The Other Woman 14

A fantasy that came true.

Copyright © 2011 (November)

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Preamble.

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I suppose that there is a point in every marriage where one of the partners 'goes astray'. Well, OK then, not every marriage, but I have to admit that it happened to me, that moment when you say to yourself, 'There is someone else in this marriage, someone that I have not yet met, someone who is intruding.'

This is the story of an intrusion that became an invasion.

A woman opened the door and allowed herself in.

Of course we all expect that the other woman is some tart or slag that hubby has met in the office or at some drab pub or else a pub with drabs! The signs would be lipstick, perfume, missing money, missing husband, late nights, strange credit card bills and the resetting of the passenger seat in the car.

These signs might come all at once, on day one, or they may arrive like busses, too late and in threes. With me, the signs were quite different, there was no lipstick, the credit card bill was fine and no one else had been in the car.

The start was Monique...

... and the finish obsession.

Finding Out.

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Craig and I had been married for some ten years when I start my story. Let me get it straight right now, there were no visible problems; sex was pretty good, there was enough money for a new car every year and we had just paid off the mortgage. We took some pretty good holidays and the only thing missing was the children.

We were trying for them at last and the sex became an 'almost' obsession as we just kept on trying. In the end, we had to admit that it was not looking so good so I paid a visit to the doctor for the usual gamut of tests.

The result shocked me, more than shocked, I was dazed.

I was not fertile, or should I say that I was no longer fertile. The doctor told me that I had a case of Chlamydia, that silent curse that is passed by one sexual partner to the other, a kind of poisoned sexual calling card.

Doctor Vasy had told me that, judging by the damage, I had been infected five or more years ago!

I drove home in a turmoil of anger and confusion. Mainly anger. Sometime a few years ago Craig must have slept with another woman because I had certainly been one hundred percent faithful.

So I got home in a fury; how I managed to drive home without ramming some other poor driver or a lamppost I'll never know.

I stormed into the house with a shout of that shit's name to find him in the kitchen making a coffee.

"Craig, you piece of shit!" I shouted making him jump with shock. I have never seen him so surprised; he almost threw the mug across the room with the surprise.

"What? What is it?"

Well he could scarcely know that I had been to Doctor Vasy because I hadn't told him that I was going.

"Who have you been fucking?"

There is no substitute for being direct. Just to add to the tension I was shouting at the top of my voice.

I saw him choke up. It's a dead give away with Craig, before he can lie he just has to swallow. It's a poker tell that I've been using for years and he was never the wiser.

"Darling, I would never..."

"You fucking liar," I shouted at the top of my voice. "Can I get Chlamydia from a toilet seat? How dare you tell me lies! I don't bloody well think so. The only cock that I've been riding is yours, for ten fucking years, so I want an explanation right now!"

Craig went white. I'll swear all the blood drained from his face as though it had been sucked out. In fact I nearly thought that he was going to fall over. His mouth moved but no sound came out, not even a gurgle or hiccup.

So to keep up the pressure I carried on yelling at my wanker of a husband: "Who is the slut? Where have you been putting your dick and which hole?"

Strange Hobbies.

Well the truth can be stranger than fiction, it does not happen very often but when it does you fall down flat with surprise. It is like when a magician pulls back the cloth and there is the blonde, all in one piece again!

Craig left me in shock because I would never have suspected it of him. His voice was small and I almost had to get him to repeat what he said before I could make sense of it.

"I went to a dominatrix!"

"Pardon? I mean 'pardon me'! You went to some cunt of a whore?"

Craig hung his head, he could not face me and look me in the eye. That is a sure sign that what you are being told is the truth so I just had to listen and try to figure it out.

"Yes I paid her," he said in his small voice, "but, I needed it, I really did."

"What you needed some woman to give you a thrashing?" I asked in amazement.

Then I remembered a conversation that Craig and I had about five years before. He had wanted me to dress up in more than lingerie, boots and so on and I had refused him and ridiculed his request.

I suppose that I was to blame as well, but there was no way that I was going to let him off the hook. So I did what I always did and went onto the attack.

