'You. Fucking. Love. This. Don't. You?'
Now don't get me wrong. We're in our forties, not dead and we have had marathon shagging sessions, just not very often these days. I've always treated her with respect. It’s ridiculous yelling out this bullshit. But look at her. She's come again. I don't remember the last time she came three times in one session. She really does love it.
We get out of the shower and Dora asks if I fancy an afternoon nap. I really do, but she probably doesn't mean sleep. I say yes but decide I'll stay in the shower for a while longer, have a nice wash and rest my dick for a while.
When I get to the bed, she's asleep. Thank fuck for that.
I crawl in beside her and let out a satisfied sigh. Then I turn over and close my eyes. Please don't let her want another shag when we wake up.
When we awaken, Dora suggests we book into the spa and do the couples session. I check out what she means and it’s sitting in a steam room and having a swim. That I can cope with, so I agree. I call work and let them know I won't be in the rest of the week. To be truthful, I feel rather guilty wagging it but I can hardly ask for holiday straight after sick leave. I just hope I'm not seen by any clients. As a Tax Inspector, I'm sure they'd be only too pleased to exact revenge. Before we go there, Dora goes to the Visitor centre and adds me to our booking. At least I'm getting some benefit from all the money she's spent.
The couples’ session is relaxing. Dora has booked us into a restaurant after and we enjoy a three-course Italian meal with wine. We both drink a lot more than usual and arrive back at the villa too pissed and relaxed to do anything but sleep.
Thursday, I fancy a go on the karts. It's fucking brilliant tearing around the course pretending I'm Lewis Hamilton. Then Dora suggests we both go horse riding. I point out the paddles in the stables and she laughs and rolls her eyes. I'll not bother buying one of those then, it didn't seem to appeal, thank God.
On Friday, it's time for Dora's last scheduled tennis lesson.
'Do you want to come see me play?'
'I want to come all right. We'll see about taking that kit off you after the lesson.'
She giggles like a little girl. I'm not sure how much longer I can take being this Alpha.
Dora has told me all about Cole and Jackie so I no longer fear meeting him. Instead, I walk over to him, introduce myself and shake his hand. Today I'm dressed in the nearest outfit I could find to Christian Grey’s hoodie and running outfit from that damn film. At least I can move my arms around.
I watch Dora going through the different training in her lesson and she's really good. She's also got an amazingly fit arse. I'm glad my jogging bottoms are baggy because even though it should be broken given all the action it’s seen over the last few days, my dick has woken up at the sight of Dora picking up a runaway tennis ball.
From Dora's expression, though, something is annoying her, and I watch as Cole flirts with the other women. She watches him closely and I note the flare of her nostrils. Don't tell me she fancies him after all.
Lesson over, she says goodbye to Jackie and then thanks Cole. She comes walking over to me, still with that underlying rage.
'Are you all right?'
'Listen. If it's okay with you, I need to get something off my chest.'
She does fancy him. I can't hear it. I can't.
'Okay?'
'You don't mind?'
'What is it?'
'Just a moment.'
Cole passes her, and she grabs hold of his arm. For a big bloke, he looks shocked as she spins him around. An angry Dora is a surprisingly strong Dora.
Oh God. This is where she tells me they've been having an affair and she's leaving me.
'Cole.'
'Er yes, Dora.'
He looks edgy. Yes, you'd better be nervous. Come on, Tim, think of the Fifty film where Christian punches that bloke who gets fresh with Ana. Ready?
'Take my advice; stop flirting with all those other women and see what's happening right under your nose. I really don't know why you men have to have love pointed out to you with a giant fucking stick.'
Eh?
Cole's jaw drops.
'Jackie met you on holiday years ago, where she informs me you were a lovely bloke who got messed around by an evil ex-fiancée. For some reason she thinks you're a top bloke. I just see a wanker with a large ego who thinks he's God’s gift to women.'
Cole's jaw tenses.
'If you're a wanker then it's a real shame as you're a good looking bloke with talent. If you're not, then you might want to take a closer look at Jackie because she’s leaving tonight.'
