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Stranger than Fiction
Part Four
“Yet each man kills the thing he loves.
By each let this be heard.
Some do it with a bitter look,
some with a flattering word.
The coward does it with a kiss.
The brave man with a sword.”
(Oscar Wilde)
‘By kiss and sword’
Spring 2009
As the evenings get lighter and the days longer, we exercise more outside, in the nearby public park. London has many green spaces that fill up in the Spring with young women sunbathing, couples picnicking and kids playing soccer or cricket.
I take out a pitcher of rose wine and a magazine and settle on one of the benches as the evening shadows of the trees slowly lengthen, under a pink-tinged sky.
There’s an asphalt track laid round the perimeter of the park for cyclists and joggers. I can observe its entire mile and a half from my seat, bar a couple of hundred yards where it kinks out of sight.
Both Candace and Jed have improved their fitness and times dramatically. It proves how slim and fit we all could be if our lives were run by a Master. No booze, no smoking, no ice cream, no television, no lazy indulgence.
They both run in trainers, tight shorts and vests. I have to allow Jed to remove his tube for any outdoor run because his spandex shorts are obscenely tight, the outline of his dick and balls is clearly visible.
But Candace attracts more glances than her husband. Her big, braless tits jump around like yoyos in her white cut-off vest. It is bare below the ribcage to reveal her flat abdomen. Front on, her matching spandex shorts grip her mound tightly. From behind, the snug cut means her ass cheeks are only partly covered.
I don’t believe in public demonstrations of bdsm. There is nothing we three do – quite – that crosses the line between subtle exhibitionism and inappropriate humiliation. You can see passers-by look, stare, maybe shake their heads occasionally, but then continue on their way.
Of course, watching two people repeat a cycle of six-minute miles gets boring. It’s my job to make things a little trickier. Running with full bladders or churning bowels adds some interest and stress to their exercise. I use binoculars to study their sweating expressions as they demonstrate their newfound toilet training on the running track.
But my favourite ‘extra’ is figging. At home, I skin, pare and slice pieces of ginger root into a couple of 2-inches long dick-shaped plugs. One corks Jed’s butt and the other wedges up Candace’s ass. Then they put on their shorts and out we go to the park. The burning sensation starts almost immediately but it builds to a peak once the laps start.
I genuinely can’t stop laughing. Figging was apparently used to ‘ginger up’ old nags to make a buyer think the horses were younger. And Jed and Candace do kind of resemble skittish colts as they hop along the track, rumps wagging and puce faces scowling with exertion.
“Get a bloody move on.” I call out in my best Drill Sergeant’s voice, as they reach my end of the park again, commencing another circuit.
Candace’s eyes, tits and bum cheeks roll as she comes past, damp stains making her skimpy outfit cling even tighter to her sweaty skin. She admits that her endorphin rush when the ginger’s up her ass is off the scale. The thing about ginger is that it reacts with bodily juices, moisture and sweat, developing from a tingling sensation initially, like a nettle sting, into a searing pain like a burn.
“Just you wait until I get you home !” I threaten, when nobody else is in earshot. She almost seems to neigh and sets off at a renewed gallop.
At home, after a long drink, she does her regular Kegel routine for me. She strips off and squats naked on the wooden floor, still sweating. She uses a stainless steel vaginal barbell that isn’t ‘sexual’ like a vibrator, but has a much more ‘medical’ appearance. It’s 7 inches long with ball-like bulges at both ends.
By now, her combination of Kegel exercises and daily bladder control has built up Candace’s pubococcygeus muscles to intense levels. The barbell weighs over a pound and she can squat, gripping it, contracting her vaginal muscles in repetitions of one hundred.
“Damn, you should feel her cunt now.” I shake my head in wonder at Jed, who is standing alongside his wife.
He is naked, feet set apart, fingers laced behind his head. He nods at me.
“Yes Sir. I’ll bet she’s great, Sir.”
He too is exercising his genitals. After his outdoor run, instead of relocking him straight back into his tube, I allow him to get an erection and stand there clenching his buttocks and prostate, making his underused penis jerk up and down in rhythm, like a dick doing its push-ups.
After weeks without an orgasm, this routine is pure frustration for Jed. I can literally see his biceps twitching with pent up desire to put his hands down and grab his bobbing cock.
“Good lad. Mustn’t let your love muscle totally waste away.”
Occasionally, I let him masturbate himself as well. This is the ultimate test of his self control. He’s right handed and I prefer to watch him use his left. The reduced grip and rhythm from doing the exercise wrong-handed make it more awkward, and so he’s less likely to get carried away. It’s a matter of a crucial two seconds; taking him right to the edge but not over it.
“Tell me when you’re ten seconds away.”
“Mm …” his wrist shifts to and fro, teeth biting his lower lip, eyes fixed on me. “N … now.” He gasps.
I give him an extra couple of moments, so he can stare into the abyss.
