The Concubine Affair

by Quig Shelby

  ‘It used to get in the way when tying all the knots.’

  ‘Pervy,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘Don’t worry; I’ve still got the bondage mask.’

  She clapped her hands, and Orvid wondered if this was play or foreplay.

  ‘Anyway we haven’t got much time, what do you remember?’ he asked.

  In the next twenty minutes Karin quickly learned the ropes.

  She was a little clumsy but the male audience, and some of the women, didn’t notice. Then it was time for the grand finale. Orvid placed a flute to his lips, whilst Karin held a limp coiled rope: Though it had no problem becoming rigid in her hands.

  Orvid blew, though he was no cuckold, as the rope wrapped itself around Karin’s tight body. She looked a peach. Her breathing was faster, and she watched Orvid’s menacing eyes through the slits in his mask, mesmerised like the audience.

  ‘It’s alive,’ shouted Orvid.

  At the front tip of the rope a snakes head was manifest, with a rattlesnake’s tail waving behind. The snake hissed, and the tongue flickered like never before, with the delectable Karin entwined.

  Orvid picked up a bullwhip, placed at his feet by a stage hand. With one crack he lashed the reptile’s head, it fell to the ground dismembered, and the ropes uncoiled; rippling downwards like a silk dress. They bowed, soaking up the applause.

  ‘You were good, very good,’ said Orvid.

  ‘Thank you master magician’ she replied. ‘And is Master taking me back to his rooms?’

  They bowed one last time.

  ‘Of course; I can hardly contain my delight.’

  ‘And are you bringing the whip?’

  He smiled.

  She was sitting in front of the dressing mirror; they could both feel the attraction.

  ‘I’ve always been an exhibitionist,’ she confessed.

  ‘Then how would you like the job full time?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure if you’re serious. But just one thing’ she said. ‘I don’t screw anyone on the first date.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it; I think it’s way too soon to get involved.’

  ‘But I didn’t say anything about spanking,’ she said with a gleam in her eye.

  She left her address, for Orvid to visit tomorrow. A more thorough interview was required, at Karin’s request; though she preferred to call it an interrogation.

  Orvid threw his carpet bag on the sofa, and poured himself a stiff one. There was a message on the coffee table.

  ‘Hi Orvid, hope the show went ahead. But I had to leave and make a clean break. You were great for me once, but I’m not the woman for you anymore.’

  He went to their bedroom; she’d cleared out the rest of her stuff. But the handcuffs, ropes, and cane were still there. He smiled to himself; Karin had one great ass, and bondage babe stamped all over her. Libby who?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Verity sniggered.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Alain, alarmed that she could be laughing at him and his nakedness sprawled on the bed.

  ‘I was just going to ask if this would hurt. But then I realised that’s the whole point.’

  She pointed to the black leather rhomboid on the floor.

  ‘What’s that?’

  She knew the answer, but nonetheless wanted to hear him say it.

  ‘My CBT board.’

  ‘You’re such a masochist,’ said Verity smiling.

  The padded wooden platform encircled a small open well, to support the bottom of his shaft. The device had a central longitudinal split allowing division, and Verity opened it up like a nutcracker. She placed it carefully into position, so it rested from his navel to his hips. As the rig shut tight, Alain was imprisoned, his loins encased. Verity slid the bottom bolt across grinning; she knew the drill.

  ‘So what have you got in here my darling?’ she asked, scratching his gonads with her manicured nails, ‘are you going to show me?’

  He was speechless, feverish.

  Verity opened the hand carved wooden box; a monastic relic bought from a flea market. She carefully laid the contents out on the bed.

  ‘Elastic bands, hair bands, washing pegs, clips, one long thin, possibly gold plated rod, and a black candle and lighter.’

  ‘No, don’t say it,’ she said ‘let’s see if I can figure out what goes where.’

  Alain lay back on his bed in expectation, trepidation, and fear: A cocktail of high and heady fuel.

