The Supplementary Wife

This story began as a random thought and a set-piece scene, with the need to connect the two and provide a plausible journey from one to the other*. It then grew and morphed beyond my control, its internal logic dictating the actions of the protagonists, and then led to a resolution that was both obvious, and one I hadn't considered until I got there.

These are ordinary people living with everyday joys and everyday tragedies, and with no pretensions to following a 'scene' or a 'lifestyle'. Thus, for the purist, their story may seem tame for the most part. Anyone seeking the delights of sado humiliation or the Cruel Tutelage of 'X' should probably look elsewhere, for in the final analysis this is a simple story of people who don't say what they really want but might just get it anyway. And it is also a story of people doing it wrong to start with -- don't do what Rob does.

A further note -- the location of this story is purposely vague, but for those for whom such things are important, consider it taking place in a medium sized western European city in more northerly latitudes; Holland or north Germany or Denmark. But in my mind there is no single location, rather a pastiche of real and imagined places.

*With many thanks to 'Linda', the older woman who, in the early 1990s, described the game leading to the final resolution to a just twenty-something me who was impressed by her forty-something worldliness. I've often wondered since what role she played, and have concluded; almost certainly all of them.

* * *

Of all the things I didn't expect from a visit to a swinger club, becoming close friends with another man was one that surprised me. But there we were, Jack and I, sitting at the bar after we had 'finished' whilst our respective wives continued to enjoy the attentions of other men. My wife, Marietta, was the first to return, a glint in her eye the only real clue to what she'd been up to (we shared erotic details later for our mutual enjoyment) and then Jack's wife Lilly joined us. And though I don't remember what we talked about I vividly recall the conviviality as we all hit it off in the most unlikely surroundings.

We exchanged details, and from that moment on spent what seemed like as much time together as we did apart. We were all of a similar age, and we had similar experiences of life, work and education. I shared a lot of interests with Jack, particularly when it came to making furniture (I am nothing more than a cack-handed amateur but he was a genuine craftsman, and I quietly learnt a lot from him). Marietta and Lilly were fast friends too, though it wasn't just a simple division of husbands and wives, for I valued the time I spent in Lilly's company and Marietta felt the same about Jack.

Strangely though, given where we'd met, the one thing we never did was fuck. That's not to say we kept that part of our lives hidden from each other. Both myself and Marietta, and Jack and Lilly were infrequent players, but we accompanied each other on our semi-annual visits to the swinger club we preferred (there were two in our city, one raucous and more like a rave with sex. We frequented the quieter one) and though we saw each other naked, and fooled around with other people there, sex between us just never seemed to happen.

Our lives ran on, and for two years we were happy, until a 21 year old idiot decided to try and impress his new girlfriend, speeding in a high performance lease after two beers and a spliff. He wasn't quite the driver he thought himself to be, but the man who paid the price was Jack, on a pedestrian crossing. He was dead before he hit the ground, his neck broken as he folded over the bonnet of the car and his head smashed into the windscreen. At least he didn't really know anything about it.

I veered between anger and despair and Marietta just seemed to cry for days. But our grief was nothing compared to Lilly, her life in ruins around her at the age of thirty-two, and for a time I genuinely feared she would take her own life. That was a little more than a year ago now, and since that time Marietta and I have devoted ourselves to Lilly. Not in a smothering kind of way like some others she knew, people who, however well-meaning, put their size 10s in it by trying to tell her that time healed wounds or, more recently, suggested guys she could meet.

We said none of those things. Instead we just treated her like Lilly, and had her at our house as often as she had been before, and let her cry on our shoulders through the trial (he got four years) without any facile commentary. And we spent as much time at her house as well, and I found myself doing the running repairs that Jack had done before (and that I knew Lilly was perfectly capable of doing, too), and Martietta and Lilly cooked together and talked about starting a business, and seemed more and more like sisters. And then a couple of months ago my life changed again.

* * *

"Can you check my email," Marietta called down from the bedroom, "there should be one from Lilly with her bank number. Thanks."