Cole takes a deep breath. 'Not that it’s any of your business but no, I'm not a wanker. I'm a bloke who got played and I don't want to be put in that position again. I'm the player now.'
'Well, Player, you're a Loser.' My wife tells him. 'Your ex is still winning the game.'
He bites on his lip. His cheeks aflame.
Dora carries on. 'Well, as they say, the ball is well and truly in your court. Thanks again for the lessons.'
Cole crosses his arms. 'Why am I of the opinion I'm the one being taught something?'
As Dora walks away, I lean towards Cole. 'If I were you I'd do what she tells you, mate. You don't want to be on the wrong side of my other half.'
He nods and we leave.
We pack up early on Saturday morning. Dora insists on doing all the packing and won't let me help. Instead, she makes me a cup of tea and tells me to put my feet up. She obviously feels guilty for leaving me, and although she hasn't said it, I've let it go as she's making up for it with all this fussing around me. I put my feet up on the sofa and look at the birds and squirrels outside the patio doors for a final time, and then we're on our way back home. Dora's car is right outside the villa, whereas I have to walk to the main car park.
'How come you got to keep your car outside? Did you chat up the parking men?'
'Something like that,' she replies, looking closely at the floor. She’s become obsessed with cleaning.
Back home, she launches into unpacking the bags and starts the laundry. It's never been known. I'll tell her she doesn't have to do all this at some point. But not right now. She brings me a cup of tea and a biscuit.
'I'll do lunch around one.'
'Okay, kitten.'
A man could get used to this.
Chapter Ten
Dora
I want my normal life back. Everything was all right before I went away. So sometimes I got taken for granted. I realise I'm as guilty of doing that to my family as they are to me. When I'm full on with one of my obsessions, I can ignore all of them. Now I'm stuck in this role play of the submissive wife. I can't believe I asked for permission to tell Cole off. Tim's loving it, though. He told me he was playing golf today. A game he set up a while ago with a business client. While he's away, instead of grabbing a book, I grab a duster and clean the house. The kids would usually come over on a Sunday, but it's Cam's twenty-second birthday tomorrow and she wants to go out with us all for pizza, so I cancelled today’s lunch.
Instead, I'm on Pinterest looking at cleaning schedules, trying to find one that gives me the weekend off and doesn't have seventy-four chores listed on it. According to the most straightforward one, today’s chore is to clean all the floors. All the floors? In a three-bedroom semi in one day? They've got to be fucking kidding me. I pin the post and right click the photo to save the schedule to my computer. Then I make it my screen saver so the tasks are staring me in the face.
I make a cuppa and read some more of my Kindle book to remind myself how to behave.
You need to look lovely for your husband at all times.
I stare at the old pyjamas and fluffy dressing gown I’m wearing. Huh, I haven't even got showered yet. I sigh. First a shower. Then I need to buy some housewife-looking attire. I'll pop to the retail park. After this, I must clean and prepare lunch for two pm. It's now nine-thirty am. I'm up early because I made Tim his breakfast before
he left for his game. On a Sunday, I'm not normally out of bed until ten.
I pop into Next at the Retail Park and find a fifties style floral patterned dress. Belted at the waist with a swing skirt, it’s navy blue with pink flowers. Then I head into a kitchenware store and buy a pale pink pinny to put over it. I find some pretty pink washing up gloves with a fluffy white edge and finish by picking up oven gloves in the same fabric as the pinafore.
Back home, I get a bucket of hot water with a tiny drop of washing up liquid (as advised on Pinterest) and set about on my hands and knees scrubbing the floors, using a sponge and then drying it off with old tea towels. Starting at eleven am and emptying out and getting fresh hot water on a regular basis, it takes me until twenty-to-one to do them all. While I clean, I wear my old gym kit and a pair of regular rubber gloves. My knees are killing me. Half way through I grabbed a cushion from the sofa to place under them. I hope Tim doesn't want a blowjob tonight because I may cry.
There's no time to rest as Tim will be back soon. It's time to get Sunday lunch underway being as I now have to ensure he gets a starter, main course, and dessert, along with a beverage of his choice, be it a cup of tea or a beer.
