“You’re still the same sexy woman you always were, and you know it,” he smiled. “Age hang-ups? Yes, they’re there, but you’d be surprised, I think, if you looked into the sordid male mind to find out how little most things matter to them and how appealing the thought of a filthy experienced mature woman appeals. We’re all boys at heart.”
“But not you. Never you…” There was a pause, not awkward, just there, before she went on. “What do you do, on lonely, lonely nights, Alasdair? Where do you turn? Or has that button simply switched off in you, like it seems, from so many of my friends’ accounts, to do in so many men?”
And for a few moments, Alasdair, who had never breathed a word of his online games to anyone other than those with whom he played, was tempted to share: to just blurt it all out and watch her reaction, to see what he suspected would be her disbelief and disgust etched on that lovely face. What would it feel like to share his reality with someone who really mattered? It was tempting.
He had made it a strict rule to protect the identity of any woman he met, and in the past three years, there had been nine, all younger than him; he had been meticulous in his discretion. He thought Sheila might have suspected something on occasion, when he and one of his companions had bumped into her on the way into his flat, but she had never said a word. As a sheltered-accommodation manager, she too was impeccably discreet, although she had been noticeably cooler to him of late.
“A step too far?” Jane asked, after his short pause. “You know I’d never judge. Erm, not really in a position to, you might say.”
“Too far? You? Never. You can ask anything and you know it. No. I’m happy with my own company for now. Something more would be nice but… it would have, like you say, to be easy, and let’s be honest here, I’m not an easy man myself and they’re not exactly queuing up. I’m okay. I’ll be okay. But for now, I think it’s time I dragged these sorry old bones home. It’s late, I’m a wee bit tipsy, and the night air would do me good.”
“I can’t offer you a bed – the girls have taken that up – but I’m sure we could find a small corner for you somewhere. God knows, you’re not a fussy man. You sure about the walk?”
“Certain,” he nodded, throwing down the last of his drink and placing the glass back on the work surface.
He put on his jacket and, giving her a tight hug goodnight, he walked the half hour home. It was a dry, pleasant evening and his mind was clear, despite the gentle kiss of the alcohol. He felt good, strong and centred, and enjoyed the stroll.
It was pushing 1am when he arrived back at the block, and he felt like a teenager sneaking in after a late-night party. The place lay in total silence.
Alasdair went into his flat and straight to the kitchen, where he opened the cupboard under the sink and felt around for the half bottle of emergency Grouse he knew was there. The funny thing is, he thought, I don’t even need it; but this realisation didn’t stop him as he unscrewed the lid and retired to his lounge. It felt like an opportunity too good to miss, as if the fact that he had already had a couple obliged him to go the whole way; as if the glasses he had shared with Jane, which had been perfect to lift his spirits on his walk home, were somehow not enough to quench the real thirst he felt deep inside, and he had to pour and pour and pour until the slight haze became a fog into which he could fade into invisibility.
And yet he sat, closed laptop, bottle untouched, leaning back in his computer chair, staring at the two objects taunting him.
“To drink or not to drink…” The words came out aloud and he laughed at his own ridiculousness, the absurdity of his dilemma and the pain he was beginning to feel as he contemplated leaving the room and going to bed.
One day at a time, step by step; but this particular day was, he reasoned, already fucked, and, like a dieter in a cake-feeding frenzy after a momentary lapse demands that existing efforts be declared pointless, Alasdair lifted the unscrewed cap and sniffed, before gulping down a third of the bottle in one hefty shot.
But all was not lost, and addiction surely doesn’t have to lead to a total collapse of happiness, he thought; even as he tried to convince himself of the truth of this, Alasdair was logging in to his deactivated PhetX account, just to browse, to look, nothing more.
Thirteen unread messages, mostly junk from the umpteen forums to which he subscribed, and nothing at all from Tamsin, who had told him, in her last email, that her plan was to take a break and maybe “go straight”. Her profile, he observed, had vanished.
Sad? Yes. Yes, he was sad, no denying it. But in the mix alongside this, he knew there were always more. More girls, more women, more names, more stories, more profiles; and it was not that LittleGirlLost didn’t matter, because of course she did, but that she was always going to be transient for him, as he was for her, travellers passing each other, and she was ultimately replaceable.
This he knew as a truth, although the idea troubled him so much – what did it say about him? – that he could barely admit it to himself.
16. Daddy’s_BiGal
Adult Rope Art
Advice for Newbie Subs
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17. Luke _66
Megan had done several meets. They generally began with a token coffee, leading either to a civil goodbye or a frantic smooch and grope in some quiet corner while they planned their first coupling. On this occasion, however, she had agreed to break her own rules and meet in the bar of the hotel where her date was staying in central London one Saturday shortly before Christmas.