“Enough !”
His eyes panic, his face dissolves in distress. He wrenches his fingers away like they’re burnt. His dick spasms, drooling clear pre-cum.
Slowly, after 20-30 seconds, his breathing creeps back from the brink.
“Phew. Close !”
He dry-swallows, forcing his eyes open. “Yes. Very, Sir.”
I grin. “Don’t you like it when I let you diddle your cock ?”
There’s no correct answer to my question. He’s fucked either way.
“I love it, Sir. Thank you.”
“Good lad. In a few days time I’ll let you jack off again. Now, let’s get that cock nice and soft and locked, and out of any mischief.”
Candace and Jed both regularly do ‘Kegel tongue exercises’ too. These are my own invention ! They stand facing each other, only inches apart, and stick out their tongues towards the other as far as they can. But instead of kissing, they vigorously try to lick the tip of their nose before closing their lips again. They repeat a set of these one hundred times as well, building their lingual muscles to equally intense levels.
I love tongue baths.
When I was younger, two people licking each other seemed the height of vanilla intimacy. Nuzzling, kissing, sliding my tongue over and into a girlfriend’s body made sex seem as lustful as one of those swirling, soft-focus chocolate commercials.
And to me analingus was the ultimate oral act, involving cleanliness, trust, erotic sensations and animal instincts in equal measure. It wasn’t anything to do with Bdsm back then, it was only about giving and taking pleasure.
Later I discovered that having my flesh licked and worshipped without reciprocating was what I really enjoy. It’s not so much selfishness as a desire for inequality; sauce for the goose, not the gander. To smell my own body odour lingering under my armpits and watch a sub’s pink tongue snaking out of her mouth to lap at my salty underarms was always bliss.
And, above all, sitting on a pretty face.
After twenty years with a lovely wife who didn’t see eye to eye with my rim, so to speak, it is wonderful to have a sub again whose pride doesn’t prevent her doing exactly as she’s told. I won’t pretend Candace ever was, or is now, a devotee of salad tossing but she has learned her place.
There is little to match analingus while you watch soccer on TV. I went and purchased a stool from a shop in North London called Fettered Pleasures specifically for the purpose. I’m sure it’s meant for women queening men but, hey, it works for kings too !
The manufacturer humorously branded the product a ‘Rim with a View’. It’s a stool made out of tubular steel but it comes with a rather basic, plastic toilet style U-shaped seat. So I got Candace to sew me a sleeve to cover the seat, out of a piece of purple plush velvet, so that it’s more comfortable for me to sit on for long periods. Purple is the colour of kings.
The legs hold the seat at a height of 13 inches off the wooden floor and, with the curve of my butt and a cushion under Candace’s head, that’s the perfect height for her to be able to lie underneath me and worship my ass.
I guess my butt isn’t as pert and muscled as it was thirty years ago. But life isn’t about soft focus and shared pleasure any more. It’s about Candace’s commitment to full service submission.
I rarely smoke but at times like this I still enjoy the occasional puff. Maybe 5 to 10 a month, always when watching sport on TV. A beer, a cigarette, a good Champions League Quarter Final, and a thorough rim job. Bliss.
For obvious health reasons I keep myself pretty clean down there. I guess I have a slightly scatological fetish but I’m not stupid. The last thing I’d ever want is Candace or anybody else to get ill due to me. I shower and use an antiseptic spray before a rim job. Not necessarily immediately before, of course. It’s nice to allow a bit of natural sweat and moisture to rebuild.
But it is now time to push on, to journey deeper than we have been so far. And there is one new humiliation that is a shocking but safe way to truly test a submissive.
Gas.
After all, it’s only hot air.
I blame the beer.
Once evening when Candace has begun to accept her analingual duties, I noisily and without warning brutally pass wind. It’s a ferocious, flatulent blast right into her face. Oh boy, is she mad. She recoils, struggles out from under the stool, makes a damned fuss, calls me gross.
So I get mad at her too. We have a little discussion. There is only one outcome, one winner. No harm has been done. It’s only a question of her unlimited commitment. She must control her natural reaction.
Not long afterwards, once she’s restarted, I smile down between my open thighs. I can’t see her eyes properly but I can watch her chin and the lower half of her face.
Like most families I guess, my kids invented our own family slang for two types of gas. One is the ‘Labrador’; its bark is worse than his bite.
This Labrador is not quite as loud, easier for her to stomach.
There is no smell worth talking about. Just a bit of harmless flatulence.
Her tongue stops licking momentarily, lips still, her neck and chest are goose-bumped scarlet with shame and exasperation.
“Good girl.”
This time, after a brief pause, she starts tonguing again. A slight moan but no verbal objection. So it’s time to push on.
“Jed.” I call over to the kitchen area. “Bring me another beer.”
