench to even up the score, and I nestled alongside my partner, curled up in the bed and simply cuddled.

Love you,” Clare whispered and slid her hand up my thigh. “I could really do with you going down on me,” she muttered. “Do the honours, love?”

I did not need to be asked twice.

* * * * *

The following day, Heather emerged from the spare bedroom wrapped in a sheet. Sobriety had caused the return of her inhibitions and her sodden clothes were still too wet to wear. Clare noticed immediately and swore under her breath.

“Heather,” my naked fiancée cried, and wrapped her arms around the embarrassed woman. “Let’s have some breakfast and then I’ll sort you out a spare pair of clothes.”

“Oh thanks,” Heather muttered, and Clare looked at Bobby skulking behind her in his boxer shorts.

“You know, there is a strict male nudity rule in this house. Men are here to fuck, or here to serve. The lady of the house sometimes puts the boys in maids’ uniforms or a variety of unsuitable outfits, but boxer shorts are not, or ever will be, one of them.”

Bobby giggled. “Well… When in Rome and all that?”

“Be a love and help Jon make some breakfast.” Clare took Heather’s hand and led her out onto the covered decking and alongside the hot-tub to a table. “Tea or coffee?”

“Shouldn’t we help?”

My fiancée laughed. “What’s the point of that? It’s like having a pig and oinking yourself. Let them sort it out. Tea or coffee?”

Bobby spied at the two women through the open window as we cooked a dozen sausages, eggs, two dozen rashers of bacon, beans, black pudding, mushrooms, hash browns and toast. Six large fry-ups with tea or coffee that we served while wearing the frilly pink aprons that made us look ridiculous.

Virginia and Scott left shortly after breakfast. Scott had put their clothes out to dry over their en-suite bathroom after he had punished his errant girlfriend in the dungeon and they were dry enough to wear home.

Clare took Heather to her room, and they emerged five minutes later. “This is…”

“No, Bobby, come here,” Clare called and interrupted the reticent woman. “What do you think? This is your fiancée.” Heather glared at my partner as she stood in a low cut bright red plastic-leather dress that showed half her breasts. It hugged her figure and finished just below her tattoo. “Now, put your hair like this. Doesn’t she look sexy?”

“Yeah,” Bobby mumbled and nodded, almost speechless.

“I dunnae have the tits for it. I have-ne got anything going on up here.”

“You are joking,” Clare cried. “You have wonderful breasts. They are a perfect size. B or C cup, right? Like mine.”

“And fat thighs!”

“Nonsense,” Clare squealed and glared at Bobby. “Do you tell her she has fat thighs and small tits?” He shook his head and her expression darkened. “If I find out that’s not true, I will take you to the dungeon and play merry-hell with your balls.” She turned back to Heather and ran her hands down the plastic-covered shiny dress, caressing her figure. “OK, let’s try something else.”

The two women had fun. They went into Clare’s bedroom, tried on another outfit that was unsuitable, and Heather wore it to show Bobby, whose erection never wavered.

Fishnet stockings, school girl outfit, sheer tops and lots of lingerie, clubwear and very short skirts were all worn to tease and tempt Heather’s partner.

Eventually, they settled on a pinstripe dress that was a little too short and stockings. She still looked sexy, but there was an air of power about her. She threw a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a singlet to Bobby.

Next to each other they looked like chalk and cheese. She could have been his probation officer, and while there was an undercurrent of sexuality about the tailored dress, there was also an unyielding dominance intertwined with her appearance.

“I’ll wash it and send it back,” Heather promised. “I can’t just accept this.”

“Rubbish,” my fiancée soothed. “It was a present from a rich man I was fucking in Bristol. It’s always been too big for me. I just don’t have the hips for it, but he got off on having me dress like a secretary and…” She hesitated. “Punish him.”

“Oh, really!”

“Well actually, punish him and then stuff his butt with a ten-inch dildo while he promised to stop fiddling his expenses. He loved his role play. But I had to be in business attire. Basically, he looked at what his secretary wore that week and bought a sexier version online. And he didn’t always get my size right.” She cocked her head at Bobby in his scally gear. “Do you want the strapon as well that goes with it?”

Heather blushed and shook her head. “No!”

“Pity. Your Bobby has such a fuckable arse.”

“We better get going. We need to go back to the car.”

My naked fiancée embraced the young woman, and I donned similar lounge wear to walk with them to the centre of the village. “Coming?” I asked Clare, and she shook her head.

