[Author's note: Alice is married to James, a professional football player who has found himself at a loose end after retiring from the sport. After attending a charity auction in which she was outbid for her own husband, Alice and James have been blackmailed into service by Jodie and her upper-echelon friends. They have no choice but to do her bidding, letting Jodie pimp James out to clients, otherwise she will release the videos she took.
After performing for her at the hen's party at the Spa (
High Life pt. 04
), James has been booked again by Fee.]
---
UNUSUAL PEOPLE
I held the phone up to my ear. I wasn't going to do this call on speaker.
"Yeah, that one," I said.
"The psycho bitch?" James replied.
"That doesn't narrow it down."
"I guess, yeah they were all psycho. Help me out. My recollection's a little hazy."
"The smart one."
"Oh. Her."
"You got the address?"
"It's local, round the back of the hill."
"When?"
"Friday night."
There was a pause.
"Always Friday night," he grumbled, "For once, I'd just like to enjoy the weekend."
"See you tonight."
"Yeah, see you tonight babe. Let's talk."
I ended the call, dropping my phone onto the tabletop. I'd made myself a coffee, but it was already cold. I heaved myself upright and wandered through the house to start stripping the boys' beds. It was at least something to take my mind off our latest booking.
My husband's recollection of the night at Sanctuary Point spa was hazy for a good reason: I'd drugged him and then let four women use him like a fuck toy all night. The fact that James, looking like crap the next morning, had been kind enough to roll over in bed and tell me I'd done a good job had brought me to tears on the spot.
Now, tall, slim, attractive, smart Ophelia had booked us for a night at her house. This time, mercifully, without the rest of the hen party in attendance. I shivered, remembering the way her fingers had explored the wet patch on the back of my maid costume, how she'd sniffed her fingers, detecting the scent of my juices, how she'd seemed to know instinctively that I had orgasmed just from watching her fuck my husband. I tugged the pillows out of their cases with renewed vigour.
The humiliation had been severe, triggering the feeling in me even now, safe in my home, weeks later, but what was unbearable was what she'd said at the end: that I was a submissive, that I shouldn't feel bad about reacting the way I did, watching Ophelia's dominant performance on top of my husband's supine body. She'd known just what to say, just what to do, taking her pleasure from my man and making me watch.
Friday night: I'd have to ask my parents to take the boys again. So far, no questions, but how long would that last?
I churned through the housework, doing school pick-up, getting the boys fed and bathed. James was flying in later, having snagged a commentary gig. It was television work, maybe a springboard into the lucrative panel show career some of the other retired football stars had managed to set up for themselves. We'd been angling for this chance for James to show his skills with a microphone after years of showing his skills on the grass. We needed to make sure Jodie had no idea about this; I couldn't risk that vindictive, manipulative bitch booking an appointment on the same night, just to cause a clash.
The boys were safely asleep by the time I heard the front door open. I got up from the couch and padded down the hallway barefoot, finding James standing there with his overnight bag by his side, looking shattered.
"Tough flight?" I asked, wrapping my arms around him.
"Tough couple of days," he replied, kissing me.
"Hungry? Do you need dinner?"
"Nah, I ate on the plane."
We went through the routine, the same one as we'd done for years, from back when he was playing all over the country with the team. I could see immediately that he just needed to hit the pillow: I'd be lucky to even get conversation from him tonight.
Later, side by side in bed, he brought up the subject of the booking.
"I do remember her," he said, "I remember a hot tub, and...."
His voice trailed off.
"Fucking her in the hot tub," I finished, "It's okay. I was there. I remember it better than you do."
"Yeah," he rumbled, "I guess we must have made an impression, if she went to Jodie and asked to go again."
"I looked her up," I offered.
"What did you find out?"
"Her full name, who she's married to. She's Ophelia Raine, her husband is Barton Raine, the neurosurgeon."
"He sounds familiar."
"Yeah, he's twenty years her senior, and old, old money. Ended up in a wheelchair after a skiing accident a few years back."
James shifted in the sheets.
"Yeah, that's right. I remember now. He broke his back. Then, something about him back in the operating theatre again, a special chair that he's designed so he can go back to work. There was a piece on him."
James was silent for a while, and I thought that was the end of the conversation.
"Poor bastard," he muttered.
"Yeah, it's awful."
"No, I mean, uh, yeah, that's awful but it wasn't what I was thinking about."
"What then?"
"Poor bastard, stuck in a wheelchair with his wife sneaking around behind his back. She's a real piece of shit."