I time it perfectly. He is filling my glass like a waiter. I study his eyes as he pours. He hasn’t previously expressed an opinion on me riding his wife’s face, not that I’ve asked him. Anyway he can’t now, as a red ball-gag is strapped into his mouth to prevent him pilfering any of my food while he makes my supper.
My third fart is quieter but perfectly audible, unmistakeable.
I hold his gaze. He blinks. A man just passed gas on his love.
And Candace is totally aware that Jed’s feet are inches from her head. She knows that her meek acceptance is obvious to him.
I calmly raise a quizzical eyebrow and then turn my eyes back to the TV screen.
“Oh, and empty the ashtray.”
He timidly skulks back to the kitchen.
And his wife’s tongue skulks along my cleft.
Much later, in bed, I kiss her.
“You were a good girl this evening.”
“Thank you.” She murmurs. I have fucked her and am now gently teasing my fingers over her protruding, slimy clit. She badly wants to cum.
“No harm done.” I smile, tasting her breath.
Her expression is part-sulk and part-arousal. She doesn’t reply.
“Only to your pride.”
“It’s not my pride.” She whispers. “It’s just … disgusting.”
“Oh, go on. It’s just one more broken taboo.”
Her hips grind in frustration.
“Bastard.”
I accept her insolence in the semi-jovial manner it’s meant.
“Say it.” My index finger hovers over her clit like I’m deciding which piece of sushi to pick up. “Ask me to fart in your face whenever I want to from now on.”
She dry-swallows, humiliation and stimulation washing over her.
“Please … do it in my face whenever you want …”
“Not ‘it’. Say the word. Fart.”
“F … fart in my face. Whenever you want. Please …”
Her head tilts back, on the verge of an orgasm.
“… Sir …”
I slap her hip to signify it’s over. The raw tuna can go back in the fridge for now. She gasps, eyes shut, waiting, hoping.
“Not tonight.”
Two evenings later, after dinner, another exam.
I just love that sensation of her wet tip flicking the length and breadth of my crack. The tongue exercises have given her real power and stamina. I am sitting on my stool facing the screen again, supporting my back against the sofa. I’m enjoying an action movie DVD.
Candace is lying face up below me, her legs extended towards the screen. She’s dressed in a maid’s costume with stockings and heels but is topless above the waist. I can reach down and squeeze her tits during an exciting moment. Like those tension-relief stress balls you can buy.
Her tongue action keeps me rock hard. But her arm is reaching up and blindly jerking me off too, so I don’t have to do any of the work.
“Mmm, that’s it. Don’t slow. Just keep the rhythm nice and steady.”
It’s hard, a difficult new skill, masturbating me from underneath and without being able to see. But she’s making a decent fist of it. Plenty of bicep curl repetitions in the mornings and jerking me off like this will soon make her perfect.
Now the last, trickiest exam question.
My stomach is full.
My family’s term is a ‘Jack Russell’; unlike a Labrador, this is a terrier whose bite is much worse than its yapping bark.
This Jack Russell is almost silent, a long hiss. Within moments I can smell the sulphurous aroma. So, of course, can Candace.
“Just keep that rhythm nice and steady, I said.”
Her fingers seem to pause on my dick, almost imperceptibly. Like they are linked to her tongue. Then like an engine only missing a single beat, her hand and mouth continue their synchronised service.
It’s a myth they all stink. Mine anyway ! My flatulence is mostly aroma-free. I swear. But like anyone, I do have my moments.
I lean my head down to one side so she can hear me better over the screeching tyres of the movie. Her tired arm maintains it pumping tempo.
“And keep that tongue action going.”
The thrill is immense.
I’ve heard it said that once a couple start passing gas in front of each other it’s bad for the romance of their relationship. Well, frankly, romance is for lovers. I wouldn’t have dreamed of insulting my wife this way. Of course, she’d never have accepted it either.
And that’s surely the point. Candace doesn’t want to be my wife. Not even my girlfriend or lover, in the romantic sense of the term. She wants something else entirely. Me doing something so repellent - and her learning to accept it - was never an individual act on a menu that she or I consciously considered beforehand, but she did ask to be tested to the limit.
Scatological it may be, but there are few tests that plumb the absolute depths of a submissive’s obedience.
And this is one of them.
With her lips and tongue worshipping my ass, her fingers fondling my dick, I sit, drink, burp and enjoy the movie until I finally lose it and give her a helping hand.
Blissfully content, I spurt pearly jets in an arc all over her tits and stomach.
Jason was chuffed to meet up with us again. This time to fuck Candace.
Same hotel. It’s Room 13 this time.
Not unlucky, I hope.
Candace is just as shy but slightly more relaxed this second time. Jason has agreed I can watch and photograph from the corner again. They both strip off properly. He has an enviably good body; 6’ 3”, broad shoulders, V-shaped torso, long legs. His skin is milk chocolate and, to my amusement, he keeps his navy blue socks on.
As if to return the favour, Candace retains her stockings and heels.
