In the previous story I introduced you to my lovely friend Sophie and told you about an evening when she and I got very drunk and she told me, in great and explicit detail, about her submissive fantasies and desires, which were focused on her male boss. I'll pick up the story again on the morning after that, briefly, although I'll probably then gloss over some of the next bit of scene-setting, out of respect to your patience, and get closer to what I can only call the action.
So here goes. The morning after.
I woke up with a beast of a hangover. For me, that always means feeling ragingly horny, so before I got out of bed I made myself come, which seemed to get the blood flowing a little and made my head feel a tiny bit better. I dragged myself into the shower and thence to the kitchen, where I sat in my dressing gown looking at a cup of coffee and trying to persuade myself to drink it. I heard movement from the room where Sophie had been sleeping, then the shower running. Eventually she came into the kitchen, wearing the baggy T shirt I had lent her to sleep in, just over her knickers.
"Morning Leanne. Thanks for letting me stay, that was really kind. How are you doing?"
"Nothing a bullet through the brain couldn't fix, thanks. How are you? Coffee?"
"Oof, you too, eh? Why do we do this to ourselves, Lee? I don't think I could manage coffee yet. A glass of water, maybe. Shit, I'm going for lunch with my parents today. I'll have to get myself into a better state before then. Still, it was fun, eh? A good night."
"Yeah, it was, I really enjoyed it."
Silence, for a while. I was completely torn as to whether to mention the conversation that had dominated the evening - Sophie's long account of her deepest sexual fantasies. Did she even remember?
"Leanne," she began.
"Yes, hon?"
"I think you might feel a bit awkward after last night. Please don't. I don't. I remember everything I said, and I'm fine with that, OK? I enjoyed talking about it, and it's nice that you're a good enough friend that I can trust you with all of that. I just hope I didn't bore you."
"Thanks Soph. That's really sweet of you. I'm glad you trust me; the feeling's mutual. I enjoyed that conversation too. It was many things but not boring!"
Silence again, but relaxed now. Then eventually Sophie said she'd better get her act together and get home to change and ready herself for the lunch date with her mum and dad. "To be honest, Lee, I'd love to spend the day just lazing around and drinking coffee - or water - with you, but needs must, y'know? Thanks again for letting me stay. It's a lovely place you've got here. I'd like to see more of it when I'm sober!"
"Sure, pet, I'm sure we'll arrange something. I'd like that. We'll have you round for dinner. You'll get on really well with Paul, I'm sure."
"You know what, Lee, if that's him in the pictures in the hallway, he looks an awful lot like my boss Steven Marshall!" She giggled.
What a very odd thing to say, in the cold light of day, I thought. My husband reminds her of her boss who is the object of her very graphic submissive sexual fantasies. The uninhibited conversation of the previous evening was one thing, but this unsettled me.
"Ha, really? Well, maybe they're long lost relatives or something ..."
She smiled, and went upstairs to get dressed. Of course, I was now able to visualise Sophie's fantasies in more detail - with Paul as a major character. Strange. And not entirely unpleasant. Well, that gives me something to think about as I shake off the hangover, I thought.
Sophie took her leave of me. I felt lonely after she'd gone. And still remarkably horny, in a confused-teenager kind of way.
I subjected you to quite enough extraneous detail in the last story so now I'm going to do my best to cut to something nearer the chase. I'm not going to go deeply into how I told Paul about Sophie's and my conversation and how her fantasies were a very pleasant addition to Paul's and my sex life when he came home. I'm not going to give you word-for-word on my subsequent conversations with Sophie. On how, tentatively and without daring to admit it, I was brokering a realisation of her fantasies, with Paul and me in the dominant roles.
At some point, I had to tell myself. I was going to have a threesome.
