Chapter 4 - Becky's Submission
Over the following weeks, I couldn't get Becky out of my mind. I had never had such an intense sexual experience so soon after meeting someone. She and her girlfriend, Michelle, were so full of contradictions. Becky had been poorly brought up, poorly educated, had a poor life-style and no prospects; and yet had demonstrated a fantastic level of sexual maturity in one so young; a wisdom beyond her years, and a cruel streak a mile wide. I was besotted with her, I couldn't get the image of the tiny dominatrix and her whip out of my mind. I wanted to possess her.
But I also wanted Michelle as our joint plaything. Obedient, compliant, submissive, Michelle. She who would do anything for Becky, and may do anything for me in the future. She too had complex sexual tastes and needs for her age.
I assumed that their attitudes came from a life of easy, urban sex. It would have dulled their senses to ordinary sexual appetites and pleasures, and they must have craved ever more sophisticated adventures.
Work and family commitments meant a gap of two weeks before I saw them again. When the opportunity came up, I decided to make it seem spontaneous, not wanting to show my hand so soon.
My wife, Sarah, was planning to spend the weekend with the children at her parents' place in Buckinghamshire. She raised it on a Thursday and asked if I wanted to go, but I invented the pressures of my caseload at work as a reason to stay at home.
She took forever to leave on the Saturday morning. I helped as best as I could with packing the car and getting the kids ready, but it was only the early afternoon before she departed.
It was a beautiful, clear, early September day, slightly cool, but fresh. I am lean and fit, and many put me in my 30s. I dressed to suit that assumed age, jeans, short brown boots, a light shirt, open at the neck.
I drove to Maidstone, stopping some way outside Becky and Michelle's council estate knowing my Mercedes S Class would never survive the visit. I called Becky on her mobile. She sounded surprised to hear me, almost as if she had forgotten our meeting on the train and its subsequent events.
"I'm in Maidstone, doing some shopping, so thought I would look you up. Fancy doing something today?" I asked speculatively.
"Well... alright," she slurred, I guessed she had been drinking. "I'm 'anging with me mates on the lawn in front of the flats."
It didn't sound too good, and my fears were justified when I walked into her estate to see her and Michelle with a small gang of youths idling on some benches.
The girls were dressed very differently to the last time I saw them, and I was appalled. Michelle, cigarette in hand, wore a white t-shirt which was far too small for her and which exposed her large belly. She wore an opened pink tracksuit top over it and black tracksuit pants. Excessive cheap gold jewelry and a Burberry baseball cap completed the awful picture. I was totally turned off by it.
Becky had her hair in a facelift ponytail, she wore her usual huge hooped ear-rings and an all white tracksuit ensemble. The effect was not so terrible. But I could not understand why these kids dressed the way they did.
I turned my attention to the boy who had his arm round her - a tall, slim, spotty teenager with a scrawny neck and baseball cap; mobile phone in one hand, he was shouting loudly at Michelle, while he groped Becky's body with the other.
My anger bubbled up, I could barely contain my fury at seeing what I knew was a fact: that Becky shared her body with anybody and everybody.
The other youths included another, very short boy, and a girl (no more than 17) holding on to a pram with a baby in it.
They had all been drinking, empty alcopop bottles were scattered around the benches. I pitied their neighbours having to endure the continual noise from their loud, drunken exchanges; and was saddened for the child and the life it had been born into.
As I walked up to them, a stony look on my face, Becky shouted out a crass greeting: "Oi, old geezer, giz a shag!"
I didn't respond. Michelle looked fearful, sensing my anger, she kept quiet and didn't laugh at Becky's crudity.
"Fuck off, you old git, you don't belong 'ere," barked the spotty boy.
Bang. I blew. My left hand shot up and grabbed his skinny neck. I moved forward, pushing him back. I swung my leg behind his, tripping him up and, totally off-balance, he went down hard on the grass. The wind and fight had escaped him immediately. He looked at my clenched right fist with fear in his eyes. I pulled him back up, turned him around and kicked him hard in the backside. He went down again. I picked him up again, kicked him again, and he ran off. When I looked around with murder in my eyes, his little friend took off after him.
The girl with the pram quietly ran off with it in a different direction, and Michelle started to back away.
"What the fuck did you do that for?" yelled Becky.
"Shut up, whore," I answered. My anger had not begun to ebb, I needed more violence, more opportunities to vent my rage, and went up to her and grabbed her brutally by her ponytail.
"Ow, leave me alone, you wanker!" She shouted, possibly trying to put me off by causing a scene.
I ignored her, turned to Michelle, and ordered: "you come too, you fat cunt". Then frog-marched Becky to their ground floor flat. No one came to their aid; the locals were probably used to this sort of fracas.
Becky was not so easily cowed, and once we were in their apartment, she continued to mouth off expletives, ordering me to get out. I slapped her face. She tried to slap me back, but expecting it, I caught her arm.
"You're nothing but a whore. I thought you were better than that, but you're just a disgusting, Chav, whore," I snarled.
Surprisingly she smiled at that. She pulled down the zipper of her tracksuit showing off her tiny breasts held tightly in a white crop top.
"You still want to fuck me though don't yer."
Her change of tack caught me by surprise, and I took my time to respond.