It’s been a long time since I watched two people fuck. She sucks him a little then rolls the condom onto his black shaft. He mounts her on the floral eiderdown.
“Look at me please.”
I snap a couple more for her and Jed’s European album. Her face is centre-shot. His big, dark frame highlights the pallor of her skin. Jason is surprisingly relaxed about his face featuring. I take another photo capturing their lips together.
I have long since noticed that Candace doesn’t often orgasm from straight, penetrative sex. The handful of times that she’s cum fucking with me have been when she’s feeling the strongest emotional humiliation.
“Put some back into it.” I call out to her from my chair.
Jason turns and grins, driving into her with long, powerful strokes.
Her head rolls, eyes towards me, cheeks creased with effort.
“Yesssss.”
I’m not sure who cums first. A dead heat ? Maybe ‘Usain’ just bolted ahead, with Candace breasting the tape a close second. I’m not sure. What I do know is that I have to hiss at them.
“Sshhh, guys !”
The thin walls of the hotel don’t seem very soundproof.
Their loud male grunts and female yowls slowly tail off.
“You came big time, didn’t you ?”
We are in my car, driving home. Candace is looking out of the window at the pedestrians and commuters. It’s early evening. The days are longer. The clocks have changed to Summer time. People on their way home, to pubs, shopping. Normal people.
“Yes.”
She turns to look at me. In many ways this was the defining moment. More significant than any other that has passed between us. We both know it.
“Fucking doesn’t have to be about submission, you know ? It can just be fun.”
Slowly her face breaks into a lovely smile. She slides her hand over to my lap.
“I’m driving.”
I hear her giggle.
Part of me is sad. I can’t speak for every guy but sharing a woman for the first time feels weird. What I mean is, a dom sharing his sub. For me, a blowjob is one thing. I could watch Candace giving head to a hundred guys and it wouldn’t feel like this. Fucking is different. It is impossible for me to value her exactly as I did before. It was inevitable this would happen. Heck, I wanted it to happen in our final weeks. But it’s still poignant.
Yet each man kills the thing he loves.
By each let this be heard.
“Let’s go straight to a restaurant.” I say. “Drink some champagne.”
She smiles then bites her lip.
“Jed ? Oh, don’t worry about him. He’ll be safe for a few more hours.”
I’m not sure exactly when it was that I first had the idea.
Slowly but surely my germ of a plan mushroomed. I realised that it would be best for both of them; for Candace and for Jed.
In the final six weeks, I start giving her more free time. She occasionally sleeps with me now, all night in my bed and she has a morning lie-in, snoozing while Jed performs double his quota of morning chores to make up for her. I loosen her diet, relax her regime and treat her less harshly, at least in front of him.
As I have grown less interested in fucking, she has become hungrier for sex than she’s ever been. She has more orgasms, even during this month’s menstrual period. Perhaps it’s the fact that our time is now limited ?
I start encouraging her to sit on Jed’s face most days. Whereas before it has mostly been about cream pies and humiliation, now it is about her own emancipation and pleasure. I make her try things she is hesitant about.
“Piss in his mouth.”
She squats above him in the bathtub and lets rip.
“Relax and let him massage you.”
She lies on the bed and enjoys an hour of pampering.
“You wear his key.”
Slowly, slyly, she starts being able to consider herself as Jed’s superior. Not exactly his Mistress yet, but certainly more than his equal. I have her wear the key to his chastity tube on a gold chain round her neck. At first it’s just a symbol. I don’t trust her to be ruthless enough yet. But she enjoys the game. All three of us have proved she no longer needs Jed’s cock for her pleasure.
Not that she has it all her own way.
I want to whore her out now. After Jason, she pulls her first trick. All staged, of course, but still it’s for money. The guy is a pleasant, older ginger haired executive I choose for her on the Ashley Madison site. He’s into roleplay too. Another hotel room. Another blowjob. Another condom. And more photos. He hands me over £50 in cash.
That same evening, we go to a nightclub. It’s a posh place; casino, dining room, dance floor, long dresses and suits. There are plenty of single businessmen types and top of the range hookers.
“Please …” Candace murmurs, as we sit at the bar.
“You know what Winston Churchill supposedly said to a woman he was once sat next to at dinner ?”
“No.”
“Would you sleep with me for a million pounds ?”
“And ?”
“She said yes. So he asked, would you sleep with me for ten pounds ? And the woman replied, what do you take me for Mr. Churchill, a prostitute ?!”
Candace looks at me expectantly, sipping her champagne.
“And Churchill replies. We’ve already established what you are, ma’am, now we’re merely haggling over the price.”
Candace pouts. “You think I’m a hooker ?”
I kiss her on the lips. “Of course I don’t. But I think you’re a hot lady unsuited to sticking with one guy.”
Her eyes sparkle under the bright chandelier. She bites her lip, cheeks blushing.
I look around the large, crowded room.
