Second Interlude
Ava Frasch unlocked her car and sat down in the driver's seat. The whole car had an air of non-use about it. This was hardly surprising since it hadn't been used for a many a month, roughly a term and a half, in fact. It had been left securely locked up in the garage belonging to an acquaintance of hers, one Dr Fiona Allbright, BA BSc MSc PhD. At the time she left it, she hadn't mentioned in any especial detail to Dr Allbright where, or why she needed some storage, but nonetheless Fifi had readily agreed to keep the car safely tucked away in her garage until reclaimed. It wasn't as if there was a problem in that, because Fifi didn't, herself, drive, and nor did she otherwise own a car. Ava Frasch smiled. The two of them had been loose friends, but nothing more, sharing a number of similar interests, and on that score it was odd, she thought, that things had ended up the way that they had.
Ava Frasch recalled that she herself had got the tip for the job of PT instructor from one of the St Stricktlands School supply teachers, one Jeanette Diamond. And so it was to be that she and Fifi had both ended up as teachers and colleagues at that illustrious establishment, that venerable seat of learning that was St Stricktlands School, otherwise known as the caning centre of the known universe.
She smiled to herself as she hit the starter button and wondered whether the engine would fire after all this time. It did. So she stepped on the gas for a couple of minutes to let the spiders sort themselves out. She'd just returned back to Letchhampton in order to collect the car which she'd been obliged to leave here all the intervening time. But even that journey had had its entertainments. She'd met up with George....Georgie Boy, he seemed to be called, and Helen, who'd both turned out to be, well, extremely entertaining adults. She discovered very quickly that Georgie Boy fancied her something rotten. Well, OK, she thought, she knew that she was indeed highly fanciable, and it was great fun fucking married men, especially when the wife didn't mind. In this case, of course, the wife REALLY didn't mind, in fact, quite the opposite, nay, encouraged it. The Shagtons enjoyed an open marriage arrangement, and Helen Shagton enjoyed it immensely, it seemed, when her husband played around with strict Ladies. She smiled again. It appeared that one of his favourite strict Ladies was the self-same Dr Fiona Allbright, who had apparently enjoyed a college based ménage a trios with the Shagtons, and who still enjoyed a regular relationship with Georgie Boy. She shook her head. Oh, the intrigue of it all. That portion of the convoluted tale, at least, she hadn't known anything about.
Gingerly, she put the car into first gear and moved it out of the garage. No problem. So she got out, closed the garage door, got back inside, and headed off along Side Street. She glanced back at The Knackers, the house name for number 69.
She braked suddenly at the junction with Letchhampton High Street, her attention quite definitely not being on the road. Damn it, she thought, she'd just driven through another red light. Well, only just a little bit red, she considered, and traffic in that direction was light, and no police were around, so what the hell, anyway? And for that matter, what was wrong with going through the occasional red light? After all, she'd stopped at a few green ones in her time, usually about 3am when returning from a particularly good party, and never been given any credit for those, so she reckoned that the traffic cops owed her for a few red ones, simply for the sake of overall fairness.
Her thoughts turned to number 8, Acacia Avenue. The Shagton household, where she was now heading back to. Yesterday had been fun, too. Helen Shagton, too, had been, it seemed, very happy to give her some oral service....well, she'd given Helen some of that back, too, of course. But she'd had the invitation extended to go back this afternoon for some more naughty fun and games. It would have to be this afternoon, though, because Georgie Boy was due to make his weekly visit to Dr Fiona Allbright that morning. Her mouth quirked. George was, she knew, at the end of a full month of No Sex For A Month from his wife, and so he was going to be very, VERY frustrated....and, of course, that also made him a prime candidate for all manner of prick teasing together with all allied pursuits. She wasn't totally sure what Helen had in mind for him in the afternoon, but she knew that it would be a whole load of fun. For the Ladies, at least, she added the mental caveat almost automatically. Orgasmic fun always was for the Ladies, of course. The men....well, that was their problem. Thrashings, canings, floggings, whippings, croppings, ball beatings, prick teasing and testicular torture....that was what they all merited....and if they got any sexual satisfaction at all then they should be jolly grateful for small mercies.