Travelling through PhetX, meeting people, reading their thoughts and browsing their photos, it had soon become clear to her that, along with the strong desires to please, to trust, and to push boundaries to the edge and beyond, Megan fancied girls. It’s not like this was completely news to her, but once she’d thought it, more or less as simply as that, in those terms, it became a basic fact of her life.
On PhetX, her story was a common one. Having had a few crushes on other girls as a teenager, she still occasionally found that her fantasies involved women. She started reading lesbian erotica blogs, joined a few groups and as her interest gained momentum she reached a point where her porn of choice was strictly lesbian. Her status moved rapidly from “bicurious” to just “bi”; having chatted to several likely and even more unlikely prospects, she finally met a woman with whom she just seemed to connect.
In messages and texts, they quickly reached a point where they could finish each other’s sentences. They even looked alike in the photos she sent. Nikki Cock_Sleeve was perfect, and, again going against every internet rule in the book, Megan would have met her within a week if it hadn’t been for the fact that she kept referring to her “master”, Brian. In reality, Brian was simply Nikki’s boyfriend. From the photos, he was, at best, a quirky little chap, an odd partner for Nikki and not, Megan thought, an obvious dominant, but who knew what went on behind closed doors. But something else, something deeper, didn’t quite fit
.
And then, within a few days of meeting Nikki, SimplyAMaster contacted Megan via the site, introducing himself and professing his utmost delight that his wonderful sub had, he hoped, found her first bisexual experience.
Hello Daddy’s_BiGal,
Nikki says she’s mentioned me to you – I’m her dom and master, so of course she tells me everything – but I wanted to stop by and introduce myself personally.
I have to say, first of all, that Nikki has my full support in any “extra-curricular” (lol) activities you two decide to get up to. Meeting someone as sexy and open-minded as you has been her dream for a while now – both our dreams, really, as I just want her to be happy – and from what she tells me you sound lovely (and from your photos, you look it too).
I hope you don’t mind me getting in touch, but it’s important for us as a couple that I’m involved. After all, who knows where this might lead...
Please do feel free to ask me anything you want. Remember that, although Nikki and I are together, as her Dom I want only what’s best for her, and I give you my assurance of complete confidentiality in our correspondences. If there’s anything you feel sensitive about or don’t want me to share, even with her, I won’t.
Take care, Brian xx
The note creeped Megan out; she simply wasn’t looking to play a second sub to Nikki’s dom, and found Brian’s tone a little too presumptuous. She sent back a brief but polite thank-you, inviting no further correspondence, and was grateful when she got none. For the next week, her days were focused on family and work, while her nights turned increasingly to anticipating the meeting with Nikki that was slowly taking shape in their correspondence.
Neither woman had any real experience in the field, so to speak, but their emails were passionate. Okay, if Megan really thought about it, maybe hers contained more intricate fantasies than her new friend’s, but they were greeted with such great enthusiasm that at first she barely noticed the creative reticence.
The flattery of her own vivid scenarios was a massive turn-on, and for now this made up for the passivity that meant Nikki revealed little about what was actually going on in her head. Megan tried to coax out of her a few desires; it seemed impossible, as her own mind ran rampant, fuelled by the writings she had read and videos she had watched, that someone so keen to try something new had no specifically personal needs ready to be acted upon. But it seemed that Nikki simply didn’t.
They’d agreed on London as a central meeting point, midway between their homes in Leicester and Hastings. It was now three-and-a-half weeks since they’d stumbled into one another online and Megan was ready, truly ready.
Megan had told Rich and the children that she would be away all day on a course for work, giving her plenty of leeway for an early-morning train and a spot of festive shopping on Oxford Street, before a lunchtime sandwich at the hotel where Cock_Sleeve had a room booked. The night before, with her clothes laid out for the morning, Megan was lying in bed when her phone rang.
Number unknown.
“Megan?” A man’s voice, with a hint of a Northern twang, spoke. “It’s Brian. You good to talk?”
“Well, I’m surprised, but, yes, I guess, if you hold on a moment while I close the door... I’m good, yes. What’s up? Is Nikki okay?”
“I have to say, hun, it’s great to hear your voice at last.”
She paused – froze, really – and waited.
“You still there?”
“I’m here.”
“Nikki’s fine. A bit nervous, but she’ll be fine. I wanted to have a quick chat before we meet up. She’s told me a lot about you.”
“We’re both nervous, I think, but we’ve talked it through and I’m sure it’ll work. How can I help you? ... ‘We’? Erm, I didn’t realise you’d be coming down to London...”
“In things like this, a girl needs her master along. From what I’ve heard about you, I’m sure you understand that. Plus... I think you and I will get along famously. You sound like one extremely naughty girl, Megan.”
Megan felt nauseous, numb, and filled with dread that something she wanted so much was now under threat. Unsure of what to say, she kept quiet.
“I thought maybe we could see how we both felt about the prospect of meeting and where exactly we wanted that liaison to go... if you get my drift...” Brian continued.