“I could choose any man here. Him, him, or him. And not just good looking ones. Pretty much any. That one. The tubby guy there. You’d have sex with them and enjoy it.” I whisper. “You’d cum !”
“But … I’d prefer it with you. Or Jed.”
I shook my head. “No. Actually, after a while, I don’t think you would.”
When I do fuck her myself nowadays, it’s rough, urgent, coarse. There are only five weeks to go. I have to indulge myself in the time that’s left.
She reciprocates. Our lips mash together, our bodies slapping. I am still the only one allowed to spurt my seed properly inside her unprotected young cunt.
“You watching, Jed ? Go fetch me a cold flannel.”
I flatter myself that they have been very fortunate finding me. I don’t give them more than a 100 to 1 shot that they can go back to the States and locate somebody else like me who’s sane, or a full on situation like this.
I mean, sure, I bet such people exist. But it’s needles in haystacks stuff.
“Get down and lick her cunt out, Jed. Guzzle that load down.”
But could they find an achievable way to get a similar but safe thrill ?
“How long since you came ?”
Five Words.
“Jed ? How long ? Remind us.”
Again, five words. For Kelly and Mart, read Candace and Jed. They could create their own version of my story in real life.
His eyes don’t lie. He knows what I’m doing. The threat excites him too.
“Sixty two days, Sir.”
“Pshoosh. Sixty two ? Really ? Fantastic. That’s longer than last time.”
He lies between his wife’s legs. They’ll never be a super-model’s but they are now super-fit, toned. Her knees are raised in a welcoming V.
“Mmm …” Candace sighs in wicked greeting.
Moments later her fingers claw at the iron bed rails in ecstasy.
One evening in late April, this time Candace is doing my ironing while Jed is on the PC. It is his turn to send an email to USA and then log on to his IC account. The big day when Jed takes on a stud of his own is near. We are approaching the bottom of the well.
“I think he’s the one.”
The photo is typical. The guy has a shaved head with short, steel-grey hair at the sides, sparkling blue eyes and a salt-and-pepper moustache. His profile says he’s only 41 but I’d place him nearer 50. He’s American, living in UK for many years. His Ad title is the American Werewolf in London.
I gave Jed several opportunities to back out. He isn’t gay and I simply refute all that bullshit about cuckolds always being closet homosexuals. This is all about submission and humiliation, pure and simple.
We meet they guy at the same cheap tourist hotel where Candace and I first met Jason. I provide Jed the same security as his wife, except I wait outside the door instead, while he offers his throat to the werewolf.
No anal, no rough stuff.
Just 15 minutes of oral homage and a sweet kiss on the lips. Like his wife, Jed has now blown a complete stranger.
I snap an I-phone shot of the two men posing and saying goodbye.
“You’re both as bad as each other.”
We’re drinking. It’s the first alcohol Jed has tasted since mid-February. He’s drunk. Not roaring drunk, but merry.
“Well, she’s worse !” he retorts, playing at being annoyed.
“You’re both unfaithful sluts who deserve each other.”
Candace points at the photo on my I-phone screen.
“But at least I have taste !”
“That would be a fishy taste.” Jed cracks, quick as a flash.
It’s an atmosphere-buster. We all start laughing. It’s one of those jokes, not even that funny. But it sets us off in a round of uncontrolled tittering.
And then my phone rings.
It’s my wife.
There is something I’ve always wanted to see.
But for over three decades I’ve never had the opportunity.
Until now.
I’ve been saving it. I want to see Candace make herself cum with a cucumber. There’s something about a woman masturbating herself with a vegetable that looks wonderfully embarrassing. It could be a banana, carrot, whatever, but a big fat green slicer is my veggie of choice.
She is lying on the bed. Her thighs are akimbo and for now she’s wearing just a bra and thong and a pair of wedge heels. She’s already teased the end of the cucumber over her face and nipples.
My friend Nick is with me, working the camcorder. He is a well known Bdsm author and we talk and share ideas online. It’s the first time I have ever met him in person. I finally gave in to his request that I invite him to increase Candace and Jed’s embarrassment.
As a new test and humiliation, Candace has signed a model’s release form, legally giving me copyright and free usage rights over every single photo and film I’ve ever taken of her. It is a subtle blackmail weapon that will always hang over them from now on.
She is sweating, teasing the scrubbed cucumber against her mound.
“Put it inside you.”
She pulls aside the gusset of her black thong and starts edging the green dildo between her labia. Her mouth opens and her glazed eyes widen.
“Deeper. You can do it. Go on.”
“Oah … ahohh …sss.”
The red light on my digi-cam glows. Nick grins at me.
Her cunt is now totally hairless. I got rid of that little tuft of pubic hair. She holds the gusset open like the curtain of a theatre as the ten inches long hero takes centre stage.
But it’s not the length that’s a problem, but the thickness. It distorts her labia, and the pink and cream folds within.