  ‘How does that feel?’ she asked.

  Alain groaned in exquisite agony.

  ‘Looks like a proper Christmas tree, and I guess this is where you pack the presents,’ she said, pinching a full sack.

  ‘There’s one thing missing. But first, so you don’t struggle,’ and she removed a washing line from her handbag.

  She looked down at her handiwork; Alain strapped to the bed and his pain board.

  ‘I wonder if this goes here,’ she said.

  After applying a little of the jelly, she slowly slid the rod into position, twisting and turning, boring down below.

  Much to Verity’s delight Alain writhed helplessly on the bed, wriggling like a giant hosepipe about to gush.

  ‘Don’t move,’ she joked whilst taking a few souvenir snapshots.

  ‘I’ll be back in an hour,’ she said ‘I’m off shopping.’

  He sighed loudly, much to Verity’s amusement.

  Verity returned laden with groceries, unloaded in the small kitchen. Slowly, deliberately, she marched up the stairs; each step pounding in Alain’s head. Alain couldn’t hide his happiness, and it was plain for Verity to see.

  ‘All this excitement has given me an appetite, and even if I say so myself I’m great at cooking up surprises,’ she said.

  He nodded.

  ‘You know Alain I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone quite as eager to see me,’ she said, unable to miss his anatomy swaying in agreement.

  ‘Let me put my baby out of his excitement,’ she said.

  Alain wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or bad; he liked to be on the edge, it gave him an edge. And he didn’t want to seem dispirited, deflated, in the presence of such a goddess.

  Tenderly the metal rod was coaxed free. But before Verity’s smooth hands could touch him again, the hose dampened Alain’s fire. Instinctively she shot back.

  ‘I’ve struck oil,’ she said.

  She sounded happy, joyous. There was frivolity in her voice, but then a sudden swing to menace.

  ‘When did the pain first seduce my pet?’ she asked running her fingernails along his chest.

  Her voice was low, but nonetheless scathing, scolding.

  ‘Three years ago,’ mumbled Alain.

  With his momentary joy expunged, he could feel the bands tearing him apart.

  ‘And what else do you get up to, get off to?’ she asked, mopping the oil spill with fragrant tissues.

  ‘Nothing,’ responded Alain, but he was blushing.

  ‘Alain, don’t lie’ she snapped.

  Her eyes glared, and he couldn’t help but like it. He wasn’t Pinocchio, but something was growing, already.

  ‘Perhaps this will help you concentrate,’ she chided.

  She lit the candle, and the hot wax soon dripped onto him. He held out as long as any man could, feeling the pain peak, burning and searing his flesh and soul, but finally he broke his silence.

  ‘I would have told you anyway,’ he bleated.

  ‘Go on,’ said Verity smiling at his beautiful grubbiness.

  ‘I use a webcam,’ he confessed.

  ‘For?’ she asked.

  ‘Gratification, but only occasionally,’ he lied.

  ‘For a bible basher you really are qui
te a sinner Alain Fontaney,’ said Verity ‘more off the wall than anyone else I’ve met. And I’ve met quite a few, believe me.’

  He looked worried. Not because he was ashamed, but he didn’t want to disappoint her. But then he didn’t know Verity Forster as well as he thought.

  ‘I didn’t say it was a bad thing,’ she said. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘In the top drawer.’

  Verity grabbed the laptop, and separate webcam with both hands. She opened the screen on the dresser, and connected the webcam with consummate ease.

  ‘The site?’ she asked.

  ‘Omegle.’

  ‘What else,’ she said unsurprised.

  He was disappointed; he wanted to be her first.

  ‘Verity, please disconnect the guys.’

  She smiled. How cute; he was speaking as though he could bargain.

  ‘Now why would I do that?’ she asked, her lips snarling.

  Cyberspace globetrotters saw Verity’s hands re-dress her pain doll’s wand, with shock, amusement, and occasional interest, especially the elderly gentleman with the pot belly and the bubble pipe.

