Boyd and Fiona

All characters in this story are fictitious and entirely the work of the author's imagination. All characters are aged 18 or over. This story contains explicit sexual content in the areas of domination/submission, gay male and reluctance. If any of this is likely to offend you, please read no further.

I would like to thank my editor, Hatsuda, for his great skill, his remarkable patience and continuing support.

*

I normally didn't open my computer repair business until 8.30 am, but on this morning, my door was unlocked early. Shortly after 8.00, a young man burst into the shop with a panic stricken look on his face.

"You've got to help me. I've lost all my photos and that'll send me bankrupt. Please, you must help."

"Okay, hold your horses just for a minute. What's happened?"

"I switched on and just got a load of garbage. Oh, please, you must help me."

I watched this young man becoming increasingly agitated. He was of medium height, slim build with long so-called "dirty blond" hair swept back behind his ears. He had pale blue eyes and a somewhat effeminate air. "I'm Boyd Prentice, the photographer a few doors down."

"Hi, Boyd, I think I've seen you around; I'm Jerry Tate, the proprietor of this PC palace. Now, Boyd, I'm committed until 10.30, but I'll call in then and have a look. In the meantime, please, don't touch the offending PC until I've had a chance to run the rule over it."

He thanked me profusely and left.

At 10.30, I called into Prentice Photography to be greeted by the most stunning woman I'd ever seen. She stood as I entered and I could see she was above average height with a mane of red gold hair down her back, green eyes, a perfectly proportioned oval face, a generous mouth and breasts that could drive a man insane. She floated in a light cloud of perfume that perfectly enhanced her beauty. She had clearly been mentally undressed many times before and regarded me rather watchfully. "Good morning, sir, how may I help you?"

"Well, I'm Jerry Tate, and Boyd Prentice ..." I got no further as the vision let loose a captivating smile and burst out, "Oh thank God. We've been out of our minds with worry over this. I'm Fiona Prentice, Boyd's wife and business partner." She held out a perfectly manicured hand and I took it, warm and soft into my suddenly clumsy paw.

At that moment, Boyd burst into the shop, sounding no less panicky than earlier. I soon got to grips with the PC and it was obvious that it had contracted some sort of virus. I explained to Boyd and Fiona what I was going to do, and we negotiated an acceptable cost (although I allowed a secret discount on account of being able to perve on Fiona).

The repairs took a couple of days to check, disinfect and reconfigure their system and there was very little permanent loss of data. Both Boyd and Fiona were almost pathetically grateful for what I had been able to do, and as well as a warm handshake from Boyd, I was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek from Fiona.

I thought that might have been the end of the matter, but a few days later, Boyd called in to my shop, looking much happier this time. "Jerry, I don't know what your social calendar is like, but as we're neighbours and you were such a help, Fiona and I would like to invite you for dinner on Saturday evening. We're both pretty good in the kitchen, and you mentioned you don't have family here, so we thought you might like a home cooked meal?"

Anything to spend more time in the company of the gorgeous Fiona, and Boyd seemed a pretty civilised sort of guy, so I accepted immediately. At that time, I was living pretty much a bachelor existence in the flat above my shop. Cosy but untidy; too many old pizza boxes and takeaway containers and too many unwashed dishes. But it suited me and it couldn't be closer to my work. My social life was limited, but I'd always enjoyed my own company, and I could usually find female companionship, warm, willing and enthusiastic, when the need arose.

So on the Saturday evening, I showered, shaved and dressed in my best smart casual, picked up a decent bottle of wine and headed for Boyd and Fiona's place, a little way out in a quite upmarket suburb. They lived in an old bungalow, spacious, with high ceilings and an air of refinement common to this area. It spoke of old money and middle class bourgeoisie, in general a class I didn't much care for, although Boyd and Fiona seemed to be an exception.

The door was opened by Fiona, and it took me a short while to retrieve my jaw after it hit the floor. She was dressed in a simple dress in some form of clingy lightweight material in a floral design, blazing with all the colours of the rainbow, plus a few others. It was cut just at her knees and had a rolled halter neck exposing her bare, glowing shoulders. Fiona looked a picture of vitality, her hair a red-gold cascade down her back but at the same time, she seemed rather cautious, as if there was something about me that didn't quite gel.