“Push it back in deeper this time.”
Jed’s eyes bulge. He is watching her too. Hogtied on the floor. Lying on his front, ankles roped to his wrists. One of my socks is taped into his mouth as a gag.
“Ohm ……nnnggsss.” She gasps.
In two days time, Candace is booked to go to a tattoo parlour for a final souvenir. She is going to have a discreet but indelible ‘V’ inked into her bald pubic mound, like an arrow directing traffic to her cunt.
I haven’t charged them anything for board and lodging the entire time they’ve spent with me. The cold showers and offal meals are all free. Aside from a few internet purchases, this European vacation hasn’t cost them a cent. Jed’s wallet has lain untouched since our trip to Paris.
But the £30 cost for Candace’s tattoo is being paid for by Jed.
It seems only fair. After all, he’ll be the one able to stare at it in future, not me.
“Ngah … mm.”
“Come on. This is fucking boring. Shove it in.”
I wink at Jed. A hogtied guy always looks ridiculous. Jed simply gawps up at me.
“Take that off. Let’s see your bare snatch.”
She lays the cucumber aside and tugs her black thong off.
After the tattoo, of course, one day she’ll be able to choose to grow her pubic hair back and cover up my mark if she wants. A mommy doesn’t want her kids seeing a rude memento of her wild youth.
But so long as she keeps it shaved, she’ll visibly belong to V.
V for Velvetglove.
“Okay, now switch cucumbers.”
The second one is even longer. It’s called a marketmore ridge, a type that’s smooth but with those tiny raised dimples along its oiled length.
Candace starts feeding the first few tapered inches inside herself then easing them out again.
“Come on. Or do you need a helping hand ?”
A strangled squeal escapes her throat. She suddenly manages to push two thirds inside. Eight inches. Past the widest point of the cucumber, leaving four inches for her right hand to grip onto. Her index finger guides the stalk end in and out. It’s wonderfully obscene.
“You getting this real close up aren’t you, Nick ?”
He nods.
“Pan up to a shot of her face too.”
Her voice whimpers in shame. Publicity was a hard limit when this started. One of the reasons they wrote to me was because I live in another country and they thought that this adventure could always be a secret.
It still can. But from now on it’s my decision.
“And make sure you get him too, Nick. Full face.”
I squat down on my haunches for a closer look, out the camera’s way. I turn and grin at Jed’s shiny-red face.
“This is what she needs.” I tell him. “Once a week. Some nice market produce. Much, much bigger than you. Soon she won’t feel you, even if she does fuck you.”
It is, of course, an erotic myth about taut cunts being stretched by huge dicks. Any guy who has watched his wife giving birth knows that the female anatomy was designed for bigger challenges than sex with a vegetable. But hey it’s fun to wallow in the verbal mud.
Eventually, Candace does climax. It’s not one of her best. She just wants to get it over with and please us. The photo shoot is over.
“Smile !”
For our final weekend, we go to Rome. My favourite city in Europe; so much sexier than Paris, classier than Madrid, cooler than Vienna.
It is also the easiest European city to get laid if you’re a female looking for uncomplicated sex with gorgeous, olive-skinned hunks. Romans are invariably dark and handsome, if not universally tall. They are used to fair-skinned Swedes, Brits and Americans coming to visit their city for more than just the pasta !
I have taken a suite for two nights. Two bedrooms, a living room, a magnificent hillside vista over an olive grove, swimming pool and the ancient city below.
Jed and I take drinks together on the pool terrace. It is a sultry evening at the end of May. We can see our room’s balcony bathed in cerise light as the sun begins its descent. We chat, passing time, waiting patiently. I think the waiter even concludes we are father and son, which pisses me a little !
“No regrets ?”
Jed gives me a tense, wry grin. “What do you think ?”
“She’ll need your encouragement. Loads of it.”
He nods. “I know.”
“But she’s a changed woman.”
I raise an eyebrow to underline my comment.
Candace has appeared on our balcony. She is wearing a white hotel robe, holding something in her hand, waving.
“Looks like mission number one has been accomplished.” I say to Jed.
Twenty minutes later, she arrives at our table in a new black silk dress. It is similar to the woollen one she wore on that first night we met, but sexier, bought to show off her sleeker curves. I still have an urge to lean over and squeeze her tits as they strain against the delicate fabric.
“How was room service ?”
She opens her equally new Italian handbag. There is a knotted, bulging condom inside.
“Very quick.”
I smile, loving her confident air. Jed blushes in that half-ashamed and half-thrilled way that I think is perhaps unique to a submissive cuckold.
“Let’s eat.”
That night is the first, last and only time we ever have a threesome. Not a truly genuine 2-on-1 romp of equals, but after Candace has sucked me hard and I’ve fucked her while Jed lies alongside us, I invite him to enjoy sloppy seconds.