  ‘This is so embarrassing,’ said Alain as Verity turned the laptop around so he could see his transient audience, and the often unflattering comments they typed.

  ‘There that’s it,’ he said excitedly, as two Nordic women with platted blonde hair suddenly came into view.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Verity as she purposely terminated their viewing pleasure, or not.

  ‘That’s enough excitement for today,’ she said logging off.

  ‘Careful,’ said Alain wincing as Verity removed his remaining chastisements.

  She kissed him on the ear lobe, and whispered.

  ‘I haven’t had so much fun in years.’

  ‘What will you do with the photos?’ he asked.

  It wasn’t so much a case of remembering, it was foremost on his mind.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll post them on Tumblr or Imagefap. I shall give it some thought.’

  At least she hadn’t said Facebook he thought. But then again she’d trawled many a porn site with a gin and tonic in her hand.

  ‘Are you showing any friends?’ he asked.

  ‘Calm down Mr Fontaney, all in good time, but perhaps I’ll let you hear them laughing on the phone - one day.’

  Was he drooling she wondered.

  ‘Now take a shower, you’re way too filthy. I’m going to cook us something to die for,’ she said.

  Verity had bought a bottle of wine to share with dinner, chilled from the cooler, and much to Alain’s chagrin. She stabbed her knife into the steak fillet.

  ‘You know Alain you really bring out the sadist in me,’ she said.

  ‘Now that would make a wonderful dessert,’ he said.

  ‘I think we could be opposite sides of the same coin Alain.’

  ‘Can I see the photos now?’ he pleaded.

  There was no point demanding anything. He knew who had the whip hand, when they were together.

  ‘Only if you let me see your phone,’ she replied.

  Verity understood the acid test of a man’s fidelity was his eagerness, or not, to share his mobile phone.

  Alain didn’t bat an eyelid as he handed it over. She scrolled through the numbers; nothing suspicious, the only photos were of the Qianlong vase.

  ‘I wonder if Wa Yu was so sadistic?’ asked Verity, choosing an orange truffle from her handpicked tray of fondants.

  ‘I haven’t found that out yet, but I know her priest wouldn’t complain,’ said Alain.

  ‘You know I’d love to go back, to see life through her eyes,’ said Verity.

  ‘Perhaps you can.’

  ‘You mean it Alain?’

  ‘Of course: Weigh yourself upstairs; and I’ll work out the calculations.’

  ‘Alain,’ shouted Verity from the bathroom.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Come up here, and bring the chocolates.’

  Verity walked into the bedroom, undressed.

  ‘What’s the worst punishment for a masochist?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied, secretly hoping it was some devilish torment even his ravaged spirit had not stumbled across.

  ‘Give his flesh something truly delightful to enjoy, of course. But don’t worry I can always whip you afterwards.’

  They both laughed. But before she left, Alain was hanging from his chin up bar sweating and bruised, although Verity had done all the exercise.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The mottled moggy with the inexplicable long whiskers was purring on his lap.

  ‘He’d been abandoned,’ said Karin.

  Orvid knew the feeling, but perhaps she was going to rescue him too. She was wearing a plain pink headscarf, and blue mascara. Orvid looked at her photographs pinned along the overhead cupboards; a red and rusty horse drawn wagon, wigwams, and a large tree house from which Karin was waving.

  ‘I’m unconventional,’ she said ‘always have been.’

  Was this the reason they connected so well he wondered.

  ‘The forecast is for rain tonight. It’s so sexy hearing the river being pelted,’ she smiled. ‘Why don’t you stay?’

  They were in Karin’s house boat, and she wasn’t slow at coming forward.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on; normal, or green tea?’ she asked, not sure how to react to his silence.

  ‘Green, please,’ after all he was far from normal.