I was ushered through into a spacious lounge where Boyd greeted me genially; we had drinks and then an excellent meal. Boyd and Fiona were warm and generous hosts and the evening was a great success—from my point of view, anyway. Even so, I sensed some sort of undercurrent between my hosts—something indefinable and probably not significant. I wondered if they'd had an argument before I arrived, and this was the aftermath.

I thanked my hosts profusely and received a kiss of the cheek from the sensational Fiona, as well as a somewhat unexpected hug from Boyd. Ten days later, another invitation from my neighbours, and an intriguing evening. Fiona was dressed rather conservatively, although she couldn't disguise her gorgeous figure. She wore a plain white blouse, buttoned to the neck and a tailored skirt, cut just at knee length. This evening, there was an almost tangible air of some form of tension between my hosts, although it didn't seem to be directed at me.

In fact, it seemed almost as if I was some sort of rescuer. Boyd laughed at my weakest jokes, and was particularly attentive during the meal, Fiona stayed quiet, almost seeming to keep away from me, but Boyd was unexpectedly tactile; his hand brushed mine on several occasions. I was not offended by this demonstration but I was fascinated by what was happening, particularly Fiona's hesitation around me. I wondered why.

In the event, I didn't have to wait long to find out. Late one afternoon, as I was about to close up, I heard someone enter the shop. Sighing at the thought of a late customer, I went out to the front to see an unexpected visitor.

"Hi Fiona, what brings you here?"

This was a different version of Fiona, dressed way down in an old tee shirt, faded jeans and flatties, with her hair in a ponytail and little makeup. She was chewing on her bottom lip and fiddling with her fingers, as well as trembling from tension, and looked apprehensive and almost scared; like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Fiona tried to speak, but at first, all that came out was, "I ... I ... I don't know ...

"Fiona, just let me lock up, then come through to the back."

She sat on the edge of the most uncomfortable chair in the room and stared fixedly at me, as if I was about to transform into some sort of monster. "Jerry, this is so hard for me. I just don't know what to say."

"Okay, Fiona, if it helps, I'm not about to burst into seething anger, and I'm not in the business of judging other people. Just take your time and tell me what it is that's troubling you. Is it about Boyd? Is he having an affair with another woman? Is he ..."

I was cut short by Fiona's tense, humourless laugh. "God, no, if only it was that simple. I really don't want to be here, and I'm only doing this because Boyd begged me to see you."

I didn't let her get any further. Clearly, this was a monumental crisis, although I wasn't quite sure why she chose to confide in me.

"Fiona, look, I promise on a stack of Microsoft manuals that I will NOT do any of those things or be unpleasant or anything like that. Tell you what, just shut your eyes and let it all out."

She looked at me, anger and fear flooding across her beautiful face, then closed her eyes, and it came out in one breathless rush, "Boyd'sgotthehotsforyou!"

That was probably the last thing I was expecting, and I gasped in surprise. "Once more, with clarity, please, Fiona?"

She managed to blurt out, "Boyd's got the hots for you. He keeps talking about you and how he wants ... how he wants to have sex with you," she finished in a rush, her tense face and trembling body clear indications of her anxiety over my response.

"Oh wow, Fiona, this is totally out of left field. I am absolutely stunned. But why send you—can't he face the idea of telling me himself?"

"Jerry, this must be really embarrassing for you, and I'm just amazed that you haven't exploded," Fiona replied.

I looked at her devastated face and smiled. "Don't worry too much, Fiona; I'm not actively gay, although I am bi, but I am curious about why Boyd should want to hit on me."

"You mean you're not offended, not angry, not, well, not wanting to tell me to go to hell?" Fiona sounded incredulous.

"I've never believed in shooting the messenger, and anyway, if the truth be known, I'm just a bit flattered. As you're clearly the go-between, though, you do owe me some explanations. Tell me about Boyd the man. How does he function and what's his sexual orientation?"

Fiona watched me closely through unblinking eyes, seemingly ready to initiate a "fight or flight" response, but the trembling had stopped and her body language became more open and responsive.

"I guess I'll have to tell you the whole story, as far as I know it, Jerry. We've been together for three years and Boyd admitted early in our relationship that he's bisexual. He's a very gentle, sensitive guy and has had some bad experiences with men and been hurt both physically and emotionally. I really don't know all the details, but he has a genetic abnormality that means he can only 'shoot blanks'." Fiona paused to take a deep breath.

