Lottery Win

Continuation from Part 1.

"Seph, do you remember the place we stayed for a few days when we went to Ireland before we caught the ferry? That tiny place near St. David's in Wales. We loved it there; the girls were bored shitless though."

"Yeh, your right, I loved it too, and the girls have left home now."

"Shall we go for a look-see, Seph?"

"When?"

"Now."

"We have nowhere to stay".

"Now who's being a stupid twat girl? It's a holiday resort."

"Can we book a cottage?"

"No love, a B&B it's simpler for what we need now. If we like it and want another look, we can go for a fortnight."

"OK, you're on!"

Part 2.

Five minutes later, Google found us a little hotel near St. Davids. The contact name was Mrs. B. Spiers. I called and booked room and board for a fortnight. As a wild guess, I said we'd be there in 6 hours. Seph and I were ready to move into a new phase of our lives together.

"Please call me Ally. My given name is Briallen; it was my Nanna's name. I hate it; I shouldn't say that. I never met her; she died two days before I was born, so my mom named me after her.

I'm sorry, I do go on. You will have to get used to it if you spend much time here, though; we Welsh never say one word when we can get fifty in.

I feel your pain, Seph. My mom saddled me with Persephone. I hate it. Worse still, no one else in our common Muck family has ever been called anything like it.

That's a beautiful name, Seph. I'm glad you said it, though. I thought your husband said Steph.

Ally Spiers ran the B&B I had booked us into. I had said we were looking for a place to buy, and she assumed we were looking for a holiday home. We know now that the Welsh look at second homers with a healthy dose of scepticism. To be honest, some years later, so do we. Most arrive with carrier bags full of groceries in cars bought in London, Birmingham, Manchester, even Cardiff, or some other place filled with fuel 5 miles from their first home. If the landlord of the local boozer is lucky, they have a drink or two and one meal in his pub.

They complain there is nothing to do, and the sheep keep them awake at night, then go home. Seph jumped in and said, "We are not looking for a holiday home, Mrs. Spiers; we are looking to escape from the south east peacefully."When Mrs. Spiers realised we were coming here to lock stock and barrel, she morphed into Seph's new best friend, Ally. We spent a fortnight there and viewed over twenty places that varied from bloody awful to very nearly right.

Seph and I spent that entire summer back and forth between our rented home in Brighton and in and around St Davids head in southwest Wales. We arrived one afternoon to find Ally looking like she had lost a fiver and found sixpence. Me being a man didn't pick up on the negative waves; Seph did, immediately.

"Wasup, Ally," said Seph as soon as she got out of the car. "You look like you just noticed the world is going to end."

"I've overbooked," she said, in tears. If you don't mind, my best friend Jilly will put you up in her spare bedroom just for tonight. The couple in your room are leaving tomorrow, so I can have you back in there by lunchtime. I'm so sorry, I never ever get double booked.

"It's because you tried to fit us in at the last minute, isn't it?" I said.

"Well, err, yes, but it's my mistake, so I'm not going to charge you for this visit."

"Yes, you bloody well will!" Seph said. "Give her a hug, Stinky; she needs one."

We had all moved into Ally's house via the back door; we were in Ally's kitchen by now. So I did as my wife commanded me. When I let Ally go, she had a big smile and had nearly stopped crying, but her eyes still leaked an odd tear or two. I had my hands on her shoulders, and at that moment, the DJ on the radio station that Ally was listening to cued Dave Edmonds version of Nick Lowe's song. "I knew the bride." It's a fantastic rockabilly jive song that Seph and I both love.

I spun Ally out to my left and caught her right hand as she went through a 360-degree turn. I pushed her into a basic jive step. Ally went straight into a British four-beat step, and just like that, we were dancing.

Seph clapped the eight-bar rhythm--just the job, I thought--and Ally bounced into the returns. It makes it so easy to look good jiving when the woman you're dancing with returns your lead with some energy. Maintaining the energy is what makes jiving fun. Seph gave us about twenty beats, then joined on my right. That's the difficult side for a woman on a three-handed jive.

Before the song was over, we had this three-handed pat. Ally was obviously a pretty good dancer. It does a man's ego no harm at all to have two class A MILFs to dance with at the same time, though I have to say my chastity cage was causing severe discomfort by the time the DJ interrupted and the song ended.

As the radio broke for the hourly news, Ally said, you must come to our dance club with us. My friend Jilly and I go to a rock and roll club tonight. It's in Narberth, but that's not too far.