I pour a brandy while they fuck. Jed doesn’t disappoint either. He loses it, groans and spurts in less than 90 seconds. It isn’t surprising given how long he’s waited and Candace isn’t bothered. She clutches him to her as his body sags in post-orgasmic relief.
Still husband and wife.
I have one last unrealised ambition for her.
Bukkake.
I doubt there is anything as humiliatingly beautiful for a submissive female as having her face and tits streaked with loads of pearly scum. It is safe but sordid sex and hence totally suited to a slut you care for.
An Italian friend of mine has told me about a private sex club and obtained tickets for us for one of their Saturday night fancy dress parties at a discreet venue. We turn up and over 200 men and women of every age and shape are drinking, chatting, partying in the floodlit gardens.
It is another first meeting. I am surprised how my online contact looks exactly as I expected. He speaks fluent English and has that easy charm so many Latins seem to possess.
I whisper to Candace what we’re here for. Her eyes widen in alarm. I tell her she can’t let me down after six months training. Besides her co-stars would be very disappointed.
My friend has rounded up 7 men. There were to have been 10 but 3 don’t seem to have turned up. They resemble characters from that Night at the Museum movie; everything from Roman togas, to military costumes, tight spandex shorts and elegant James Bond tuxedos.
We settle under a floodlit tree with a curved stone bench. Candace downs her glass of wine and lies down on the bench. A silver moon hovers in the starlit sky above us. It is sultry and the sound of cicadas fills the air.
The men gather round her, extracting their penises from under togas or through zips. I watch them shuffle forward, arms jerking.
Somebody says something in Italian and Candace raises her head.
Gobbets of cum splash her face and hair.
A second guy follows up from another angle and splatters her cheek.
Laughter. More Italian exclamations.
The remaining six, including my friend, close the gaps vacated by the two who are adjusting themselves back into their clothes.
One of them turns and looks at me. I catch his wink.
Somebody unbuttons Candace’s top, bares her tits. Male grunts are followed by arcs of semen sparkling under the floodlight.
Jed stands in the background like a benched substitute. He is a squad player watching the first teamers. I guess that makes me the coach.
After they have all finished and disappeared cheerfully back into the party, I help Candace off the bench. She has never appeared so magnificent. Her mascara, lipstick and blusher applied so painstakingly in the hotel room, now look like a splurge of modern art. There are wet blobs in her hair and marks on the top she is buttoning up.
“Leave it open. Wear it with pride.”
Some do it with a bitter look.
Some with a flattering word.
We stay another two hours, talking with strangers who speak some English, Candace bare-breasted and cum-stained. Three more men ejaculate over her when I casually invite them to.
A woman joins us. The only redhead I’ve seen at the party. Emaciated, flat-chested, with the aristocratic bone structure of an ex-model. She speaks good English with an American accent and talks animatedly to Candace for ten minutes.
“May I.” she suddenly says to me, making it sound more like a comment than a question.
“May you what ?”
“Use her face. Like the others did.”
I look at them. Both faces are impassive. Candace’s makeup has mostly been washed away now. There is a gleam on her skin.
“Sure.”
In the corner of the room, with over 30 people present, most of them admittedly not paying attention, Candace kneels down, face up. The redhead stands astride her and lifts the hem of her dress. I am shocked by the curly thatch of tomato coloured bush that she plonks unceremoniously down onto Candace’s nose.
“You taking this in, Jed ?”
He shakes his head, raising an eyebrow.
“This I didn’t expect.”
I ruffle his hair. “I hope she’ll have many more surprises for you yet, my friend.”
Four days later, I drive them to Heathrow airport for the flight home.
As a thank you for everything, I have paid to upgrade Candace to Business. Who knows ? She is wearing a come-hither top and short skirt that will attract a lot of attention from her co-passengers. I have fucked her one last time just before we left. She will travel with a dirty cunt and a V tattoo pointing the way to her future. Maybe some nice executive will invite her to join the mile high club ?
Jed is back in row 1,003 or whatever, with the backpackers and stinking armpits. His Steelworks toys are safely stowed in the hold luggage so maybe he’ll be able to nip to the aircraft toilet and treat himself to a swift handjob ?
The scene at Border Control is like a teenage RomCom movie.
Suddenly Candace realises that, unlike in the States, where I could have accompanied them to the security scanner or even the departure gate, at Heathrow I cannot accompany them beyond the ticket and passport check. She starts to cry and I have to wipe away a few tears of my own.
The coward does it with a kiss.
I shake Jed’s hand formally, as if it were a job interview, and then we both suddenly smile and embrace like a couple of long lost brothers.
We all three hug and snuffle in each other’s hair. Then I break off and dig Jed in his ribs.
“No regrets ?” I ask them one final time.
“None.”
“Well, so far, anyway.” Jed adds, a crooked smile on his face.
“And nor have I. But this is finally it.”
The brave man does it with a sword.