It wasn't that far back to Acacia Avenue. She parked the car outside the house, and walked up to the front door. She rang the doorbell. Nothing happened. She rang again. A complete stranger answered it, wearing nothing except for a black frilly apron together with a pair of Ladies' high heeled shoes. She blinked for a second, wondering whether she'd got the right house. Then she sniggered. It was, she remembered, an identical outfit to the ones that Georgie Boy had been wearing that morning, even down to the elasticised hole where his testicles were protruding through. And the figure eight on the door was clear enough. So this must be, she reasoned, another sex slave belonging to Helen Shagton? She reached forwards and squeezed his bare balls, hard. "Uhhhhhhh," he moaned, and bent forward. "Please, Ma'am," he gasped, "what was that for?"
She grinned at him, and let go of his balls. "That, bad boy," she said, "was for your failure to answer the door timeously. What was your excuse, anyway?" Slowly, he straightened himself up. She could see that, underneath his frilly apron, there was an outline of something else straightening up, too.
"I'm so sorry, Ma'am," he replied, "I was a little tied up, you see." Ava Frasch didn't doubt it. Probably his Mistress had indeed tied him up.
"Who is it, Dai?" called a voice from inside. Helen Shagton, she recognized the voice easily enough. And who, she wondered, was this Dai, anyway?
"I'm so sorry, Ma'am," said the mysterious Dai to her, "but I didn't quite catch your name?"
She slapped his face, really hard. "That's because I didn't tell you," she snapped, and noted with pleasure how he reeled and gasped at the blow. Oh, how she so always enjoyed slapping submissive men around for no particular good reason. It always got her juices going, somehow. She barged straight past him, elbowing him out of her way, and then pausing only to administer a well aimed knee at his delightfully offered bare balls - a gesture which brought him gasping down to his knees in an instant - and then called out, "Hello, it's me, Helen....I mean, it's me, Ava....I was able to rearrange my itinerary today after all."
Silence for a moment. Then, "We're both in the kitchen, Ava, come along in." She walked along to the kitchen. 'They,' were indeed both in the kitchen. George Shagton was on the floor, naked, with his balls bound tightly by a rough rope cord, and they were being pulled hard by Helen Shagton who was almost wearing a miniskirt that was somehow almost up to her waist, and who was quite obviously being provided with oral service, in exchange for strict balls bondage. A fair exchange indeed, Ava Frasch thought to herself, virtuously. She looked again at Helen Shagton. No knickers, either, she duly noted.
"Ahhhhhhhh, me balls," moaned George Shagton, desperately, as his wife pulled harder on the cord.
"Stop moaning, George," said Helen Shagton, "and stop thinking about yourself. Concentrate on my needs, instead, and get that tongue deeper inside me. You know exactly how I like it." With that, she pulled harder still on his testicles.
"Arghhhhhhhhhh," moaned George Shagton again, but his efforts were rewarded this time, because, all at once his wife orgasmed suddenly. She went rigid all over, and shook.
Her head arched upwards, and she mouthed, "Yessssssss," to nobody in particular. Then she yanked his balls, hard, again. "How many cums was that, George?" she snapped.
"Please Ma'am," he mumbled, presumably still with mostly a mouthful of cunt, "I make that seven cums....so far."
Helen Shagton sighed, and lifted herself off him. "Can't get the staff," she said, with a slight grin. "Oh, here, Ava," she said, offering her the end of the rope, "would you like to pull his balls around a little and have some service, too? It does so....serve to keep men focussed, doesn't it?" Ava Frasch agreed with that one. Keep men's balls well and truly bound, well and truly stretched.....at the same time as keeping the penis well and truly frustrated. That was the way to deal with all men. Wouldn't the world be a far better place, she thought, if ALL men were dealt with on that basis? No more silly wars, for example.
With a slight grin, she took hold of the rope, and, reaching inside her skirt, slid her knickers down and then off. Then she took up Helen Shagton's spot on his chest, lifted up her skirt, and pushed his face up towards her own cunt. "Five cums for me, bad boy," she said.
"But, Ma'am," he wailed, "I have to get to Fi's house." She slapped his face, hard. "No buts, boy," she hissed, "unless you want to talk about what will happen to yours if you argue with me."
