TWO'S COMPANY THREE'S FUN
PART 4
Again, reading previous parts will help in getting to know the characters in this story.
The house more than met our expectations in every way, including the cellars.
The ceilings and walls had been faced, but leaving the construction timbers exposed - ideal for bondage points and fixing other equipment. A new wooden floor laid offering similar options. A large wet room area with shower, washbasin and toilet, had been installed at one end, Air conditioning, heating, ventilation, focused lighting and many electric points throughout had also been put in place. The stairs had been replaced and a heavy lockable door installed at their head. In fact a perfect blank canvas, with nothing yet to indicate its real intended purpose.
Cue for a spending spree to "furnish" and equip them. With some internet research, it was amazing what could be found, including bulky items like bondage frames, whipping benches and fucking machines - expensive, but so what!! The next month was spent ordering and receiving an endless stream of items, many of which were difficult for us to handle and also needed assembling after removing them from their discreet packaging. We quickly realized that our joint DIY skills were zero.
PROBLEM, we needed male input, (pun intended), but how?
ZOE
As it happened a possible solution came from an unlikely source. In the small local town we found a unisex hairdressing salon and having neglected this while everything was going on, enquired if today was possible. Not having an appointment, they were unable to fit both of us in at the same time, but found two consecutive slots later in the day, which we accepted. Chloe opted to go first and as it was only a simple trim, I decided to wait there until she was finished.
There were the usual piles of magazines in the waiting-room, which I sifted through. Amongst them was one which was just a front and back cover, looking inside, it simply said that some of the content was of a sexual nature, therefore adult only, but a free current edition was available at the cash desk. Obviously intended mainly for the male customers. It went on to say, that if wished, a voluntary contribution could be made to the tronc which would be shared between all the staff. Intrigued, I decided to ask for a copy when I paid.
The cashier knew what she was doing and having accepted my credit card payment, passed me a fairly large envelope with just a date and code written on it together with a slip to allocate the excess of my payment between the personal gratuity and contribution for the magazine. Chloe pestered me to show what was in the envelope, not knowing myself what it was, I fobbed her off with the old Barber shop cliché "Something for the weekend Sir, or in this case Madam" until we got home.
We had seen contact mags on the top shelf of newsagent shops, but had never actually read their contents. This one seemed to be very well produced, with sections for just about everything, sex related or not. There was nothing that immediately matched our requirements, not that we were quite sure what they were. However, how about working out exactly what we did want and placing our own ad?. Free for ladies!!
Half way through the third bottle of wine, we finally agreed that although DIY skills were important, discretion was too. The best way of ensuring that seemed to be to find a man who was also into the BDSM scene, but willing to switch roles, not a dedicated sub like John. One in a million perhaps, but then so was our lottery win!! Nothing ventured... we eventually drew up an ad.
Having received everything we had ordered and from the date on the publication, were unlikely to get any replies for at least two weeks, a couple of weeks of sun, wine and doing nothing, seemed to be the order of the day. It had been quite a stressful three months, making the opportunity to unwind very attractive. Another trip to town next day to post the ad and visit a travel agency. The only thing available in the next few days was a suite in a hotel on the Algarve, Portugal. No problem and less than a 2 hour flight from a local airport, so we grabbed it.
Towards the end of the first week, we were relaxed and refreshed, and decided to investigate a local beach bar, where we were "picked up" by two young men. Little did they know what they had let themselves in for. Let's just say that they couldn't keep up - or at least not for as long as we required - acquiring very red areas in places which were not usually exposed to the sun. We hoped that when they caught their flight the next day, the seats would be comfortable.
Anyway, it released a lot of tension for us. We avoided any further similar encounters, confining ourselves to sun, sand and wine without any sex outside our bed. So, apart from the mother of all storms which rolled in from the Atlantic the day before our flight home, the rest of our stay was uneventful.
2 hour delay because of the previous day's storm, we eventually got on our flight meaning that by the time we got home it was dusk. We could just see that the gardens had been sorted and the conservatory was in place.
All that was for tomorrow. The priority was the "take-away" we had picked up on the way home and the 2 bottles of wine waiting in the fridge, but first we were confronted with a large pile of mail that had accumulated. Amongst the junk, there were 3 large manilla envelopes obviously containing a number of enclosures - the results of our advertisement.. Much as we were tempted to start opening them, food won and we decided they could wait till the morning.