“Kevin messaged me twenty minutes ago.”

“Whose Kevin?”

“The fifth waiter,” she said with a grin. “I have a call to make.”

Bobby collected all of their personal effects and I walked with them into the village. “Is she really going to… y’know… do it with a stranger?”

“Yeah, of course,” I replied. “It’s what makes us tick.”

“But…” She shook her head. “I would be very upset if Bobby ever touched another woman.” She gave her partner a sideways glance and then snorted. “Last night was weird. I’ve never thought of you with another guy before.”

“It seemed to turn you on a bit.”

“That was your bloody fiancée. And watching him, but Clare was touching me.”

“She does that!” I waited for a moment. “So how was your brief lesbian experience then,” I said with a grin.

“She’s as mad as a box of frogs, but I enjoyed it as much as Bobby’s gay experience.” She smiled at her partner. “And I dunnae know how you keep up with her all the ruddy time.”

“The trick is, to not do so. She needs a dozen partners a month at least. Only one of them needs to be me. Any more and I would be exhausted.” Heather laughed.

When they reached the car, parked on the road opposite the village pub, Heather told Bobby to wait and walked into the local convenience store opposite. “Wow!” Bobby remarked. “That is the most daring thing she has ever worn. And she is choosing to walk into a shop for more people to see her.”

“Last night went well,” I muttered. “And no, I didn’t plan it. Clare might have done, but I don’t want to ask her.”

“Yeah, thanks, mate.” Bobby cried and gave me a pat on the shoulder. “It’s good that she knows about my gay interest now. Make it easier for next time. Give her awhile to adjust and then we might have something more open.”

“You’re always welcome. I have three months with no summerhouse parties soon as the season is ending, so I will need a few trips to the sauna. Heather might let you go!” Bobby’s smile flickered as I mentioned it. “Think that might be too much to admit to?”

“Yeah!”

“Baby, incremental steps?” He nodded, and we watched Heather stride out of the little convenience store holding a bottle of water and a newspaper. I waved them off and returned to the house where Clare had stripped naked and was reading her book in the sunshine of the decked terrace.

“Strip!” She needlessly demanded and glanced up from her thriller. “And a cuppa. Show Kevin in, when he gets here.”

Her date arrived fifteen minutes later; I had finished cleaning the kitchen and hoovering the lounge, when the loud bell chimed throughout the house.

Kevin appeared a little flustered when a naked man answered the door and beckoned him in. “Clare’s expecting you.” He appeared younger in the bright sunshine than he did in the pub, and the late-teenager or early twenty-year-old had an innocent air about him. He looked like a young actor, with his white shirt and oversized suit jacket over a lithe frame.

“Um… I thought.” His eyes flicked up and down my body and he took a step back from the porch.

“She is expecting you. She’s on the decking. Can I get you a drink at all, take your coat?”

He hesitated once more. His eyes floated behind me, and Clare walked purposefully down the hallway. “Kevin, dear. Come in.”

“Well, I look… I…” He deliberately averted his eyes.

Clare shook her head and when she reached the frame of of the door, reached over the threshold and pulled Kevin by the front of his shirt. “Get in here,” she said firmly as he stumbled into the house. She glanced at me, smacked me on the backside and then turned to her date. “We have an engagement with the hot-tub.”

“If I’m interrupting…”

“You’re not.” Clare pushed him down the hallway and raised her eyebrows at me with a wry smile. Kevin was innocent. He looked at the floor as Clare walked in front of him and hesitated when she reached the hot-tub.

“I have my swimming trunks,” he muttered, with an almost hopeful air to his voice.

“You don’t need them.” She stood in front of him and looked him in the eyes as her fingers unbuttoned his white shirt. She sensually licked her lips and ran her hands across his hairless, slim torso.

She pushed her mouth against his and kissed as her wandering fingers loosened his belt and unclipped the buttons on his trousers.

His tight white briefs were not the most flattering of underwear, and she whispered into his ear as his jeans fell to floor. “Get out of those shoes, get out of those clothes and join me in the hot-tub.” She squeezed his buttocks and made him whimper and then backed away from him. She sat on the side of the whirlpool and parted her legs as she kept eye contact with him. “We are going to have a lot of fun this afternoon. Kevin. A lot of fun.” She looked at me, stood in the doorway. “One bottle of the Rosé wine, and two glasses.”