At one-thirty, it's time for yet another shower, after which I put on make-up, style my hair and dress in the new frock and pinafore.
When I hear the key in the door, I rush to the entrance. I pass Tim his slippers.
'Oh, thanks, love. Let me just get in.' He hasn't changed out of his golf shoes and as he walks into the hallway large clumps of dirt fall off them.
I fix a smile on my face and increase my grip on his slippers. No, you can't beat him around the head with them. You are a loving and caring other-half.
He finally takes the slippers off me.
'If you'd like to get changed, dinner is almost ready,’ I tell him.
'Dressed like that we might not make lunch. It might be straight to dessert.' He undresses me with his eyes and winks.
I emit my new girly giggle. It's very high pitched because I feel strangulated.
Monday. Camille's birthday. Thank God Tim has gone to work. I work Wednesday to Friday so today I can enjoy the silence. Firstly, I text Camille a happy birthday and then open the laptop. The housework schedule pings up. Today I'm supposed to clean every window, picture and mirror in the house. That's just for starters. I clean for a living. I don't want to clean my own fucking house. It's a Busman’s holiday. I glance towards the glass filled conservatory. Fucking hell. Life was so much easier when Tyler lived here and I could pay him to do the housework. Ping. Lightbulb moment. I Google local cleaning services. In an hour, I'm talking to a lovely lady named Claire who will be around at twelve. If we get on okay I can book her to come Mondays and Tuesdays to do a deep clean, and then I can spend the rest of the week doing minimal housework such as laundry. She'll even take the ironing with her Monday and bring it back Tuesday. Perfect.
I scan through Pinterest and research birthday cake ideas. Finally, I spot coated cake pops and get an idea. I read up on how to dip them and then pop out to the supermarket for some ingredients. While I'm there, I purchase a lucky dip, something I always put in birthday cards as an extra treat. The woman behind the counter asks me if I'd prefer a lottery ticket instead as it's a rollover. I buy one and stick it in the back of my purse.
At home, I spend the afternoon making cake pops and enjoying the silence. The phone rings at four pm.
'Well, hello there, sexy lady.'
'Hi, Tim. Everything okay?' Tim doesn't ring me unless it's an emergency so my heart rate increases.
'What are you wearing?'
I glance down at my flour and icing covered jeans. I need to lie because I’m supposed to look lovely at all times.
'Erm, a black skirt and a white blouse.' Have I got to go meet him at the hospital or something?
'And what's under that skirt. Lacy panties?'
Omg, is he phone sexing me? Shit.
'Yes. A black lacy thong.'
I sit on the sofa and switch the laptop on while I'm on the phone. While he's chatting, I skim Facebook. He talks about me putting a finger in myself. I'm sorry, but the only place my fingers are going is in the cake mix.
'Now… use two fingers.'
I stick them up at the phone.
I imagine what it'd be like if I was excited and I breathe a bit heavier and say, 'Oh, Tim.' In reality, I'm up and checking on the cake pops to make sure they're drying okay.
'Now you're feeling my balls, describe it.'
I peer at the cake pops. 'They're lovely and round, warm to the touch and I want them in my mouth.'
He groans. I don't know where he is at work but I hope he's somewhere soundproof. We can't do with him getting the sack from revealing his sacs.
'Tell me about taking my penis in your mouth.'
I have an idea. I pick up the cake pop. It's so fucking gorgeous. As I eat it, I make the most terrific moaning noises. The not quite set icing dribbles down my chin.
'Describe it.'
'I've been sucking you so hard, so damn hard, and your cum has dribbled down my chin.’ I bite into the cake pop where there's a runny chocolate centre.
'Mmmm, so good.'
I hear him come on the other end of the phone.
'Oh, Dora babe, did you?'
'Oh, Tim. It was truly amazing.'
'See you later, kitten.'
Honestly, I have to bite my lip so I don't fucking miaow at him.
I get ready for tonight. At least he can't go on about sex while the children are with us. Even if they are adults, he will draw that line. Well, the old Tim would. I've no idea about this one.