We had just started to open the first envelope, when yet another similar envelope arrived! We shared them out between us and sorted the contents into three piles, no-way, worth another look and to be answered. Fortunately, we were not going to have to send many replies. There were just six worth another look, none for definite replies.
Adjourned for breakfast and more coffee. Decided to leave the discards, although some of them were a good read, but read was all!! Of the remaining six, one stood out for what it didn't say rather than a lurid description of what they would do or have done to them. In fact if the context in which it was written was not known, it would have been completely meaningless, but still managed to give us all the basic information we wanted. CLEVER AND DISCREET, we liked that a lot. It went on to say that perhaps we could arrange a meeting at a neutral venue of our choice, where we could talk freely and openly. If it turned out that if any of us did not want to take it further, no harm done. It concluded with a landline 'phone number, the dialing code of which confirmed that it was not far away.
"The best time to contact me is between 6pm and 8pm. I've got good vibes about this and really hope we can meet" Michael.
ZOE
We read and reread the letter many times, but still came to the same conclusion. It was too good to not at least meet the mysterious Michael. Chloe was not 100% convinced, so I volunteered to arrange the blind date alone. She agreed to take my word for whatever the result was. Come 6 o'clock, I was not pissed but let's say relaxed, when I dialed the number. I introduced myself and found that it was surprisingly easy to talk to Michael. I explained my partner, Chloe, would not be able to make it until next week, but that for our first meeting would it be OK I it was just me? He was fine with that and continued to be discreet in our conversation - it was just a date, but promised to be completely open when we met face-to-face. He suggested that a pub might be the best choice for meeting, preferably one which did meals, saying that if we did not wish to take things any further, at least we could, hopefully, have a pleasant evening together.
He asked if I liked a drink, I replied with my Pinocchio nose growing longer by the second, "moderately", to which he suggested that I, like him, should get a cab to the pub, so that if we had some wine with our meal we wouldn't have to worry about driving home.
Although we had not been in the locality for very long, we had found a very nice pub not very far from home which did simple but extremely good food and for the same reason had used a local cab firm quite frequently. I was not so naïve as to let myself be persuaded to share a car home with him, so arranged to be picked up by the same cab that took me there at 10.30pm. Michael knew the pub, whilst not a regular, he had been there a few times and agreed that it was a good choice. Our "date" was arranged for Thursday in two days' time.
So how would we recognize each other? Michael replied " No problem, I will be there at 7 o'clock, wearing a pink shirt and green tie and just to be sure, I will be doing the crossword in the Financial Times - a broadsheet printed on pink paper - with a green pen. Fool-proof!! Unless you don't like what you see and choose to ignore me.".
The "pink shirt and green tie" would come back to haunt me. We broke our unwritten rules that evening, I got paralytic and Chloe took advantage. I must have passed out and had a vivid dream that I was being gang-raped by an endless succession of men all dressed in pink shirts and green ties. She must have got me upstairs before I was completely incapable, as when I regained some sort of awareness, I was in one our spare bedrooms, which we were using as a playroom until the cellar area had been sorted out. I felt that there was something in my mouth, which I tried to remove but found that I was securely tied spreadeagled on the bed unable to move my arms or legs. As I became more awake, I found that I had been dildo-gagged and that there were also didoes buzzing away in my pussy and arse. In spite of everything, I felt an orgasm building, which was when I realized that Chloe was in the room.
She applied a wand to my clit which quickly brought me off. When I came down, she removed the three dildoes, but instead of releasing me, she simply rotated them to different places - the one that had been in my arse was now in my mouth. "That will teach you not to get completely pissed. Just another half-dozen to go" she said laughingly. True to her word, this was repeated again and again - no wonder that I had dreamed I was being gang-raped!!
After about two more hours, she eventually relented and released me to sleep it off.
By the next evening I had weaned myself off paracetamol and felt almost human again. To be fair my woes were mostly self-inflicted, not a result of Chloe's ministrations. It had not put me off tomorrow's "blind date", but neither had it tempted Chloe to pass on her squash match to join me.
