Apologies for the delay. This part is a little longer as I thought it necessary to lay the groundwork for future parts and isn't littered with sex. It continues in much the same way as the previous parts, including cuckolding, incest, cum eating and the main characters particular form of humiliation, amongst other things.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Any grammatical errors are my own.
An hour later we were in the car heading home. The contract had been torn up and the photos were in Chloe's handbag. She'd been surprisingly calm, as had I. Perhaps it was just the enormity of what had happened. We were still trying to digest it. Well, I was. I had no idea what Chloe was thinking. She'd barely spoken once we'd left.
The Thompsons had been apologetic, fawning over us, desperate to make amends, their guilt apparent. They should feel guilty too. It was their idea to tie us up and leave us while they had lunch. It was their stupid decision not to lock the door. If they'd thought it through properly, it wouldn't have happened.
Thruthfully, though, it wasn't all down to the Thompsons. Chloe and I had to take some responsibility. We were adults. We didn't have to sign the contract or play their sick game. We could have said no. We could have tried harder not to enjoy what been happening until...lunch. Even then, after 'he'd' left, we'd accepted we enjoyed it, believing it was all part of Jeffrey's plan. But it wasn't. There was no planned anonymous man.
It turned out that 'he' was nothing more an opportunistic thief. A number of rooms had been broken into. Various items of value had been taken. The police had been called. We'd been interviewed and Chloe had been adamant that we'd seen nothing, heard nothing and nothing of ours had been taken. I followed her lead, so we were allowed to leave fairly quickly. The truth would have been much harder to explain. Too difficult to deal with.
Jeffrey was extremely grateful, as was Sarah. With the contract null and void, he insisted on fulfilling his part nonetheless. My promotion would be guaranteed along with the additional increase in my salary.
"It's the least I can do, David," he'd explained solemnly. "And I know it's not enough, but we're both very sorry." At least he hadn't tried to trivialise it by making excuses.
At the time it felt like he was trying to buy our silence, but we also had the need for discretion. Neither Chloe or I wanted our sexual proclivities aired publicly. It was the better to make the best out of a bad situation...maybe. Still, it made me feel physically sick.
So we sat in silence on the journey home, contemplating. Chloe had been raped. Pure and simple. But it wasn't pure and simple. Until we became aware of the facts, while it was taking place and for a short time afterwards, we'd enjoyed it. We both knew it and that was very difficult to process.
I could never have guessed that the first man I got to see fuck her, would be her rapist.
They say time is a healer, but for the next 2 years everything we'd been doing stopped. Just like that. With a flick of a switch Chloe changed into what most would consider a "normal" person. She dressed more conservatively, stopped going out and our sex life became a shadow of what it'd been.
Everyone noticed, but only Maggie had the bottle to actually ask. Nevertheless, Chloe told her nothing which, given their relationship until then, was unusual. Whenever I tried to raise the subject, Chloe outright refused to discuss it. I like to think I understood, but given it happened to her, how could I? It hurt though.
So we became a normal couple with an average sex life. We sold the flat and bought a nice 3 bed semi in a nice area with a nice garden and began to plan for our wedding.
Around a year in, slowly, our social life returned, but nothing like it had been. Maggie would come over for dinner, sometimes staying over in one of the spare bedrooms, but they never went out.
I'd guess it was around that time when Martin invited me over to his new apartment and it became a fairly regular thing. You know, every few weeks or so. Of course he tried bringing up the subject of fucking Chloe and however much I still fantasised about it, I explained it wasn't going to happen.
"It's the wedding I think, Martin," I lied. "Settling down or whatever."
Still, he never quite gave up and on one of our those evenings, around 4 months before our nuptials, he started to reminisce about the lost opportunity...again. We'd been drinking.
"Fuck, Dave," he said. "Just think, if I hadn't fucked up at the party, where we might be right now, eh mate? Remember all those plans we made?"
I did remember. I never forgot how it made me feel to think I'd been colluding with him. That particular fantasy had become like the holy grail for me, but I was resigned to it being just that. A fantasy.
"All those plans?" I scoffed. "Yeah, we planned, but you and I both know it was probably only ever going to be a one off."
And then the bragging started. It was typical Martin really and I was used to it, but deep down, well, it always got to me. And it got to me that night.
"Nah, you're wrong pal," he retorted, the vodka loosening him up I guessed. "I had plans, mate. BIG plans. Get me?" he said with a slur, nodding at his groin. "Really fucking BIG plans."
I tried to laugh it off, but the fantasy returned like it always did and I started to get a hard on, like I always did. Maybe it was the drink, but there was something different that night.
"Yeah, you've said that before, Martin," I told him. "And I've told you, she's changed. She's not into it anymore."
"Yeah, but you are," he persisted. "And in my book, that means there's still hope. Tell me that's not a boner you're sporting right now."