I remember years ago another friend of mine, Karen, joking about threesomes. "What do you think the third person actually does, Leanne? I mean, I know what happens in porn but can you actually imagine that in real life? I mean, really? How does any of them know what they're supposed to be doing at a given moment?" It's not a bad question. Especially in the two-women-one-man scenario. I mean, with two guys and a girl there are at least some basics of anatomy that, well, facilitate simultaneous participation by all involved, let's say. I had fantasised about threesomes in both combinations, of course, and imagined them in Literotica stories, but I had no idea what it would actually be like. And I could not deny that there were a couple of pretty fucking big thresholds to be crossed: I would be having sex with a woman for the first time; and, perhaps more of a challenge, I would be witnessing Paul having sex with someone else.
The safety thing was straightforward - for everybody's peace of mind, if Paul penetrated Sophie he would do so only with a condom (Paul and I do not use them, as he has a vasectomy and we have both tested negative for HIV). If Paul penetrated Sophie. If my darling husband put his cock inside the cunt of this nice girl I met at evening class. It was a very arousing and distinctly troubling thought.
It will come as no surprise that it took me a while to fully commit to the whole thing. Paul ... well, Paul was supportive of me, and interested in his own right, although he too had to work his way past some barriers. These were also to do with him being permitted - required, even - to fuck someone other than me. He did not have so much of an issue with me having sex with Sophie in his presence. Which goes to prove, I suppose, that even such a very enlightened, liberal, feminist man as my beloved Paul can't resist a lesbian show.
I was also concerned that Paul might be under pressure to perform, physically. While he and I love what we do in bed, I wondered whether Sophie's expectations of him might be driven by fantasy or pornography rather than what a reasonably healthy 40-something man could realistically do. I hoped that the accent would be on the roleplay rather than physical sexual athleticism.
Sophie was just very keen, and I was grateful for her patience while Paul and I sorted our heads out.
This is what we agreed on, in the end: we would not try to act out Sophie's "Mr Marshall" story - not just because we were one person short, but because she'd developed that scenario in such depth in her own mind, that any attempt to realise it would probably spoil it for her. Instead, we decided to adapt a teacher-pupil thing that Paul and I had played around with before (not wishing to tout my own Literotica stories too much, but "Headmistress" is based on this). Paul would be the Headmaster, Mr Sinclair. I would be a more junior teacher, Miss Price. And Sophie would be Sophie, a sixth former (i.e. final year student, eighteen or nineteen years old) who had committed various misdemeanours and needed to be disciplined. We agreed an outline "plot", leaving room for improvisation. We made a date for one Saturday afternoon in summer, a few days before Paul and I were due to go on holiday. Lunch at our place, followed by three-way roleplay and sex. Let nobody say that life in the London suburbs is uneventful.
When the day dawned I was screaming inwardly with excitement and apprehension. Outwardly, I was quiet and thoughtful, as was Paul. In tense situations I normally have what is, no doubt, an irritating habit of asking him repeatedly for reassurance - is it going to be OK, are we doing the right thing, what if it goes wrong, and so on. This time, for some reason, I did not. At some point during the day each asked the other if they were OK. That was about it. Paul (who is the cook in our little household) busied himself preparing lunch: grilled trout, pasta salad. There was white wine in the fridge. I made sure that our clothes were ready for later, and that the living room was ready to be adapted to purpose: items of furniture arranged appropriately; towels, bathrobes, tissues and condoms easily to hand. Perhaps this is what it's like running a brothel or swingers' club, I thought.
It occurs to me, by the way, that I have yet to describe Paul to you. He is a few years older than me, so in his early forties when all this was happening. He is just under six feet tall, slim and fit although not conspicuously athletic. He has very very beautiful green eyes, rather sad and utterly compelling, with unusually long eyelashes for a man (I sometimes notice that they brush the inside of his glasses lenses). His short, dark brown hair has a scattering of grey in it but has not started to thin at all. His hands are slim and delicate. He has a calm, wise face - he's the sort of person that others turn to for reassurance. He can come across as shy or reserved, because he tends to talk when he has something worth saying, not just to fill a silence or make small talk. When he does speak, it is in a soft, clear voice, and he weighs his words carefully.
It was a relief when the taxi arrived with Sophie in it (like many Londoners, she did not own a car). I walked down the driveway to greet her with a hug. She was dressed in a tight white t-shirt, three-quarter length pale pink trousers, and sandals. She looked fresh, pretty, young and sexy. Fuck, I thought to myself, maybe I am bisexual. I really fancy this girl. She had brought with her a dessert (summer fruit crumble), some flowers, and a small holdall "for later on".