“I’m not sure that I do. I can understand how important it is that you two talk about this, but…” she hesitated a second… “I’d prefer to get to know her first, and, to be blunt, although I hope not rude, I think I’d prefer not to be having this conversation. Is Nikki there with you now? Can I speak to her?”
“No, hun, she’s gone home to rest up for tomorrow. She doesn’t know about this chat, and I’m trusting that you won’t tell her. You are a lady I can trust, I know it… I just get this vibe from you. Am I right?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, ordinarily, yes. But I am totally uncomfortable about this.”
“Uncomfortable? Is… is this conversation making you a little moist, hun? Would it maybe feel a bit better if you got that big buzzing dildo out, the one I’ve seen in those photos, the one you ram up that soaking, juicy pussy of yours again and again and again and again and imagine it’s a cock? Are you sure it’s a fanny you’re wanting, Megan, and not what I’m holding in my hand right now? Can you honestly say you’re sure? Because I swear if I listen hard I can hear you panting there at the thought of it.”
And the God’s honest truth, although she was repulsed at the thought, was that yes, she was wet and yes, she was turned on by this whole sick exchange. It was clear that tomorrow wasn’t happening, surely couldn’t happen now, after this unexpected phone call, and she was panicky and stressed and disappointed, but that was solely the way her mind felt.
Her body knew that only an orgasm would relax it, cure this whole fucking mess for now, and it mistook the deep breaths she was taking to calm herself for arousal and she went with it. She followed her body.
“I’m not sure,” she whispered.
“You’re not… you’re not sure, are you babe? And what I’ve got in my hand here now, well, if you could see it you’d know what you need. You. Need. My. Cock. Say it. Say what you need.”
Silence.
“Say what you need. I want you to say these words, like Daddy’s good girl, so that he can reward you. I want you to rub and buzz yourself and I want you to say the words for me so that Daddy can be proud of you. Say it, baby girl.”
“I need…”
“You do, you so need it, baby… what is it that you need? It’s here waiting to meet you tomorrow if you want it. What do you need? Tell me.”
“I need your cock.”
And she did. In the midst of this insanity, his cock was what she needed, and it was that thought that brought her to a shuddering orgasm as he spoke, first gently and then with more frenzied tones, down the phone into her left ear, and it was with that thought that she fell asleep crying.
His cock? She needed any fucking cock.
********************
The next morning Megan awoke at 5.30 as planned to catch the 7.38am train to London Victoria. It would have been easier simply to cut her losses and stay at home, tell her family that the “course” had been cancelled, but she felt a strong need to be away for the day. She could at least get in a bit of Christmas shopping, while spending some quality time with her thoughts, but there would definitely be no coffee date, or next stage.
Right now she had no idea whether there even was a Nikki, but she knew she needed to get out of that whole bloody mess and sent Cock_Sleeve a curt but civil email explaining this. It was always best, she knew, to keep on good terms. No response.
The freedom of this day was now a welcome bit of head space and she spent the journey staring into her reflection in the window of a fairly empty train.
What the fuck, she kept thinking.
Having forgone breakfast, her first stop in London was a generic department store caf
é on Oxford Street. A toasted cheese-and-tomato sandwich and three coffees later, the day was starting to feel like a lucky escape, a gift from the gods, in fact.
She knew that she needed to share with someone what had happened, spew it all out, before moving on, but not now. Not now. Now was a time to drop all thoughts except for her immediate priorities, and a spot of indulgence purchasing seemed like an ideal way to salvage a day that could so easily have been a truly dreadful experience.
And so that’s what she did. Shop, coffee; shop, cake; shop, until just after half three in the afternoon when, bags bulging and contentedly weary, she headed down Oxford Street to the tube station – two short stops down the Victoria line and she’d be on a train back home.
The city was beautiful, a frenetic ballet of urban chaos. It was just getting dark, the festive lights were on and flashing, and the street was all hustle, but she was in no particular rush; she stood occasionally, her back to a shop window, just to watch the flow, smiling.
The tooting of cab drivers, frustrated by the tourists and the seasoned London shoppers who bumbled out in front of them on to the busy roads, competed with the jabber of thousands of voices. And faintly but clearly, if you listened, the megaphone-enhanced call of a street evangelist flogging tickets to heaven; it was just another a background noise until you got within ten feet of the preacher himself.
Let’s look awhile, sisters and brothers, at Proverbs 5, in which we are warned against the dangerous enticement of a seductress and the temptation of adultery. No one is immune to sin and we must look towards biblical wisdom so that we may preserve passion within marriage and be prepared to resist the allure of infidelity.
My sons, pay attention to my wisdom, turn your ear to my words of insight, that you may maintain discretion and your lips may preserve knowledge. For the lips of the adulterous woman drip honey, and her speech is smoother than oil; but in the end she is bitter as gall, sharp as a double-edged sword.
Her feet go down to death; her steps lead straight to the grave. She gives no thought to the way of life; her paths wander aimlessly, but she does not know it.
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