When I returned to the hot-tub, Kevin’s clothes were on the floor and he was underneath the bubbles, directly opposite Clare. She barely looked at me as I opened the pink, fizzy wine and poured two champagne flutes of the alcoholic drink. “My fiancé is a very lucky man. He gets to be with me, even though he doesn’t fully satisfy me in the bedroom.” Her lips curled into a grin as she looked directly at her date. “So, I get to have fun with other men. He gets a spanking, a caning, and I fuck him in the arse, but real men get pussy. Real men, like you.” Kevin fidgeted and Clare clicked her fingers. “You will bring us lunch in one hour, Jon,” she commanded, as much for the effect on Kevin than me. She took one of the full glasses from the table and held it out to Kevin, before taking the second and tapping them. “To a most enjoyable afternoon.”

I returned to the summerhouse to do some work and set out the outdoor table an hour later with a light lunch of chicken salad, with rustic bread and a half-bottle of wine. Clare shamelessly walked naked to the table. Kevin followed, a lot less reticent about his own nudity. He was lithe and slender, except for his meaty dick. His body was smooth and hairless except for a massive, unkempt bush. He saw me and flashed a smile as he sat down.

“I was telling Kevin all about my fantasies,” she said, and poured her date a full glass of wine. “And he won’t admit his. Why don’t you tell him yours and maybe he will open up?”

“Mine?” I asked her, and she pointed towards the unset chair at the table.

“Yes, about what you want in a woman.”

“I want you,” I replied instantly, and she rolled her eyes. “I love dominant women. The whips, the chains, the restraints. Taking control and public dominance. A bit of humiliation too and I…” I hesitated and looked at Clare who just nodded. “I… I love pegging. Also I am bisexual so I need an open-minded woman.”

“Indeed,” Clare interrupted. “But I need an open-minded man. Who lets me be dominant and get my passionate sex from others. So, Kevin. What puts the fizz in your wine?”

He gulped at his drink, and the young waiter shrugged. “I dunno. I just…“ He looked at me and nodded. “That stuff, really. I have a subscription to FemDomUniverse and I know that’s not what you invited me here for. But women spanking men are…” His cheeks blushed and Clare put her fork on her plate. “It’s not what you wanted this afternoon, is it?”

“I didn’t expect that,” she admitted. “Has any woman spanked you before?”

He sighed. “One of my girlfriends. I paid to visit a couple of dominatrices but it’s really expensive. And they did little stuff back there but not much.” He stared at his plate and put his fork down. “Sorry. I didn’t expect…” He coughed and exhaled sharply. “I’ll go.”

“Too bloody right,” Clare snapped. “You’ll go straight down to my dungeon. What sort of domme doesn’t want to spank and sodomise silly little boys? But first…” She addressed me with a wicked smile. “Jon, please get Kevin’s clothes and empty his pockets. Then put the clothes and dump them in the hot-tub. And clear these plates away. Give us ten minutes. I may give him something to wear back to his house, if he takes his punishment properly.” Her lips curled into a smile and she gave me a little wink. “And then I am going to put a strapon around my waist and I will plunder that cheeky little derriere of his.”

“Certainly.”

Kevin mewed, as she pushed her chair back, took the slice of buttered rustic bread in her mouth and pointed inside the house. “Has any woman ever fucked your arse?”

“No. But I bought a prostate massager. It’s… weird.”

“Ah,” she giggled. “Corrupting young men gets my cunt flowing every time.” I knew Clare well enough to know that the wink was a demand not to do what she said. Dumping his clothes in the water was to get into his brain, but I cleared the table and kitchen, and waited. When I descended the steps to the dungeon, Clare had secured Kevin against the St Andrews Frame by the wrist restraints and ankle cuffs, and my fiancee held a leather paddle. “Remember what I told you. Green, if you’re OK and I ask. Yellow or Red, if you ever need them. We’ll go slow, if you want and build up. Your paid-for dommes should have been through this with you.”

“Yes, sure.” He muttered, and I sat at the back of the dungeon and watched. It was not the first time I had been an observer in my fiancée’s domination of a submissive male, and Kevin was just another notch on her cane.

“Remember, relax,” she added as the first strike landed gently on his left buttock. It barely made a slap, and yet it caused the inexperienced man to groan and sigh. Clare hit him again, on his right buttock, and then built a steady rhythm, alternating his buttcheeks with soft, crisp strikes. “OK?”