---
The Raine house was obvious: single-storey and brand-new, in between the century-old brick mansions on one of the most expensive streets in Highbridge. They were perched on the high side of the street with views down the hill to the city in the distance. James buzzed the intercom and the gates opened for us to drive up to the garage. We parked inside. Ophelia was clearly taking no chances on us being seen.
James helped me out of the car, balancing in my ridiculous stiletto heels.
"You look fabulous," he grinned.
"You too."
James was in a white dress shirt and trousers, smart but casual. I was another matter entirely.
"Is it all straight?" I asked, doing a spin.
"Yes. You're fine."
I tugged at my hem again, trying to stretch the shiny latex just a little lower. I didn't know whether Jodie had specified that I wear the tight, long-sleeved black latex dress for this engagement, or whether Ophelia herself had requested it. Either way, the effect was the same: poured into the glossy, slick garment, the curves of my body on full display, I felt the familiar discomfort of humiliation. Everything was on show: Ophelia's eyes on my body would be degrading, but I had no other option. I had no other choices at all. The only comfort was the gleam in my husband's eyes.
"You look hot, Alice."
He nuzzled my ear.
"Very, very fuckable," he whispered.
Despite myself, I thrilled to hear those words.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No, but that doesn't matter. It's game time."
James chuckled, "That's my line."
I took his hand and we walked around to the front door. James rang the bell. I looked around, grateful that the house was shielded from the road by a tall hedge. It was very discreet. The door rattled.
"Here we go," James breathed.
A younger woman in jeans and a t-shirt opened the door.
"Ophelia," James began, but she cut him off.
"Fee, just Fee, remember?" she said, "Ah, but maybe you don't. You do, though, don't you Alice?"
"Hi Fee," I responded, trying to banish the reluctance from my voice.
Fee beamed at me.
"That's such an improvement, Alice. The maid outfit was truly dreadful. Come in."
She stepped to the side, letting us past. Fee fell into step with me, coming close.
"Much more practical," she murmured, "Leak-proof."
My cheeks coloured, but before I could respond, she had picked up the pace, leading us to a side table in the hallway. I saw a document and a pen.
"First, can you please read and sign?" Fee said, indicating the paper.
"We're, uh, what's this?" I blurted.
"It's nothing sinister. It's a standard non-disclosure agreement. I'm sure you've seen them before."
"Why do we need an NDA?" I asked.
"It's just an assurance. It benefits both parties, given the nature of our relationship. Take a look."
She picked up the pen and handed it to me. I took it from her and began to read the contract. It took a couple of minutes, and I was acutely aware of standing in my ankle-snapping heels and slick, shiny dress poring through the dry legalese before she got to fuck my husband. It seemed utterly surreal, but I found myself acknowledging with a nod that the wording was fairly standard. I signed.
"Great, thank you. Now, shall we get on with the night?"
Fee was smiling broadly, beckoning us to follow her through her beautiful house. I couldn't banish the thought from my mind, that here she was, booking in a little extra-marital fun because her oblivious husband was loaded and our nightly fee would be pocket cash: unmissed, undetected. The more I thought about it, the more furious I became, to the point that I found that I was grinding my teeth as I watched the back of this treacherous younger woman leading us into one of the back rooms of the house her husband had built for her.
James seemed to sense my mood, grasping my hand tightly until I looked up at him. He gave me an almost imperceptible nod, but I knew what he meant. I needed to get it together, for the sake of the night. Straight in and straight out, that was the game plan. We didn't need complications, we didn't need me going off-script because I disliked her. All I knew is that it was going to be a lot harder watching Fee fuck James than it had been watching him with someone like Phoebe.
"Do you both want to go through?" Fee said, "There are drinks on the side, please help yourself. I'm just going to slip into something a little less comfortable."
She didn't wait for a response, turning on her heel and disappearing back the way we'd come. I turned to James.
"The fucking nerve of her," I hissed.
"Get it together," James snapped, shocking me.
"What?" I gasped.
"I feel the same, but that's not something we can afford right now. I need you. I need the team."
His expression was stern, uncompromising. I had to concede that he was right. I just had to sit there in the background, James was the one who needed to perform. The consequences, what Jodie could do to our lives if a bad report went back to her, made this high stakes. I took a deep breath. James was correct: I needed to get it together.
James watched me for a moment, then when he seemed satisfied, he nodded to the doorway and I stepped into the room that Fee had indicated. It was large, low-lit and scattered with comfortable seating, looking out through tall glass windows at a beautifully manicured garden lit with little recessed up-lights. On the left-hand side, in a small pool of illumination, I could see the drinks tray.
"Shall we?" I asked.