"Who?"

"I forget!"

I laughed at his naïveté. "You are going to tell me that you have stopped this now? Who is she?"

"Mistress Monique," he replied.

"Where?"

"Really, Sabrina," he said, "you cannot possibly go and see her, please!"

"Tell me now, Craig, or I'll throw you out of the house. I may still do it but do as I say!"

Craig heaved a sigh and disappeared to come back after a minute with a calling card that he passed to me.

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Mistress Monique

Your Superior.

Tel 092-131-121212121

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I glanced at the gold and black card and revised my opinion of Miss Monique just a little. Not too tacky at all. I passed it back to Craig and told him to call her up.

"Please, Sabrina, don't make me do this, Please!"

"Call the bitch up, I want to speak to her."

I Supped With the She Devil.

So there I was knocking on the door. Actually I was not so stupid to go to Mistress Monique's working address, I just organised a meet with her. I just had to see this woman who had persuaded my husband to pay for sex with her.

Amazing!

She agreed!

So I thought that I'd box clever. You know, get the slag out of her element and have a good old shouting match with her. So I thought, what better place for a meeting than a posh restaurant in Soho, that den of sexual iniquity in the West End.

So I booked a table at a little restaurant that I had heard of, but never been to. Translated from the Italian it is called 'The Wolf's Maw' and is really a pretty smart 'before the theatre' restaurant.

I made sure that I got there early. It never looks good being late for a meeting with a whore. So there I was, alone at the table, glass of red in hand; a pretty good Barolo if I might say. I had a dozen things in my mind lined up to say. From the copiously crude to the elegant posh 'put down', they were all prepared.

So when Monique came into the restaurant dressed in jeans and fur coat I did not even recognise her. For a moment she looked around and then she came directly to my table.

"I suppose that you are Mrs Sabrina Sanders," she said in a cool voice.

Without waiting for an answer she flicked her fur to one side and sat opposite me at the table.

"Then you must be Mistress Monique," I replied, stressing the 'Mistress' with a slight sneer.

"Oh! Don't bother with all that crap, 'Miss' is quite enough." She laughed. "It's only my clients that call me 'Mistress'."

At that moment the waiter arrived and offered the menu and the wine list. I really believe that Monique and I would never have ended up friends and more if he had not come at that moment to break the two prize fighters apart.

As it was, she ordered the wine and I ordered the food for the both of us and we had cooled down a little.

Once the ice had been somewhat broken she proved to be sharp witted and a lot more down to earth than I had ever thought.

"Craig is a proper little darling, really," she said with a smile, "he does all that he is told without a murmur and more besides!"

I gritted my teeth to stop myself having a right go at the woman and just about managed. I could feel myself starting to actually like the bitch!

"You know that five years ago you gave him Chlamydia and he passed it on to me!" I said between clenched teeth.

"Is that how you found out?" she said and reached to touch my hand. "I mean that Craig was cheating on you?"

I pulled my hand out of reach without letting her make contact and let her continue, "He has only been coming to my studio for two years, so, five years ago is impossible..."

I looked into her eyes and realised that she was telling the truth.

"Well I hope that he has not passed it to you then," I said.

"Unlikely, I have never allowed him that pleasure, so it's a bit improbable."

"What? You mean that he's never fucked... I mean that he's never once?"

I was lost for words, totally. I mean what's the man paying for if he never gets even a fuck?

'Amazing.' I thought.

"Change the subject," she said. "I mean you know what I do, or at least you have some idea. What do you do?"

"I design furniture," I said, "Mostly in wood, but we've now started in steel and brass."

"Design? Or make as well?"

I found myself being distracted from my purpose here. This was turning into a meal with a companion, lover or friend and not with the bitch who fucked my husband.

Of course it turns out that she didn't, she hadn't!

There is one other bit of the conversation that I have to report. I asked her what she charged. Monique's answer was a little evasive, since she told me that it depends on the service, but her final comment floored me.

"About four to seven hundred an hour."

"Pounds? I mean, that much?"

"Well would you do it for less?"

"Of course not."