“Yeah, Green,” he squealed. He closed his eyes, and just leaned lifelessly against the frame as my partner paddled him harder and harder. Soft, sensual smacks became firmer, sharper, snappier hits. The cadence changed: the pause between strikes lessened, and Kevin whimpered and groaned. His body tensed and relaxed, and his hands quivered.

Suddenly, this wasn’t so easy. These hits were painful and his flesh was no longer warming but ablaze. The blushed buttocks reddened, and his brain fought with his horniness. He wanted it to stop, but his lust wouldn’t let him. His squeals and cries changed nothing. These cries were tonic to Clare. His snivelling mewls merely made her more aroused.

Moans turned to sobs and howls of anguish. “Scream and yell if you want,” Clare told him. “Down here, nobody can hear you. It’ll just turn me on more. Beg for me to stop, go on, I know you want to.”

Kevin panted, and she thrashed the paddle hard against his exposed rump. He screeched in shock and pain. She smashed it again and again in quick succession, each dull thud of the wood followed by a shrill bawl of excruciating pain. “Stop,” he yelled.

“Stop?” Clare asked. “When I am having so much fun? Then say your safe word. Or else you don’t really want me to stop, do you?”

He roared with agony as the paddle landed sharply against his exposed scarlet rump and his caterwauling echoed around the underground dungeon. “Yellow. Amber. Yellow. Yellow,” he cried. “Too much,” he screeched, and Clare gave a wry grin at me.

She allowed him a few moments to calm, and then the naked woman pressed her body against his. She whispered in his ear and dug her nails into his abused flesh. He gasped, and she reached above him to untie his wrists.

“Sit,” she demanded and pointed to a swivel office chair in the corner of the room. His cock bobbed as he sat on the black leather seat, and Clare took a couple of items from the shelf that ran the length of the wall. She smiled at me, as she pulled his wrists together behind his back, and then clipped his ankle cuffs together, behind the support column.

Her wicked smile disappeared from his sight as she slipped a blindfold over his thick hair and covered his eyes. Lubricant drizzled over his cock, and Clare pulled a chair alongside him.

Slowly, she massaged his dick. “Nice,” she muttered. “I bet you’re horny. Can you feel your raw, tender buttocks against the cool leather?” She asked and ran her hands over his exposed nipples. He groaned, and his cock bobbed his semi-erect prick.

Long strokes of veiny, weighty cock, interspersed with her hands rolling over his head, had it stiff in a few seconds. He grunted and groaned and she got up and straddled him, sliding onto his cock.

He sighed as her luscious, warm cunt gripped his prick, and it slipped inside her. He squirmed and squealed as he did. Clare wrapped her arms around his back and pressed her bosom against his chest. “Can you feel that?” She asked and ground her body against his. “Feel good?”

“Yeah.” He whimpered. “Very.”

“And I bet you want me to go really, really, really fast?”

“Yeah.”

Clare stopped and then rocked quickly for a couple of thrusts and stopped once more. Kevin held his breath and then sharply exhaled. He groaned, cried, mewed and sighed. A thousand emotions and sensations overloaded his brain as Clare slipped off of him and she slid down his body.

The first lick of his prick felt wonderful. The second was overwhelming. He squealed, mewling loudly as my fiancée’s tongue rolled over his straining dick. “You want it?” She whispered to him. “Really want it?”

“Yeah.”

“How bad?”

“Lots.”

“Have to earn a release,” she warned him and softly suckled on his prick. He groaned and fidgeted as she gently took him closer and closer to his orgasm.

And then she stopped, just as he reached his edge.

She did it again, by stroking his meaty, thick cock with long, powerful strokes before abandoning him as he neared his point of no return.

“Are you going to beg?” She asked, and he nodded through desperate pants. She squeezed and twisted his nipples. “Then don’t.”

Twelve times she brought his body to the brink of a climax before stopping. He whimpered, squealed, begged, moaned and puled on a dozen occasions, as my fiancée led him to the promised land, but wouldn’t let him through the gates.

His loins frenzied and aching. He was a horny mess of lustful desperation and crazed arousal. He struggled against his bindings and wriggled against his pained arse. He wanted, needed and craved an orgasm, but Clare backed off and spun him in the chair.

“Have you ever had a golden shower?” She asked and sat on his lap. His erect cock nestled in her buttcheeks and she kissed him on the lips as liquid splashed against his pubic hair.