We ate outdoors, on the patio. It was a very beautiful summer afternoon. We don't get many of those in England but when they do come along they are glorious - they have an indefinable quality you don't get elsewhere. Something to do with lush green grass, and long daylight hours, I think. Bees and butterflies buzzed and fluttered around the marjoram and rosemary in our herb patch. Somewhere nearby, a blackbird was singing. The three of us ate, drank and chatted. Well, I thought to myself, even if what happens afterwards goes disastrously wrong, at least we'll have had a lovely afternoon together.
Eventually, Sophie said "Shall we ... er ...?"
I cleared the lunch plates away. Paul and I went to our bedroom, and Sophie to the spare room, to get changed. To be Miss Price, I put on a dark grey skirt over sheer black holdup stockings, and a plain dark red blouse. My underwear was black and lacy. I tied my hair back neatly and put on the glasses that I wear to drive and watch TV. Plain, low-heeled black shoes and small, discreet gold earrings completed the look. Paul wore a dark suit over a pale blue work shirt, with a dark blue tie and smart black shoes. He did not wear any underpants.
Paul and I got into our positions in the living room. He sat at the small folding dining table - his desk. I sat to one side in a dining chair. We heard Sophie's footsteps coming down the stairs. There was a soft knock at the living room door. Paul was straight into his role.
"Come in!"
Another knock.
"See who that is, would you, Miss Price?"
I walked towards the door and opened it. "Sophie Booth to see you, Headmaster," I said as Sophie stepped into the room and pretty much stopped my heart.
I want to be clear about this - she didn't look like an eighteen year old schoolgirl. She looked like a twenty-eight year old woman who knew all the sexual signifiers of the older-schoolgirl role in adult roleplay and had embraced them with great enthusiasm and attention to detail. That was what was so fucking sexy about her.
She had pulled her hair back into a short ponytail, leaving an untidy fringe. She wore no make-up or jewellery. She was chewing gum. Her skirt was dark blue. She had tucked the waistband over itself a couple of times to make it shorter - too short for her, certainly, and made more so by the way that her wide hips pushed it out, so that it revealed more thigh than any self-respecting school would permit. She wore knee-length dark blue socks and plain black flat shoes. Her white shirt was just too tight, so that it stretched across her big bust and gaped between the buttons, showing the white lace of her bra. The top two buttons were undone. A tie with blue and grey diagonal stripes was fastened only loosely round her neck, with the wide end of the tie left far too short. Over her shoulder was a brown leather satchel. She'd said before that this was in fact her real school uniform from years ago, lovingly kept.
She could have looked ridiculous. But what stopped that was the way she inhabited the character. She slouched ever so slightly, at the same time maintaining a tension in her body, a subtle contrapposto. One hip jutted almost imperceptibly to one side. Despite the lazy posture, her shoulders were drawn back and down so as to emphasise her bust. The look in her eyes managed to be assertive, not quite insolent, and at the same time a little nervous. She gave the impression of someone just about coming to terms with - and perhaps a bit frightened of - the sexual firepower that Nature had bestowed on her.
"You wanted to see me, Sir?" She had managed somehow to make her voice lighter, younger-sounding.
"Indeed, Sophie," said Paul. "Now, stand up straight when I'm talking to you."
She straightened up, which had the effect of emphasising her breasts even more.
"I am very concerned about a number of aspects of your behaviour, Sophie," Paul continued, in an even, serious tone. "Things have reached a stage where we can no longer turn a blind eye. I fear that you are not only failing to realise your own potential but are a disruptive influence. That is why I have asked to see you."
"I'm sorry, Sir, I can't imagine what you're referring to ... " she interjected with just enough righteous hurt.
Paul continued: "As you know, school rules stipulate that for any meeting between a male staff member and female pupil, a female staff member must be present, which is why Miss Price is here to witness our conversation and make any comments as she sees fit. Miss Price, do you have anything to add?"