"Really! How far," we both said together?

"It takes me and Jilly about three quarters of an hour to get there."

"You go there to jive," said Seph?

"Yes, with a few strollers and a line dance or two, we are going tonight. Why?"

"We love jiving; I made Stinky here take me to a dance for our first date."

"Come with us; if you share him, we will pay your entry." Ally was joking but with more than a hint of serious in her voice. "There are two free places in the car and its only three pounds entry for a record hop. There aren't anywhere near enough men, "she went on." Well; there are, but some of them want a very high price for a dance. If you know what I mean, good leads are as rare as rocking horse poo."

"Gropers," asked Seph?

"You bet, some of them are like dancing with an octopus. I love to wear my 50s underwear, but it's like asking the wolf home for tea. So its Marks and Sparks armour plated bra and knicks for me, if my Dai was still with us he would rattle a few bones, "

It will have to be jeans and a checked shirt for me tonight. I didn't even bring any seamies, but if you want to flirt, this lummox will protect your honour. Rest assured; I'll be wearing my Sunday best in the future.

It's supposed to be Jilly's turn to drive tomorrow; but we will go in my Touareg, it's nice and comfortable for 4. I must warn you, we don't have a proper DJ anymore. The couple who run it take turns playing the records, only it's an iPad, not records. They have a live band once a month, but it's just a record hop tonight. We just do the best we can.

Later, when we were alone, Seph said to me, "I'm going to let you out of your tube tonight so you can dance properly. You need to know I'm going to be watching you. If you go for a piss and shake it more than three times, your bollocks are going into Ally's juicer! Am I clear?"

"Yes, my darling mistress, you are very clear."

The club is the best I've been to outside the southeast as far as friendliness is concerned. When I told the main man I had a couple of thousand watts of DJ amps and speakers with lights and lasers to go with it, he was interested. When I told him I had one hundred and seven thousand tracks he was impressed. When I told him at least a third were old rock n roll he dribbled on his iPad.

When I told him the price for bringing it was that he had to find it a home until we bought a place and settled in, and then he had to learn my computer programme and share the DJing, he was positively enthusiastic. I'm retired; I don't want to be at anyone's beck and call, and I don't ever need to be a wage slave again. Not even a rock n roll wage slave.

That was back in November; it's now May. We've been around the bloody, awful M25 twenty-five times since then. And we are still in this shitty two-up, two-down situation in Brighton. On the plus side, we know where we want to live; we know Ally, Jilly, and most of their friends. I am a playing member of the local rugby club. I play veterans rugby, old man stuff according to the young bucks.. We are both active bowls club and rock n roll club members. It's all 250 miles from where we don't want to live anymore, though.

"Have you any idea how hard it is to find a house in a nice place by the sea? All we need is 4 bedrooms, a bit of land, a big garage and workshop for your dad, and a cellar." Seph was talking to our youngest on the phone.

"Why a cellar, mom?"

"Err, erm, your dad wants to make wine."

"Why? All he drinks is bitter."

"He wants a hobby now that he's retired."

"Bollocks. He hates wine; you don't like wine. French piss, if I remember your famous quote to the gaddjie serving drinks at the posh golf club my dear sister's wedding reception was held at. You want to build a SM sex dungeon, so you can torture my poor daddy and sit on his face."

"LILLY! Seph shouted at the phone."

Oh, bollocks, mom. Don't play innocent with me; it's your little girl with the big titties, you know, the one you called mini-me when I was growing up. Not my poo-faced, strait-laced sister.

Oh, that reminds me. I've got a new girlfriend. I want to bring her for a visit if you can stand the shame of the neighbours knowing you have a lesbo daughter. Also, mom, just so we all know where we stand; when you are settled and want me to visit, BB comes with me.

"BB?"

"Yes, BB mum"

Lilly, when has your precious daddy or I ever tried to live your life or make decisions for you?"

"Yeh, yeh, yeh, mom. But if you invite me, you will invite the moral guardian of the western world. If I come, Billie comes. You will like her mom; dad won't. I had more tit when I was five than she has now.

Actually, he will, but the tiny little baby and love of my life is a full-on lez and doesn't do boys at all. Tell dad she plays shithot boogie woogie piano though, and she is a huge Professor Longhair fan. That's how I met her; she was playing Tipitina in the union bar.