My fiancée pissed on him. She emptied her bladder over his straining dick as she passionately snogged her submissive date.

“You dirty, filthy, disgusting piece of shit,” she cried as she broke from the kiss and slapped him on the cheek. “Stinking off pee. You disgust me!”

She stood up from him; her piss draining onto the floor and rolling into the drain. Two seconds later, and she had unclipped his wrists and ankles and Clare tugged at the back of his neck.

Clare sat down, legs akimbo, and pulled Kevin into her cunt. His blindfolded face landed against her crotch and she slid her right leg over his back.

He knew what to do. It was one of my favourite things to do to Clare, and his tongue lapped at her slit with gusto. With rampant zeal and enthusiasm, he ate her cunt and swirled her clit with his mouth.

Clare leant back in her chair and closed her eyes. She loved having a man submissively feast on her crotch. She adored a guy lusciously sucking and enjoying her smooth lips and swirling his tongue around her sensitive clit.

Clare idly and instinctively rubbed her breasts and tugged at her mons to direct him. But he was good. She panted, and her legs quivered, before the first orgasm smashed into her.

Waves of pleasure cascaded across her body, and she squealed as her submissive partner sent ecstasy cascading through her lust, leaving her a squealing, panting and satisfied mess.

Not once, but three times.

My cock was rock hard, and Clare looked up at me with a wide grin. I knew instantly what she was going to do, and as her third orgasm had subsided, she detached Kevin’s mouth from her clit, and led him to a bench. Restraints held his legs high, and she ran gloved and lubricated fingers against his butt hole.

Kevin spasmed. He tensed and she gently soothed him. “Relax. This is nice. I’ll be gentle. Relax.”

Her left palm danced over his skin as the middle finger on his right hand slid inside of him. One finger became two and then three. His cock sparked and spasmed. His breathing became shallow and his moans became louder. “You OK?” She checked in with him and he nodded.

The small butt-plug slipped in easily. She passed him the bulb attached to it and told him to squeeze. A shot of air filled the inflatable plug and his body jerked. “And again!”

He did so. She made him wait for a minute and told him to do it again. And again. He was pumping a bigger and bigger object into himself, and every time she ordered him to, he squeezed it.

Her hands roamed over his tingling body. Her nails scratched him and she tweaked his nipples. All while he continued to pump the dildo in his backside. “It’s too much,” he squealed after twenty pumps. “Too much.”

“Really?” Clare asked and selected a small five-inch red dildo from the shelf and slid it into a leather harness. “That’s too much. Then try this.”

She unfurled a condom over the sex toy and smothered it in lubricant, before striding back to the restrained man. Clare unclipped the value and deflated the sex toy.

He puffed as Clare slowly penetrated him with the dildo. Her hands gripped his ankles and her hips smoothly thrusted the phallus into her date. “This is how subs get fucked in this dungeon. This is how I make men very, very horny,” she said. “Do you like this?”

He nodded, panting and snorting as my partner ground her dildo into him. Slowly but firmly, she worked up a natural rhythm, fucking the waiter.

He had never been fucked before. Clare had taken his anal virginity, and she worked up a steady cadence, smashing her small dildo into his most intimate of areas.

Pre-cum leaked from his cock and into his pubic hair, still wet from Clare’s piss. He grunted and squealed, his mind struggling to process the pressure on his prostate and pleasurable sensations coming from his butt.

Clare spoke over the slapping of their flesh. “You like this, don’t you? You like being fucked in the arse like some cheap whore, don’t you? You are just a disgusting, filthy, nasty little slut, aren’t you?”

He whimpered and nodded as she rammed her prick harder and harder into his hole. “Yes, Miss.”

Clare smiled at me and grabbed his hard dick. She rolled a condom down it as her hips jackhammered into his butt, but he hardly noticed.

Finally, she mounted him. His cock slipped inside her sopping wet pussy and with three or four rocks of her hips, he squealed and filled the condom.

Clare sighed and ran her sharp fingernails over his body. He jerked, and she slipped her hands underneath his blindfold and freed his eyes from their cotton prison. “How was that?”

“Amazing,” he panted.

“Good. Then go have a wash and we’ll talk about what I am going to let you go home in.” She stepped away from him and I showed him to the small toilet and shower at the back of the dungeon. “Put his clothes in a bag and bring his personal effects down,” she demanded of me. “And bring me a drink of water; I’m thirsty!”