  Lauderdale the cat jumped out of its way as the boulder rolled down the gantry.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Orvid, having just kicked a green sphere with his boots.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, picking it up. The stone was heavy, the size of a tennis ball.

  ‘Vesuvianite. Be careful it encourages you to follow your heart’s desire.’

  ‘And if your heart is dark?’ he asked.

  ‘Twice the power,’ she hoped, licking her lips.

  ‘You see the brown crystal on the window ledge?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s vogesite. Hold it; it helps to understand where you are, and where you have been on your spiritual journey.’

  He wasn’t a convert, but he wanted to please her for now, and punish her too. But didn’t she want the same?

  ‘So the orange boulder by the front door must be for something,’ he said, whilst looking at her wonderful ass.

  ‘That’s to protect me and Lauderdale,’ she said ‘he’s a scardey cat like me.’

  Although she didn’t come across as a shrinking violet: Quite the opposite in fact, but perhaps she enjoyed fear?

  ‘If you can stop dreaming of screwing me, what did you think of my performance last night?’ she asked.

  Her jeans were tight, and the t-shirt high enough to see her midriff and pierced navel.

  ‘Sorry, my mind was drifting again,’ he said.

  ‘I noticed it the other night too,’ she said.

  He decided to come clean; better to be disappointed, or disappoint, now.

  ‘It’s my meds,’ he said.

  ‘Your antipsychotics,’ she said pouring the tea, without looking up.

  ‘How’d you know?’ he asked, wondering if he’d left a box on show in his dressing room. And not even considering how she’d recognise them, although she did have a penchant for healing crystals. Bells were ringing in his ears; but were they alarm bells or wedding?

  ‘It’s no big deal. I saw you in Monks Hill when I visited my sister,’ she said.

  ‘She’s a patient, or staff?’

  ‘Prisoner; she killed her boyfriend last summer. It was self-defence,’

  ‘What did she get?’

  ‘Life.’


  ‘So prison made her ill.’

  ‘Nah, she’s playing a game. We figured it would be easier to break out of Monks Hill than a real jail.’

  ‘But the security’s even tighter.’

  ‘We know that now.’

  ‘You worked out a plan?’

  ‘Not yet, but then again I’m not a magician,’ and she smiled at Orvid.

  Orvid paused. Well at least she’d laid her cards on the table, although he wasn’t about to risk his liberty for someone he’d just met.

  ‘I haven’t tricked you,’ she said.

  ‘No, that’s my game. Besides I like your honesty, even if I’m not going to help.’

  ‘You’re still going to keep me as your assistant?’ she asked.

  ‘With a body like yours what do you think? I might be on medication, but I’m not mad.’

  She jumped into his lap, and he was instantly appreciative.

  ‘I’m going to need instruction,’ she said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I mean lots of training,’ and there was a long hard stare between them.

  Orvid nearly said it, but Libby’s flight had left him doubting; he needn’t have.

  ‘For a master magician you’re pretty damn slow at reading between the lines.’

  ‘Then maybe I should just be a master,’ he said.

  ‘At last,’ said Karin, and she bit his ear.

  ‘Hey,’ he screamed ‘that hurt.’

  ‘Well don’t hold back for my benefit,’ she said ‘I can be a real brat.’

  ‘My equipment’s at the house.’

  ‘I’m sure you can improvise.’

  He could, and he grabbed her wrists, forcing her over his knee.

  Later he picked up a photo frame, whilst Karin’s backside was still smarting on a cushion.

  ‘Who’s this?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s Sofia, my sis. And before you ask, yes she does threesome’s.’

  Orvid smiled.

  ‘But not with me,’ she added.

  He looked dejected, but she truly was a sub, and he was gorgeous. Sooner or later, she’d have her so called master exactly where she wanted him; so who had the magic now?

  Lawrence Calder was sitting in the hotel room under his pseudonym Ariel Vice, when there was a knock at the door. She’d come straight from the office for their rendezvous.