"Boyd seems to prefer being with men rather than with me. He told me that he fell for you the moment he first met you. What struck him was your confidence and obvious competence in what you do. As we got to know you better, he told me that he was captivated by your warmth, sense of humour and willingness to listen to him. You triggered something in him that we both thought had been cauterised by previous experiences, and a week or so ago, he confessed that he wanted to be your lover."

"Oh my god, Fiona," I responded. "How do you feel about all this? Wouldn't he be cheating on you?"

"He's been with a couple of guys since we met; it was purely physical; I'm sure he cares about me but I did have to help him to 'pick up the pieces' after those relationships went badly wrong. I have to tell you that Boyd has become sensitive about physical pain. That's a reaction to being beaten up by his so-called 'lovers'. As a result, the idea of anal sex scares him, and all he can think about is oral, which leaves him out of the mainstream."

"Fiona, you didn't answer my question—how do you feel about Boyd's need for a male lover?"

"I hate it. He says that he's bi, but this is becoming an obsession, and I think he's rather closer to a true homosexual. We only have sex once a week, and for me it's just not enough, and it isn't very exciting even then. I wish ..." tears sprang into her eyes, her emotional pain evident. "I wish he were more demonstrative, more of a lover." Fiona hesitated, unsure of how to go on. "There's something else you need to know, and this is even more difficult."

"Even more difficult?" I couldn't contain my surprise.

"Oh god, this is so difficult, but I can't hide it. Boyd is increasingly into cross dressing. He wears my panties; at first he was surreptitious about it, but now he's quite open. I know he's tried my slips and dresses and shoes, but it really is dangerous. Boyd is quite well known in some circles, and if this gets out, he'll be ruined. As it is, business is starting to drop off; there are fewer commissions, and he just doesn't seem to care. I know he is a really great photographer, but all he can think of at the moment is being controlled by a guy of his choosing. He's never told you, but before he met me, he tried to suicide twice and he was lucky to come out alive. I've been able to help him stabilise himself, but I'm so scared that he will try again, and this time it will be too late."

At this point, Fiona burst into tears and I let her cry it out. "It's all his mother's fault, Jerry. I know it's so easy to blame the mother, but she is an arrogant, controlling bitch and I loathe her. She made no secret of the fact that she wanted a daughter; she wanted to call him Robin, so she could create gender confusion, but his father insisted on Boyd. I think that was an element in his parents' divorce and he has no brothers or sisters.

Jerry, Boyd is a true submissive; he's desperate to find a guy who can understand his needs and who can dominate him without brutalising him, and that has proven to be almost impossible. Until now," she continued.

"What makes him think that I'd be any less abusive?" I enquired. "For all you both know, I might be a thorough bastard who would make your lives a misery."

Fiona's smile barely touched her mouth and certainly bypassed her eyes. "Both Boyd and I are pretty good at recognising peoples' strengths and weaknesses, and I know he's enjoyed your company recently. It's not so much that I haven't, but I recognised the signs that Boyd has been falling for you. Besides," now Fiona looked apprehensive again, "I know Boyd has asked some discreet questions about you, and everything came back very positive."

"I see, so I check out clean, do I?" My voice was flat, keeping any emotion in check. "I think perhaps I need to talk to Boyd and you too, so that we are all absolutely clear about what's going on. Is he free at the moment?"

"Just as I left, he begged me to persuade you to come and talk to him. I know this is really important to Boyd, Jerry, although I have to admit that I do feel hurt."

"Fiona, look, if it really is hurtful, I'll say 'no' to Boyd and let it go at that, rather than cause you even more pain."

Fiona hesitated again, unsure of how far she could or should go. She eventually came to a decision, and throwing caution to the winds, continued.

"Jerry, I was very good at what I did professionally as a model. That's not conceit; it's a recognition of my own strengths in a particular field, and I was very confident of my abilities in that area. But it was stressful and I eventually got fed up with guys hitting on me all the time. I started using drugs, and my career went down the toilet. Then I got into debt and my life was a complete mess. Boyd sort of rescued me; he bailed me out and got me clean, and I was happy to become his assistant."