I returned to the dungeon, and Clare took the water from me. She was in front of the wardrobe, underneath the stairs, and selected two hangers containing clothes. “These are both medium, so they should fit,” she said and smiled at the naked waiter shivering in front of her.

I recognised the first outfit she pulled out. I wore the dull black Latex maid dress with its cream coloured apron and black stockings one afternoon at the summerhouse. It was hot and sweaty and deeply humiliating. Kevin gave a sharp intake of breath and shook his head. “I can’t wear that. Not in public. That’s…”

“Oh, but Latex is wonderful. It’s lovely,” Clare teased. Her prey shivered as she offered him another one. Short red gym shorts that were an of an obscene length. They replicated the traditional 1970s style of thin, lightweight material in an abbreviated length. The baby pink singlet with a popular porn site logo was short; it wouldn’t even reach his belly-button. “How about this one then?”

He gulped. “That’s… I live with my mum.”

“So?” Clare asked with a grin. “You’re an adult. This one comes with an additional couple of requirements,” she said, and held out the gym shorts to him. “Your fantasy was being dominated and even told how to dress. You said that when you came down here. You wanted to try pegging and were curious about watersports. You wanted me to cane and paddle you. Your fantasies should not scare you. Don’t hide from your sexuality. Now are you walking out of here buck naked, in a maid’s outfit or in some slutty gym wear.”

He nodded and held out his hand to take the singlet and shorts.

“Wise choice. Because take that and you have to do something for me. Wear that and I will not allow you to wear any male underwear this week. I will check up on you by coming to the pub and if I find you wearing so much as a jockstrap, I will thrash your arse blue. Panties, fine. Commando, fine. Boxers, well out. Understand?”

He nodded and gripped the outfit with his shaking hands.

“Secondly, you will take a small metal butt-plug from me and you will wear that every night for an hour. I want a photo sent to me on WhatsApp of your plugged arse. Understand?”

He gulped and said nothing. She raised her eyebrows at him and he nodded. “Yes, Miss.”

“And finally, you come back here on Sunday at 10am. Wearing that outfit. And you are staying until I let you go. I am really going to enjoy corrupting you.”

“Yes, Miss,” he said a little too eagerly. “Well, go on then,” she added, and watched as he donned his flimsy bottom and insubstantial top. She dropped a bottle of water-based lubricant and a small metal butt-plug in his bag and escorted him from the house, wordlessly.

And I had a dungeon to clean.

* * * * *

Victoria kept her promise on her return. Clare took photos of her best friend mucking out the horses naked, and the stable boys watched the young woman strutting around nude, caking her skin in mud and manure.

Kevin played with his plug and Clare showed me the pictures that he sent. My fiancée was keen to boast that she had met his fantasies of female domination, and twice we went to the local pub for a drink so she could slip into the disabled toilet to examine Kevin’s underwear situation. Each time he was commando, and Clare was certain to put him in some humiliating attire when he came on Sunday. Our host planned to join in, and the young lad would have two experienced dominant women mercilessly pushing his boundaries and exploring his fantasies.

I met with Bobby and Heather on Sunday. Clare and Victoria wanted Martin and me out of the house when their latest project visited and I wanted a break from the four walls of the summerhouse. Martin visited his friend, and I cycled fifteen miles to see my mate from the sauna to have a picnic at a local beauty spot – at Heather’s request.

I brought the beer; they brought the food, and I could see up Heather’s short summer dress as I sat on the grass. Bobby smiled at me; he saw my eyes linger at the inside of her thighs and I saw a flash of pink and her unicorn tattoo.

They were genuinely enjoyable company. They both worked hard doing jobs that paid little above the minimum wage, and I felt a little guilty that I earned more than both of them put together without having to leave Martin’s timber abode.

After a couple of beers each, bought at a nearby supermarket and carried on my bike, Heather became more relaxed and spoke as Bobby took eight empty beer cans to the nearest bin. “We fucked over there last Wednesday,” she admitted. “It was fun, so dirty. We came out for a walk and just started kissing and it just kept happening. Never had sex outside before.”

“Do it again?” Heather nodded and grinned at her partner as he sat back down.

“One thing I wanted to ask.” She blushed. “We’ve been doing a lot of talking and I’d quite like Bobby to explore… that side… of his sexuality. If he wanted a night out at Canal Street or such a place, would you go with him? To escort him? He said he could find someone to go with, but I’d rather it was you.”