“We will never see each other again.” I tell them. “It’s been great but it’s over. I don’t ever want to see you again. Not even on Skype. No revisits next year. No maybes. We can keep in touch by email occasionally but otherwise this is it. Finito. Yes ?”
Candace’s eyes are brimming with tears but she nods. We kiss again.
“You’ll be fine.”
I watch them line up and present their boarding passes, then start to disappear amongst the throng of travellers.
“Who was the eighth President of the United States?” I call out.
Jed turns and smiles wryly. “Martin van Buren.”
“And the thirty eighth ?”
“Gerald Ford.” Candace replies, wiping her eyes on a tissue, blowing me kisses. “And write !”
“I’ll drop you a line tomorrow.” I shout back. A couple of people are staring at me.
“No.” she waves. “Not to us. You know. Start writing again. Please.”
I look at her.
A changed woman, now giving orders to me ! Start writing stories indeed !
But you know what, eventually, I did.
THE END
Epilogue
June 3rd 2009: Arrived home safely. Loads of family stuff. It feels weird. We miss you already !! J + C.
June 5th 2009: You have until the end of June. You choose the who, the when, the where, and it only need be once. But you have to try it. Good luck, V
June 26th 2009: It’s very hard. I want to. I just can’t bring myself to do it. We are going to a cookout tomorrow so will keep trying. J still supportive, I promise. But I’m sorry, I feel we’ve let you down. C
July 3rd 2009: As you suggested, no more PC time for Jed. He starts work on Tuesday. Maybe now that he’ll be out the house ? LOL. Party tomorrow. Another opportunity. C
July 5th 2009: Hope July 4 went well. All is going fine here. Off to Italy for a week with the family – my wife is visiting us for part of it. Not Rome this time ! Too many memories. BTW, enter ‘cucumber’ into a certain porn search engine and see what you find. You’re almost famous. More to follow, unless … V x
July 26th 2009: Job done !!! Less than an hour ago. Better late than never. In the end A. Seemed easier as I didn’t want to risk gossip. Will send proof later. No faces online – pleeeeeease. Thought of you the whole time. Only joking ! Thanks and love, C.
July 28th 2009: Congrats. Will you be seeing A again ? BTW, getting into the rhythm of writing. Two stories: first is fiction, working title is Demo of Power; second is our story, I’m calling it Stranger than Fiction. Neat, huh. I’ll send you a draft once I’m ready. Good luck, V
August 27th 2009: We loved STF. A few typos but wouldn’t change anything. 7.5 out of 10 indeed !! It made us both want to start over and write you again ! We know that can’t happen now. But we will never regret we took the plunge and asked for the full ‘Velvetglove treatment’ ! Love from us both, always, C. PS: Jed 33 days and counting !!
THE END
By the same Author:
velvetfeedback@googlemail.com
Completed Novels:
“After the Pestilence” – a long (80,000 words) novel set in the near future, involving numerous characters and containing, as one reviewer said, ‘something for everyone’ (MF/mf, most of it is non-consensual and the humiliation is extreme, although the actual violence is mainly moderate).
“Five Words” – a long (70,000 words) Fem-domme novel, starting with just five words that changed his life. The handful of words that turned him from a husband, father and businessman to something else entirely (F/m, a bdsm romance).
“Best Enjoyed Cold” – A medium length (35,000 words) ‘Rape and Revenge’ thriller (MF/mf, non-consensual and emotionally cruel).
“Priceless” – A medium length (32,000 words) ‘Blackmail Saga’, originally conceived as a short-story, that grew into a novella punctuated by advertising industry taglines (consensual becomes non-consensual, M/fm).
Completed Short Stories:
“A Special Relationship” and “A Special Weekend” – A fem-sub POV story and its sequel (f/M, consensual, cuckqueening).
“Used / Damaged / Soiled Goods” – a series of three Male-dom short stories (M/f, violent).
“Credit Crunch” – a Male-dom short story (M/fm).
“Son-of-a-Gun” – A historical Male-dom short story (M+/f+, part non-consensual and part consensual).
“The Ballad of Lara and Gemma” – a Fem-domme, lesbian spin-off tale from ‘After the Pestilence’, in two parts (F/f, non-consensual).
Unfinished Business:
“A Demonstration of Power” – a work currently in progress, set in a fictional country (MF / mf, non-consensual)
“Loaning Lucy” – started out as a single part Fem-domme, lesbian short story (F/f, consensual) but has ‘grown’ via occasional new chapters into I’m not sure what ! No longer just F/f or consensual
“Beyond the Pestilence” – sequel to After the Pestilence (MF/mf, non-consensual).
“Hard Labor” - (MF/mf, non-consensual).
“Short n Sweet” - (MF/mf, consensual).
“Hors d’oeuvres” and “Amuse-Bouches” (both written in English by the way !) – two collections of three ‘first chapters’ that were never continued.
“Supper’s Ready” – a collection of five short, light-hearted poems with a bdsm theme.
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