She can jive as well, mom; I have to be the man; that's a real bummer, but she is tiny, and I can throw her all over the dance floor; we've started a jive club here in Bath.

Irene and that stiff twat she married to will have to stick their moral fortitude where the sun doesn't shine; neither of us hides our sexuality.

"You told dad yourself he couldn't talk; he's got his mouth full, but he's listening."

Hello, Dad, has the mummy slut got you trapped? She will suffocate you one day with that big, fat arse of hers. Be careful, daddy, dearest. I know you are a very sick puppy, but you're the only daddy I've got. I've got to go now; I'm looking for a little titless wonder to trap under my nice little girly bottom. by Mummy and Daddy.

"Lilly," Seph went on, "you are a rude, cheeky; dirty little cow, but you sprang from my loins, and even I have a tiny sense of motherly instinct. Look after yourself, my darling, and play safe with this poor, unfortunate child. Daddy and I just can't afford to bury you. So be careful."

"Yeh", said Lilly, giggling, "I love you too, mom."

"Lilly"

"Yes mom".

"I do love you; you know that, right?"

"Yes, mom, I do know; please don't tell anyone though; it's so embarrassing. You are my best friend, as well as my mom. I got to go now to find some secateurs to trim my Pinocchio nose with."

"By-by cheeky bitch child."

"By-by slutty mommy."

I've been refereeing fights between these two since before Lilly was born. Back then, she used to kick the shit out of Seph's tum when she was growing inside her. Seph would say we are going to know all about this one.

Irene, Lilly's elder sister, was different altogether. She never cried unless she was ill; she played quietly with her army of dollies. I never had to go to school to be lectured on her behaviour. Lilly was anything but, I had my own chair in the deputy head mistress's office when Lilly was there. Seph once forgot about Irene completely and left her in her pushchair outside the shops. Irene was easy. Lilly demanded our complete attention 24/7. Seph was never allowed to forget about Lilly, and neither was I. Now we worry about Ireen, never about Lilly.

When Seph put her phone down, it rang immediately.

"Oh, hello, Mrs. Spiers," said Seph. "Really?" There was a long pause. "Really," a longer pause. "Really," another very long pause. "Can we have the room again? We will be at yours by 8 in the morning." Pause again. "Yes Ally, we are coming now." Seph was grinning like an idiot and nodding at me.

"I haven't a clue, darling, I said to Seph. I made no sense of that at all."

"No, Ally, we will come now and sleep in the car." Another very long pause. Ally is the only woman on the plane who can out-talk my excited wife. "If you're sure, yes, if you're sure." Shorter pause: "See you then."

"Wasup duck."

"Ally Spiers has found us a house. It's an old farmhouse; she says it's like The Burrow in Harry Potter. There are five bedrooms, though one has only enough room for a single bed and a single wardrobe with somewhere to stand. Then only when the door is shut. It's got two bathrooms and an ensuite. There are three rooms downstairs, plus the kitchen. Ally says it's got a huge garden and an attached paddock, but the paddock is a bit steep. It's a private sale, and they want to sell as soon as possible."

"Why are we still here then? Pack some clothes, just clean pants and socks. My travel washbag, clean jeans, a couple of shirts, and whatnot. I'll go fuel the car up and buy some sandwiches for the journey. Meet you by the front gate in ten."

"OK go".

It took seven and a half hours today. The M25 was a complete bastard. I may miss one or two things when we move, but south-east traffic won't be one of them. It was ten to one in the morning, but Ally was waiting for us.

"I didn't think you wanted too much to go to bed on," she said. "I've just got the biscuit barrel out. I've just made tea. I really do hope you like the place. There is a story, but I'll tell you tomorrow."

The next morning, Ally drove us around to the house. Without a word between us, we decided it was the right place for us. We both fell in love with it as we drove down the single-track lane to it. In front of us was the sea. The track extended 500 yards past the house, then carried on to a secluded sandy beach. Our new home was just off this lane. Stood in front of the house, no one could ever guess in a million years we were only five minutes' walk from the nearest pub and ten minutes from a corner shop and post office. Less than 2 miles as the crow flies from St. Davids.

The house was glorious; we both loved it, and there was a cellar. The house sort of belonged to Jilly, Ally's best friend. It was her mom's. Her mom was now in an old folk's home, and Jilly's mom wanted it sold. We involved a couple of surveyors; they gave us a valuation; we agreed on the average; we shook hands; and the deal was done.