They were off to see some singer they'd drooled over as teenagers, it seemed, and I guessed Lilly had fronted for the tickets. I went to my wife's account and logged in (we knew each other's passwords for convenience) and an email from Lilly was at the top of the inbox. I opened it, expecting a simple number, but my blood ran cold as I read.

Hi Doll, Seb is insisting we see him on Wednesday. You'll need to make some excuse because Dan will be there too (yum!) and you know it'll get strict.

I don't pry, and my marriage is based on trust, but I didn't know anyone called Seb, and I didn't know of any acquaintance Marietta and Lilly shared with that name. My brain flew to one conclusion and it wasn't good, and I didn't think I was being overly suspicious -- there was no innocent explanation. I wanted to see one but couldn't, but I didn't want the confrontation until I'd had some space and considered my options. I breathed out and remembered what I was meant to be doing, and glancing down I could see the relevant email further down the list. I retrieved the bank number and shouted it up the stairs.

Marietta shouted her thanks and after a couple of minutes I heard her resume dressing. My mind was still racing when she came downstairs, but if she noticed my turmoil she didn't remark on it as she said goodbye and went to visit an aunt who was due for minor surgery. I wrestled for a couple of minutes, or perhaps I was just waiting in case came back because she'd forgotten something. Then I surrendered and logged into her email again, but instead of reading Lily's email I went to Marietta's outbox and read her reply.

Darling, Seb is getting very demanding but of course. I'll tell Rob I have a meeting or something. And if Dan's there you'll need to remember the toys -- I'm not having another spanking because of you. And don't tell me that I love it ;) xxx.

That confirmed what I already knew but I had to know more, so with my head spinning a little and a sick feeling in my throat I dug and dug, grateful that my wife is an email slob who never deletes a thing. It took more than an hour of feverish search but I learnt what I needed; that there were meetings stretching back before Jack's death, that he knew about them, and that their purpose was for Marietta and Lilly to be used and abused as submissive whores.

I felt nauseous, claustrophbic, desperate to get out, and so I left my house and crossed the road, and then strode around the corner, head down, into the park. The place was full of young mothers with pushchairs and dog walkers enjoying the late spring sunshine, but I knew the quiet spots and I stomped to a bench beneath a chestnut, there to brood. And I had much to brood about, and much to be disgusted with.

The primary thing was the betrayal. We had an open marriage (though we only occasionally played away) but rule number one, and there were really only three, was no secrets -- the other two were safe sex at all times, and a veto if it could complicate 'real life'. Yet Marietta had been subbing and fucking behind my back for over a year. And Lilly knew, and even Jack, and whilst they hadn't made any promises to me our friendship implied certain obligations. Perhaps they had to choose between keeping her confidence and letting me in on the picture, and I could understand why they might stay silent...

But of course that wouldn't wash, at least not in Lilly's case, because it was her who introduced Marietta to the whole thing, to this Seb guy who was the dominant with his occasional fellow dom Dan. And anyway, Lilly and Marietta were fucking each other as part of their scene, and Jack knew about that too. From what I could see Marietta had taken to it, and they discussed telling me, even involving me, and the relevant lines from an email Marietta had sent few months back stuck with me;

I just don't think Rob would be cut out for it. He'd try, for me, but I can't imagine it would be the same. And how do I tell him after all this time? It's our secret, and maybe it'll be something I get bored with and he'll never need to know...

I saw nothing to suggest Jack had been fucking Marietta but it would hardly surprise me if he had -- it seemed the whole world had known, the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker, and the only idiot was yours truly. At which point indignant self-pity turned inexorably to fantasies of revenge. I imagined Marietta bound in my power, in my workshop, my tools to hand, and then how could Lilly, as the author of my ills, avoid my wrath?

But as I thought of her, tied to a simple wooden chair, how could she be anything but naked? And how could I not push my cock into her mouth before the torture? They'd all had each other, now it was my turn... And she begged, at first for mercy, and then for a fucking that grew harder with every change of position, that began to include Marietta, that included the two of them pleasing each other at my command, and that included my belt as I spanked them both.

