Chapter 6 - Sarah meets Rebecca
Sarah and I were having sex.
I was 'working from home' the Friday following the orgy at Rebecca's grandparents; the kids were at school, and we took the opportunity for a rare coupling. The reality was that my visits to the Chavs in Maidstone had taken over my sex life. I just wasn't physically interested in Sarah anymore.
It wasn't that Sarah was ugly or fat, nor that she was bad in bed, it was just a case of boredom and familiarity; particularly considering the depravities that I could indulge in with Rebecca, Michelle and now Eleanor.
Over the years I had slowly trained Sarah to be a submissive. She was naturally so, but not in a sexual way. She felt sex was really just for procreation. She rarely had orgasms, and so when we decided to stop having children; I had the operation, and she closed up shop except for high days and holidays.
In order to slate my thirst, I very gradually introduced her to the lifestyle, and very gradually she bought into the non-sexual aspects: submissive behaviour, light bondage, and occasional spankings. Her conformist upbringing told her it was wrong, and so she told me she hated doing these things, but deep down I knew it satisfied her darker puritanical needs.
On occasion when I got it right, when maybe she allowed herself a couple of glasses of wine, she would be sexually aroused by it all, following her soul and not her conscience.
But those occasions were rare, once maybe every few years. In return I followed the path of either simply ignoring her lack of sexual stimulation, and just having my way with her; or seeking solace elsewhere, in the arms of female work colleagues, squash partners and even some illicit internet dating.
So we were having sex... not making love.
We did it the traditional way: fully naked, on the bed, missionary. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine that her cunt was Eleanor's extraordinary mouth; I cupped her breasts and dreamed they were the more malleable bosoms belonging to Michelle; and I kissed her mouth seeking to emulate Rebecca's extraordinarily wet and hot tonguing.
Without any thought for Sarah's satisfaction, I grunted out my orgasm, and rolled over, thinking what a waste of good ejaculate that was.
"Go clean yourself up," I said, not wanting her to drip on the sheets.
She dutifully got up and went to the en-suite bathroom. My eyes followed her body, thinking that it was a waste of a very good one for a 42 year old; 5' 7" tall, her English Rose face with it's hazel eyes and strong nose was framed by her long red hair, which fell half way down her back leading to a reasonably trim waist (painfully achieved though hours toiling on a treadmill at the local gym); child bearing hips, a large curvaceous, spankable bottom; and long, sturdy but well shaped legs.
What a total waste of a great body, I reflected again. Her social set were known as the 'Trophy Wives'; women married to rich husbands, kids in an exclusive Prep school located in the plush Weald of Kent, with very little to do other than instruct the nannies and home helps, plan next year's ski trips, and spend the rest of their time beautifying themselves.
But to what purpose? I mused that sex, that form of it which is driven by love and desire was almost extinguished in households like ours; replaced by a perfunctory, loveless means for emitting spare semen into a handy receptacle.
It was probably this aspect which attracted me to the Chavs in the first place; a desire for honest, heartfelt, fucking; exploring our innermost desires; experimenting with our fantasies, regardless of who we were and where we came from. Their baser animal instincts were simply more honest than the superficial world of the Trophy Wives and their sham marriages.
Sarah returned from the bathroom wearing a towelling robe, and sat at the end of the bed.
"You're having another affair, aren't you," she said matter-of-factly, and before I could respond... "Don't lie, I know you are. There was no client party the other night. I phoned your office and they said you had come home early with a headache. And yet you showed up at midnight."
I looked at her for a while, saying nothing, deciding whether to try to lie my way out of it, or admit it and take the consequences.
She had found out about two of my transgressions in the past. Obviously both offences had caused endless amounts of tears and introspection on her part and long spells without sex for me - no loss there, really. She had decided to stay with me both times, without my having to promise future fidelity. She knew she was onto a good thing: her home, the kids, the lifestyle suited her totally. It was a trade off she was willing to accept.
However, in my mind, I started to craft an altogether different outcome.
"It's true," I said calmly.
"You bastard! Why do you do this to me? What's wrong with me? We've just done it haven't we? Isn't that enough for you? Or do you play your kinky games with her?"
She looked at me awaiting an answer. I just looked back, and she knew the answer.
"Oh God, you do. You pervert. It's wrong, all wrong. That's not the way it should be for a man and a woman. Why can't you like it the normal way, like everybody else?" she said, slowly getting hysterical.
Tears came, she brushed them aside. "What's she like, this whore of yours?"
"Well actually there's two of them," I said, thinking that it was best to keep it to just the two girls for the time being.
"Oh God, no!"
"And they are both teenagers," I said, rubbing it in.
"Oh God!"
"A couple of Chavs from Maidstone."
"No, God, no!"
"And I fuck them both at the same time."
"No," she whimpered.
"And when they don't behave, I spank them... and whip them... and fuck them in the arse... they love it, beg me for more."
She just shook her head and wept.
"I think you will need some of the same treatment in future. I'm fed up of you dictating things in the bedroom. Doling out your pathetic excuse for a sex life on the rare occasion when you feel up to it."
She looked at me incredulously; I was turning this on its head, making it her problem.
"In fact, I think I should introduce you to them. You may learn a thing or two," I added brutally, "one of them is a right dominatrix bitch. She would just love to abuse you in her high heels. Would you like that? Would you like to have a young Mistress to obey?"
"No!" Sarah shook her head, but I saw something else in her eyes, a flash of excitement; a window into a hidden side as if I had uncovered a secret fantasy. I pursued this angle.
"Lie down and think for a bit," I said in conciliatory fashion.
She did so without murmur, her robe was sufficiently open for me to see her erect pink nipples and crotch.
"I bet you would love to make love to a woman. A fresh, young woman," I said, my hand moved to her vagina, and sought out her yet unused clitoris.
"Don't do that," she said, half heartedly, still sniffling from her recent cry.
But she didn't move to resist. I continued massaging her clit. She pushed her head back a bit and moaned, "don't." But in contradiction, she opened her legs a bit to help me work her clit. I decided to strike while the iron was hot.
"Yes, I think you would like it. I think you would like to taste her pussy, and to suck her little tits."
"No," she said, unconvincingly, moving her head side to side, but enjoying my handiwork.
"I think you would. I think you would love her to take you from behind with a strap on. I think you would love to see me ravage her."
I could see that Sarah was getting off on this fantasy. A reluctant orgasm was building inside her. I got on top and entered her. Her cunt was sopping wet as it usually was when aroused.
"Will she hurt me?" Sarah asked, surprisingly continuing the fantasy for me.
"Only if you are bad. She is terrible when she is angry. She has a terrible whip which she uses on the other one. She flays her with it."