Four weeks later, we moved in. We employed a plumber. That went against the grain, but Seph insisted I was now retired, and I had another job to do. The cellar was accessed from the kitchen pantry. The first job in our playroom was to disguise the door. I covered it with shelves. We fitted it with heavy-duty hinges, and we filled the shelves with the sort of stuff that hasn't found a proper home anywhere in your house. It was perfect; it was dry and had a lightwell at each end.

Seph painted two screens to put in front of the two windows to make it look like a bleak, dirty place. We hoped our kids would eventually bring their kids on holidays, so it needed camouflage. I was pretty sure Lilly would demand a dungeon day be allocated to her and her poor, unfortunate little girlfriend.

I have become quite proficient at woodwork. I built a St. Andrews Cross, a pillory, a whipping stool, and a bed. The bed had a couple of false starts. Seph wanted a bed with an electric winch at each corner.

I thought for safety and ease of obtaining them, 12-volt trailer winches would be just the job. I bought four from a cheap marine chandelier on the bay of evil. The very first time we tried to use them; the control failed on one.

It very nearly tore my arm off. The lift button jammed, and that prevented the stop button from working. That one ended up in the bin. One is now on my boat trailer, another is on my boat for pulling a grapple out of the seabed, and one is a spare in my boat shed.

The bed now has hand winches. As I said the first time Seph was stretching me out to do what she wanted to do with me, the button jammed on. At the time, I had wired them into a central feed, but the feed was from a 12-volt battery, and I still had temporary connections.

These winches, thank God, are slow. As I was being dragged across the bed and before I even realised, she had lost control, my clever missus yanked on the temporary supply cable and pulled the crocodile clip off the battery.

Now the bed is her best piece of equipment down there. As she says herself, she is a slut; she loves cock; she loves my cock. I am made to make her cum every day and twice on Sundays, or so it seems. Sometimes when she is howling at the moon, two or three times.

I'm supposed to be limited to a maximum of one orgasm a week. Yeah, fat chance, I'm married to a slut, a one man slut but the woman could fuck for Britan in the Olympics. These days, I worship Branwen, the Welsh folk goddess of love. Branwen is obviously having an influence on Seph. She likes the idea of riding my immobilised body to the point of nearly no return, as she puts it, then stopping to leave me screaming in frustration.

Thats what Sephie the Dome mistress wants to happen. Fortunately for me, with Branwyn's help, I can make it last long enough, so Mistress Sephie loses control to Seph the slut and just keeps fucking me. My punishment is always that I must clean her and then bring her to another orgasm. If you ever meet my darling mistress, please don't point out that this is pure pleasure, not punishment.

The second favourite is the pillory. It holds my feet, hands, and head. With a little add-on, it holds my cock and balls. The reticence of Seph using a strap on me has faded somewhat. The monster she bought to deflower my brownie after the lottery win has never been seen again, but I have been threatened with it whenever Seph tells me I've been bad. Thinking about it that's usually five or six times a day these days.

That said, I'm pretty sure it will never resurface. Seph gets a big kick out of making me cum while I'm wearing the chastity tube. That isn't much fun for me, as I have told her when we are having coffee after a session. To be fair, Seph gives equal weight to my enjoyment of a scenario as much as her own, I gain from those episodes in other ways.

My latest "downstairs" project is a cunnilingus chair. It's still very much on the drawing board. Strangely enough, she isn't pushing me on this one. I think it's because she knows I'm a bit of a perfectionist and it can only be good for her. When my face is locked tight to her puss with no prospect of relief for me. Never mind talking, in the words of the great philosopher Zimmerman. The turn on doesn't shout; it swears. I love eating Seffie pie. I have loved munching her muffin since the first time I was in her room above the Palmerston. I still love it just as much today. I may end up with balls a funny shade of blue for a day or two but she lays me to waste the day after.

A week after we moved in, Lilly, along with the poor unfortunate BB, stands for Boobless Billie. Along with Irene and Captain Normal, Irene's fucking weird husband are coming for a week; it's my birthday, so there is obviously a secret birthday planned for me, but I'd never guess that in a million years, will I?

Two days before, a big fuckoff spanner was thrown into the works. I found Lilly banging on our new front door in floods of tears. Lilly isn't the kind of girl to fall into a snotty, teary mess unless there is a very sizeable shift in the cosmic balance. I didn't know what had caused my baby's distress, but I was instantly in protective dad mode.