And now I wasn't mad, I was horny as hell, and as my rage dissipated (I still loved them, after all), something else grew in my mind. It was wonderful and at first I tried not to look at the whole in case by observing I destroyed it. There was a simple objective -- I would replace this Seb man ('not cut out for it,' indeed!), not that I bore him any ill will, particularly. And then there were the means, and here I found myself laughing. Because this was going to be fun, and not only for me - if it went as I wanted everyone would be happy (perhaps even Seb and Dan, from time to time).

It was also clear I bore some of the responsibility for this: I thought we communicated pretty well but I was clearly wrong. Marietta had a need, or needs, that she either felt she couldn't communicate with me, or worse, had tried to and I had failed to listen or understand. I dredged through my memory and couldn't think of anything specific, but I was fairly certain she must have mentioned something during the naked conversations we'd had about our desires and lifestyles. And I'd missed it. Of course, she might just be getting off on an illicit affair, but I doubted it. If she was? Well, we'd cross that bridge if we came to it.

I went home in a far better frame of mind than when I'd left. There was more I needed to do before I acted -- I needed Marietta to give me some b.s. about Wednesday then head off to her session. And I needed to glean from her emails just what it was she was up to with Seb and Lilly. This was morally a bit sticky, to say the least; I was spying on Marietta, and to a lesser extent Lilly, and that should never be something one blithely dismisses. But it was in a good cause, I told myself, and if I kept the end in sight... oh hell, it was plain wrong, but I needed to do it (and I enjoyed a couple of the things I discovered).

I was half hoping that that Marietta would give me some elaborate excuse to cover her assignation on the following Wednesday but she didn't. Instead she gave me the very plausible excuse that she had an impromptu meeting with her fellow partners at her interior design company and it was likely to run quite late. I could do very little except tell her I'd see her later, but of course it set me jealously wondering how many other seemingly innocent explanations had been covers for infidelity -- even if that infidelity was of a specific kind that I was feeling increasingly tolerant of and was planning to intervene in.

So I shook my head to rid myself of the negativity -- it would only be self-defeating if I allowed it to fester -- and just got on with my own thing until my wife got home, clearly worn out, well past nine that evening. She kissed me on the forehead as I chilled out on the sofa and said thanks but no thanks to the chilli I'd made that was sitting on the stove, excusing herself upstairs for a bath and an early night. I, meanwhile, focused on controlling my breathing as I heard her moving around upstairs, pushing away any unworthy thoughts and resisting the urge to spy on her email for any updates (it was far too soon... and yes, I checked, with qualms, a couple of times over the following days, but if she gossiped with Lilly it was by phone or text...).

I had no idea when exactly I would have the chance to put my scheme into action, but I did have a couple of different ideas as to the where, and here I should really describe our surroundings. We live in a fairly small house in suburb no so far from the centre. Our street is pretty much the only one in the area to escape the socialist realist city planners in the 1950s and 60s, and that was only by fluke. So we are surrounded by developments (and I've seen a lot worse than the ones in our locality). I won't pretend we live in such a desirable location through our industry and wealth -- no, we inherited it from Marietta's grandfather.

We have three bedrooms but don't let that fool you, because with two of them there's hardly any floor space left once you included the bed and a couple of wardrobes. The rest of the house is similar -- the living room and dining room were postage stamp sized until we knocked them together, and now we can comfortably host as many as eight whole people! There are advantages with having an interior designer as a wife, of course, and after she sprinkled her magic on them our bathroom and kitchen are five star and spacious.

And then there is my personal joy -- my workshop, originally an outhouse come storage space extending at right angles halfway down out modest garden. I've spent a fair amount of time and energy and sweat on changing it from a derelict husk into a smart, double-glazed, soundproofed retreat where I can use power tools without pissing off my neighbours. They are close, almost on top of us, but we are fortunate to have a multitude of mature trees around us that effectively screen us off. It means the garden hardly sees the sun but we aren't enthusiastic gardeners and it also has the advantage that, on hot summer nights, we can sometimes create a nest for ourselves and then get naked, al fresco fucking each other stupid. Good times.