I smiled at Bobby, who bit his lip. “Sure, but that’s all the way in Manchester.” Bobby’s eyes widened as I spoke. “There’s a big place near here, but it’s a bit raunchy. Go there for a coffee and a sandwich. They have places for men to… explore themselves.”

“And you’d go with him?”

“Of course,” I replied and barely suppressed a grin. “I am happy to help him in any way.”

“Good. ‘Cause I want to ask your wife…”

“Fiancée,” I corrected her.

“Sorry, fiancée, to do a girls’ night out. Her and Virginia were so confident. I would love to have their confidence. I couldn’t go all the way with another, but I’d like to flirt a bit. That’ll be OK, wouldn’t it? A bit of fun.”

“Sure, I’ll tell her. And Bobby, I have a party most Saturdays during the winter. Always fun, if you fancy it. We always have a good time.”

“He’s working most Saturdays,” Heather moaned and Bobby sighed.

“They always owe me some hours. I could do at least one,” he interrupted with a wide grin that his partner could not see. “If you are sure you’re OK with it.”

“Honey, of course I am,” Heather squealed. “If it makes you happy. You just have to promise me you’ll be careful and take precautions.” I knew what she meant, and Bobby just rolled his eyes.

As I cycled back to the manor, I called in at Scott and Virginia. He hadn’t called in to see us recently, and I missed the frisky sexaholic. “Sorry, been busy!” He replied when I said I hadn’t seen him. “Had things to do. Well, one thing. Virginia. But I’ve done her loads.” The joyous tone of his voice and candour was always welcome.

I asked how he was, and we made a chat as he reclined in the sofa in just his lounge shorts, and he eyed me in my cycling lycra. Virginia was out running, and Scott’s sparkling eyes demanded satisfaction. The glint in his gaze and licking of his lips always came before a demand for sex.

I was not wrong. He pulled his shorts to his knees as I spoke, and his eyes shifted from me to his semi-erect cock. Eight days since my lips had briefly wrapped around his thick prick. Over a fortnight since I had tasted his cum. I would not decline the invitation and my shins hit the threadbare carpet in front of him.

A few passionate long lips of his shaft from the base to the tip had him sighing in pleasure and his dick fully erect. My lips worked his cock head; I suckled gently on his purple crown and my tongue probed his frenulum. Sighs became groans and grunts. His hands rested on my short hair, and he ran his fingers over the top of my head. A measure of control as my mouth bobbed on his manhood.

I adored his familiar taste and odour. His masculine scent was a delight to my arousal and my senses. My cock stretched my lycra and a wet patch from the pre-cum puddled on the white shorts.

I heard Virginia enter the house, but he held my head tight. An audience for my fellatio. Another witness to my cocksucking. Scott ground his hips; the voyeur piqued his arousal. He loved playing to a crowd.

His cock quivered. My hands felt his muscles tighten, and he grunted loudly before filling my mouth with his piquant seed. I looked up at him, over his bare chest, and he smiled at me, and then beamed at Virginia. “Hey, my favourite fag has done you a favour.” He tapped me on the head as his dick fell from my mouth. “Say thank you to Virginia for letting you suck my cock.”

Virginia, in her sweaty running gear, shook her head. “Thankfully, I’m not the jealous type,” she said with a wry giggle. “And yes, you can suck his cock all you want. Why anyone enjoys giving blowjobs is a mystery.”

“You’re crazy,” I muttered. “Crazy!”

* * * * *

I returned to the summerhouse to help Martin cook Sunday tea. Kevin had been well-fucked, well-disciplined and utterly humiliated during his four hours with my fiancée and Martin’s wife. He left in the same scandalous outfit, and Clare arranged the next date on his training.

Life persisted as normal; I worked in the summerhouse and Martin managed his companies and investments, while our partners screwed in the evenings and had their commitments during the day. Clare kept up with their project, the naïve Kevin, and his naked, abused body became a regular visitor to the dungeon.

Two weeks later, after Martin and I dished up pasta, Victoria tapped the table. “We have a little announcement,” she said gleefully. “We know who the new owners of next door are.”

“Who?”

“It’ll go through next week, all being well, and the new owners are…”

She paused. “Yes?” Clare asked.

“Us,” announced Victoria. “We are the new owners. It’s three times the size of this place and with so much more land and outbuildings. And it’s not overlooked at all. We have plans. And Clare, we want you to have this house. You and your new husband, as your wedding present.”