"Well then. Since I enjoy it as well it's all just cream in my coffee. In fact you could say that I live the life."

"Can I come round and have a look. I mean, I'm not a voyeur or something but I just have to see."

"Alone?"

"Of course."

"Well, I do couples as well," said Monique with a smile. "Should I be charging you when you arrive? Or is it a social visit?"

"I have no idea! I suppose social, but if I take up your time...!"

"I'll tell you what. You come round with at least six hundred in your hands and we'll see. I'll get the bill!"

Monique paid the bill and I left a huge tip. We stood in Archer Street as she lit a cigarette.

"There used to be a casino here," she said. "I once tried to get a job here once. That was a few years ago!"

We walked to Piccadilly together. We did not speak a word; we were both too deep in thought. In the end I left her as I hopped into a cab. She stood in her ultra high heels and fur coat, drawing deeply on the cigarette and puffing the blue smoke into the fresh night air.

Jeans and a fur coat indeed!

Flash trash with a stash!

But, I had to admit that despite my reservations I liked her. In fact I felt some strange gravitational force pulling me towards her orbit.

Maybe more.

She was direct, she did not flaunt, she just was. Monique was one of those women who never fits in but she forces a place in any level of society and is accepted for what she is.

I had one last impression of a cynical smile on her face but I might have mistaken amusement for disdain.

Devil's Kitchen.

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It is the strangest feeling going to a prostitute. When you are a woman and it's the first time then you get the butterflies in the stomach and a worried feeling that someone is following you!

At any rate there I was wandering through Fulham with a pit in my stomach and a wad of cash in my hand. It was me that asked to come, what had I been thinking?

At last, even though I went as slowly as possible I wound up standing on the steps of her address wondering if pressing the bell was really a good idea. I mean, what the fuck was I doing?

I had waited for this meeting for three weeks now. I had to find a day when Craig was tied up and when I could get away with a few hours to spare. It also seemed that Monique had a full diary!

I was on the point of turning on my heel and heading for the tube station, when the door opened and I found myself looking into the eyes of a middle aged man who seemed to be a sort of butler.

He nodded to me and said, "Sabrina? You are expected."

So that was it then. I could no longer retreat from this foolish expedition. Yes, I was curious about Monique and what my husband was doing here. But a great deal of the reason had fled at the point that I realised that Craig had visited a number of prostitutes over the years, Monique was just the latest.

I followed the man in the uniform into the house and allowed him to take my coat. He then led me to a room that was like a bedroom without the bed. Chests of drawers and wardrobes ranged the walls and a makeup table on the wall gave the room a theatrical air.

"Please wait here," he said.

I sat on the only armchair available and waited for Monique. At length she came and I stood to greet her.

"Sabrina," she said. "I wondered if you would have the nerve to turn up! Did you bring the money?"

I surrendered the six hundred pounds that I had brought and wondered what the fuck I was doing here.

"The money is not important," she said. "It just represents our relationship for the moment. Keep it in mind that you have paid me and thus I owe you a service. The paradox is that the service is going to be that you do as you are told."

"Does that mean that I have to call you mistress?"

"Only if you fancy doing so," she replied. "Most men get a kick out of it, most women prefer not to... On the other hand I think that you will at least for today."

She took my hand and turned me around. One hand lifted the hem of my skirt so that she could look at my legs. Then she stood behind me and pulled me into her and cupped my breasts. I allowed her to manhandle me, in fact it was an interesting experience and I felt myself relax in her hands.

"You have a great figure, Sabrina, slim but also largish breasts and wide hips under a narrow waist. I think that you would look great in anything, so I will not give you much advice. Just pick from the clothes in this room and I will send Tania. She does the makeup for me and a few other things besides."

"Where do I put my clothes?" I asked.

She pointed at a wardrobe with a dismissive gesture and left me to my own devices.

I meandered from one collection to the other. It was all here, I could have dressed in any one of a million ways. From Bavarian milkmaid to rubber slut and back to French maid.

In the end I decided that a full length leather dress, split up to the thigh was the thing and I poured myself into it. I kept my heels on, black and metal stilettos, and added stockings that came to not much over the knee.