I was in my workshop when it finally began, nearly a week after Marietta's Wednesday assignation. I wasn't doing anything more than rearranging tools really at the end of a blazing hot day. It was after nine but the sun had yet to set, though the trees around us had put the garden in the shade and I needed to turn on the lights. It was still hot, though, and was probably going to stay that way for the rest of the night, and the week. I heard Marietta close the door into the garden from the kitchen and turned in time to see her step through the open door to my workshop (it was a mere two paces from one to the other).

I came very close to growling when I saw her framed in the doorway,, because she was wearing a particular outfit that was our code for 'I'm horny, fuck me now'. It consisted of a white halter neck top with a discreet blue print and a pair of the skimpiest powder blue shorts you could possibly find, and in deference to the fact that we were in a workshop and there could be wood shavings or splinters or bits of nail on the floor she was wearing a pair of light clogs with canvas uppers. As always the outfit emphasized her shapely legs and the smooth skin on her arms, her short blonde hair setting off her neck, and of course, her pert arse and proportionate tits (not too big, not too small), and the promise of her succulent cunt.

The outfit had never failed her, and it would succeed again, but I decided to tease, if only for a moment, as she wandered in. She was suddenly unconcerned with anything in particular, as if my presence was neither here nor there to her, the artful little minx, and she idly picked up a hammer and put it down again. I flashed her a brief smile then turned my attention to the fag end of a pile of screws I'd been sorting. The last ones rattled into a three different jars and I wiped my hands on a towel then swiveled on the bar stool I'd salvaged, turning back to Marietta. She was much closer now, within reach, need written all over her pretty, slutty face, so I reached out and plucked her, and changed our lives a little, then a lot.

I pulled her firmly to me as I stood, my arm around her waist, and she pretended to be demure as I grasped her arse with my other hand. She inclined her head a little, presenting me with her neck to nibble, clearly expecting events to unfold in a familiar pattern. I, of course, had other ideas, and now I took control. She gasped as I turned her roughly, gripping her as I pulled her arse against my crotch and I reached up and took her tits in my hands. She still didn't realise, and reached her arms around behind her to clutch my arse but I let go of her tits and intercepted her, my hands holding her wrists fast and pinning them together behind her back.

She gasped in a mixture of surprise and interest, and here I have to make a couple of things clear -- I was aware that this might well turn her way off rather than make her quiver with lust, and I was alert to any indication that this wasn't what she wanted; a 'no', a shake of the head, pushing me away, and I trusted her to tell me if she wasn't enjoying it. I know it's not perfect, but I trusted myself too, or rather my feelings for her -- my desire wouldn't overwhelm my care -- and now I know better and I wouldn't do it that way, but back then (is it really only weeks ago?) I didn't have that awareness.

Turning Marietta let me pay attention to the softness of her back. She was sensitive there and loved it when I kissed her, so for a moment I was soft and she breathed heavily as I ran my lips over her. Then I reached up and with a deft flick of my wrist undid her halter neck. The fabric fell forward a little, and I was firm again as I reached around her and pulled it down around her waist. Then I went for her tits, not quite savagely, but certainly not with my usual sensitivity, and as I groped her I ran my palms over gratifyingly stiffening nipples. She moaned at that, even as I still held her wrists firm in my other hand, palpably enjoying a rougher me. And so I took the next step.

Are there married couples who haven't played a little bondage game at least once? Perhaps with scarves or tights or funny furry handcuffs tying he or she to the headboard. Of course, we had too, and in common with most couples, I think, it had gone no further. Now I had something else in mind. I was lucky we were in my workshop because it was here that I had hidden my recent purchases -- a length of chain and a pair of bondage cuffs. I'd bought them with no certainty I would be able to use them as early in my scheme as this, but since we were there I had already decided not to hold back.