Chapter Eleven
Dora
We meet at Camille's chosen venue at eight pm. She looks beautiful in a red shift dress. Even my son Tyler has put on a smart shirt and trousers. They've both brought their partners, Dylan, and Lindsay. Dylan's busy chatting to Tim. They have their heads together and appear to be scheming, then they high five each other. What's that all about? I'm the one who plans things for birthdays and stuff so they’d better behave. I sigh. Who am I kidding? I have no voice as long as I’m playing the submissive housewife, and the kids are growing up and doing their own thing anyway. I sit quietly and eat my meal. When desert comes, I've asked the staff to bring out the cake pops. That’s one thing I’m proud of. My daughter’s face lights up when she sees them. Fixed atop a cake base, they're multicoloured, like the balls in the ball pool at Kid Zone.
'Oh my God, Mum, that's amazing.'
She gives me a massive hug and whispers in my ear. 'Are you and Dad okay? You seem really quiet. It’s not like you.'
'Yeah, we’re fine, love,' I tell her. I can't really say ‘your dad’s turned into a sex fiend and I'm fucking knackered trying to be some kind of fifties housewife,’ can I?
As usual, we put money in her card so she can buy what she wants. For the finale, we sing a loud and embarrassing round of Happy Birthday.
Then Tim stands up, saying he has an extra present for her.
From his pocket, he takes out a folded piece of paper. I see the drawing on it and my heart thuds so hard I could pass the fuck out. The drawing, I know off by heart, was crayoned by Camille when she was about eight. It's a picture of me, her father, her, Tyler and a vicar. It says on it, please marry my mum. I was heartbroken when she drew this. Tim ignored it, saying he wasn't changing his mind because of a child's drawing, adding that the week before she'd drawn herself with a pet unicorn.
'Camille, do you remember this?' he asks her.
'Er, yes.'
'Well, your mum leaving last weekend made me think that I never want to lose her again. It was far too easy for her to walk out of that house. I also think it's about time your mother was a Turner.'
He goes down on bended knee.
'Dora, will you marry me?'
They all stare at me.
'No.'
Both Tim and Dylan shout 'What?'
A tornado of te
mper bursts out of me. Fuck being a demure housewife. I need to sort this shithead out.
'No, I will not fucking marry you. You didn't want to get married when she was eight so why the fuck do you want to get married now?'
Heads of people in the restaurant turn towards us. Thank goodness there are no children around because I need to vent big time.
'Is this because I've been acting like a servant? Is that what I needed to do? Clean the fucking house? I clean for my job, so forgive me if I don't do my best at home because it's God damn boring.'
Tyler looks around 'Mum, what's got into you? Calm down.'
'What’s got into me? He's got into me. Your bloody father. I'm knackered.' Oh sod it, they're adults. 'Your dad's turned into a sex fiend and I'm fucking knackered trying to be some kind of fifties housewife. It’s doing my box in. Both my head and my vag.'
I sit down, exhausted.
'But, but, you've been enjoying all the sexy stuff.'
I put my hand to my brow. I can feel a headache nagging. 'No, I haven't. I've been faking ninety-five percent of it. Plus, if you call me a kitten again, I’ll scratch your eyes out.'
'But it's in those books you're always reading?'
'What?' I take a large sip of my wine, hoping alcohol affects my brain to a point where this situation starts making sense.
'On your shelves. Like The Alphabet Game. Then I watched that Fifty Shades on DVD. I thought you wanted an alpha.'
I look at him like he's just told me he's a cross-dresser.
'Tim, they are fiction. They're what I read for escapism. Men like that don't exist in real life. We don't want that in real life, just in our imagination.'
'So I didn't need to do any of those things? I wore that suit and stupid jogging outfit for nothing?'
I take a bigger drink. 'Oh my God, you need a shrink.'
'What about you? What's all this about being a housewife? Where have you got the notion that I want a servant? We've been together for twenty-nine years and I might have groaned about the state of the house but I've never demanded you clean it. So where's that come from?'
New Balls Please (Ball Games #3) Page 6