Tania turned out to look like a lost art student. Maybe nineteen years old and a masterful touch with the makeup. Blue feathers for lashes and azure eyelids fading to black on my glossy lips.

The amazing thing was that it takes me an hour to apply lipstick and foundation and then to finish it off. She managed the lot in ten minutes and the effect was stunning.

Throne Room

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I was led to Monique's chambers. I could not decide if I looked like a trashy sex slave ready to be used; or a mistress who would elegantly make her needs known with a flutter of the fingers. But, the feeling of chaos in my head and the willing loss of control excited me.

I was losing control and the feeling intoxicated me.

When I arrived Mistress Monique was sitting on a throne. A huge wood and leather armchair that stood on a wide carpeted dais. The rest of the room was empty but I noted that the walls were festooned with chains and fixed rings of steel.

Mistress Monique said, "Sabrina, you have chosen very well, that outfit is perfect."

I felt a glow of pleasure at her praise. She indicated with her hand that I should come to her side and as I approached she held up a pair of satin gloves in red.

"Put these on, now!"

I pulled on the gloves and then found out why she wished me to wear them as Monique cuffed my wrists together with hand cuffs that would have broken and bruised the skin if the soft material of the gloves had not protected me.

She knelt me down by her throne and arranged me as if I was a doll. The feeling was a total high, I was her ornament, a pliable doll by her throne and the idea caused me to blush with excitement, the excitement of having all resolution taken away and substituted for subservience.

"There is some thing else that you need to wear for me," she said as she pulled a Venetian porcelain mask over my face.

I sighed and it must have sounded like lust, it was emotional hunger, I suppose!

The mask covered my face from my upper lip to forehead, effectively concealing my face. With great care she arranged me to perfection. The long leather dress was arranged so that a deep décolleté was shown and the hem, allowing the tops of the low stockings to show. Finally the mask so that the black lips were displayed and the feathered lashes fluttered as they should.

"Remember," she said. "Do always as you are told and you will learn what you want to know, even though you do not know that you need this knowledge yet. Not a word are you allowed to say. No sound. You are Orpheus to Eurydice, you are my slave but I have consideration for you, do not forget that whatever I do it is for your good. Your good and my pleasure!"

I opened my mouth to speak. I intended to ask her a question or two. Either she sensed it in me or else she was sublimating her personality to the role that she was assuming. Her hand touched my black lips and she shushed me with pursed lips.

"Obedience!"

I sat waiting, she sat on the throne and crossed her legs. "Look forward, into the distance, not at the persons that will be in the room," she said.

The door opened and the butler entered. In his hand was a leather quirt, a crop that ended in a short tail with knotted braids. He came to the throne and bowed. The crop he placed at Monique's feet with a delicate little movement.

"Your next appointment waits for you, Mistress," he said as he genuflected.

"Bring him in then," she said.

The butler left, and as he exited a naked man came into the room. The naked man was, of course, Craig. I should have seen it coming, it was so obvious. No wonder that the appointment had taken several weeks to organise. Mistress Monique had allowed us both time to cover up the fact that we were both cheating with her!

Craig's hands were bound behind his back and his ankles were restricted by cuffs with short chains between them. They made his steps into a shuffle, an abject hobbling.

"Pass me the whip," said Mistress Monique in a hard tone as he approached.

Craig picked up the whip with his lips and teeth and stood holding it ready to pass to his mistress. I wondered what Mistress Monique was up to, what was she trying to tell me? I could not guess at the moment, I could not see the destination, just the road.

Mistress Monique's hand whipped out and slapped my husband. There was a sound almost like crockery breaking as the full power of her arm came into play.

"I said pass me the whip! I did not say hold the whip for me. I did not say pick the whip up. I did not say fondle the whip with your tongue. I did not say kiss the whip. You really have to learn to obey me properly, word for word."

Craig did not react, he just hung his head and offered the evil looking crop to her with both bound hands.

"If I have to correct your behaviour again, you will regret it. I know that your wife is considering your position in her life so you really don't want me to be contacting her, do you?"