"Then I discovered that Boyd was a sub, and he's become desperate about wanting to surrender himself to someone he can rely on. He's told me that he would give that person control over him, and let go of all his responsibilities in his emotional life. He lacks emotional confidence and says that he needs someone he can trust so that he can let go of all his inhibitions and be who he wants to be."

"Boyd and I have discussed this in a lot of detail and there is no changing his mind. He wants to give up responsibility for himself and to have that person take control. He can then abandon himself completely, give up all responsibility and even 'be nothing'. Jerry ..." and here Fiona once again became very hesitant, but eventually took control of herself and looked me straight in the eye.

"Jerry, Boyd needs to submit himself to you. He's told me that he trusts you and he desperately needs someone he can trust to control him. In return, he says that he will do anything you demand, anything you can think of. He's become quite obsessed with the idea, and I guess you're a better bet than some guy he picks up in a bar. Of course you can say 'no'; it would destroy Boyd, although this is such a big ask, I wouldn't hold it against you if you did."

I took some time to process all this information. Boyd might be obsessed with me, but I was developing an obsession with Fiona and the idea of getting into her panties was an ever-present pleasure. Call me cynical if you like, but having her husband as a sex slave might be an avenue to achieving my dreams. I started to feel quite excited about this; many possibilities opened in my mind. After all, I rationalised, a blow job from a guy is no different from a blow job from a gal, provided that you keep your eyes shut and he knows what he's doing.

"Fiona, this is the sort of offer I don't get every day. Maybe we should go back to your place and talk it over."

Boyd's anxiety was almost palpable when we returned to his studio. Pacing up and down with a look of fear on his face, he spun around as Fiona and I entered.

"Jerry, I know this is weird and unexpected, and I know you're straight, but I can't help myself. Please, Jerry, you've no idea how much I ..."

"Fiona has put me in the picture," I interrupted. "So you are driven by a need to submit yourself to me and will do exactly what I tell you; is that correct?"

"Yes Sir," he whispered with barely controlled excitement.

"You do realise what you're getting into, don't you? You're giving me control over you and agreeing to obey everything I say. Of course, I won't interfere with your professional life, but I will own your body and your erotic actions. You will have a safe word, but when I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it when I tell you. Failure to obey will result in punishment, and I will be the sole arbiter of what that punishment is. Do you understand?"

His, "Yes Sir" was clearer and more spontaneous this time, causing my rigid cock to strain at my jeans.

"Boyd, I want you to undress so that I can see for myself just what I am getting, but first, tell me, are you wearing Fiona's panties? And wearing her perfume too, I think?"

Boyd blushed a deep scarlet before mumbling "Yes Sir."

"Then keep them on, but everything else off."

Fiona hurried from the room, the distress showing in her tense mouth, rigid jaw and screwed up eyes.

Boyd moaned, removing his tee shirt and socks and shoes, peeling down his jeans, then stood naked, apart from a pair of blue satin panties, blushing furiously but making no effort to cover himself.

"Now, take off the panties, Boyd, slowly as if you're trying to seduce me."

He moaned again, slowly removing the Fiona's underwear; I noticed a dark patch on the gusset, where he had obviously been leaking pre-cum. Boyd was slim, with a dancer's physique, not powerfully muscled but obviously toned. He had a nice butt, and his small cock was fully erect and confirmed the dribble of pre-cum. He watched me closely for any negative reaction, which would have destroyed the moment.

"Very nice, Boyd—I think we're going to have a lot of fun together." So saying I walked directly in front of him and gently held his cock and balls in my hand. Boyd gasped and squirmed as I stroked his erect cock, holding it firmly, wanking him towards orgasm. I reached round and slapped his bottom, firmly but gently, causing another gasp.

"Stay still, Boyd unless you want me to spank you. Is that what you want—to be humiliated in front of your master?"

"Oh god, Sir," his voice trembled. "I need to be controlled, and you are getting me so hot ..."

First, Boyd, you will learn what obedience means to me. Get down on your knees and take off my jeans and boxers."

He obeyed, somewhat hesitantly and gasped when he saw my throbbing member, angry and demanding release. His soft, manicured hands tentatively stroked me as he looked up, submission written across his face and deep in his eyes.