Loving Authority Ch 09

Chapter 09 - Silent Witness

The hours Mark spent alone that evening became agonising, his earlier sense of calm evaporating. The quiet of the house amplified his thoughts, so he turned on the TV as a distraction. He stared blankly at the screen as a quiz show ran through the usual mix of sport and general knowledge questions, the contestants staring out at Mark with toothy grins and shouting idiotic answers. The last straw came when the transcendent opening bars of Vaughan Williams'

Lark Ascending

were played. Mark felt his spirit soar as he listened to the haunting melody, hearing -- no,

seeing

-- the bird float above a shingle beach in his mind's eye. He had always loved this piece -- it was a truly magical evocation of nature and frailty.

The music came to an abrupt halt, and the host swaggered across the screen to nonchalantly rest his elbow on the podium.

"Which

Vaughan-derful

composer," the presenter asked smugly, with a sideways grin to the studio audience, "composed that

uplifting

piece of music, and what was it called?"

The contestants conferred.

"Is it Andrew Lloyd-Webber and

Cats

?" suggested one young lady hopefully.

Mark almost popped. He felt a vein throbbing in his temple as he stabbed the off button on the remote repeatedly.

"How can

anyone

not know that

Lark Ascending

was written by Vaughan Williams?" he thought furiously. ""And fucking

Cats

?!"

He stood up and wandered the house, first angrily, then aimlessly, unable to settle. He wandered into the bedroom, running his fingers over anything that stood in his way. His watch. Emily's hairbrush. Her latest book. He picked it up and looked at the spine.

"WICKED! By Jilly Cooper," he read.

"What the hell is this shit?" he said aloud, turning the book over to read the excitable reviews on the back cover.

"The perfect summer read... with Cooper's trademark puns, a massive cast, and lots of sex -- it's a winner.

Daily Express

"

It was a quite change from Jane Austen, and Mark shook his head in confusion before tossing the book back on her bedside table.

He resumed his pacing, and picked up Emily's engagement ring from the table where he had left it. He held it up to the lamp and watched in sparkle in the light. He remembered the day he had chosen it from the jewellers, and how his stomach had been in knots when he'd finally opened the box and asked her to marry him.

With no messages from Emily, Mark was left to his imagination. Jealousy gnawed at him as he thought about her enjoying her date, and what she might be doing at this moment. Were they laughing over a drink? Holding an intense

tête à tête

? Kissing?

Worse

?

He wondered what Emily's game plan would be -- her preparations suggested she was going all out to impress her date, but perhaps it was all just to tease him... Or maybe she thought she had Mark's blessing to go home with him? She was behaving so out of character that Mark found predicting her next move almost impossible. Concern for her well-being intermingled with his suspicions, the protective part of him hoping she was safe and treated respectfully, while 'doubting Mark' grew distrustful. Anger flared up intermittently -- anger at himself for agreeing to this, at Emily for going through with it, and at 'Hot Max' for being involved at all. Yet, alongside these emotions, there was an undeniable undercurrent of arousal, his body straining within the cage as he imagined her naked body in the arms of another man.

Eventually, Mark gave up wandering the house and slumped back in the sofa, the TV blank and silent as he stared towards it. At half past nine, his trance was broken by the sound of keys in the lock. Emily was home -- and earlier than expected! Mark began to stand, anxious to hear what had happened, when the sound of conversation echoed down the corridor -- Emily's voice, and a deeper voice with her. His heart leapt into his mouth and he suddenly felt faint, so sat down again quickly.

Mark turned as he heard footsteps come closer, and he saw Emily's face appear at the door. She looked nervous, and while one hand gripped the door frame, she held the other behind the wall, obviously holding back her companion and stopping him from entering. Her cheeks were flushed, and she seemed almost shy when she spoke.

"Evening," she said, a tiny flicker of a smile at the corner of her mouth. "You're still up then?"

"You asked me to wait up for you, Em." Mark replied in an expressionless voice. Cutting straight to the chase, his anxious questions were direct. "How was your night? Is that him behind you?"

Looming up behind Emily, Max appeared, one arm resting on her shoulder before he came through into the room. "G'day mate, Max." he said by way of introduction. "I thought Emily was pulling my leg, but fair dinkum to her, here you are!" His obtrusive Australian accent sliced through the atmosphere, his words almost a parody of the archetypal Aussie man. Mark ignored Max's outstretched hand, and Max let it drop quietly to his side.

"Well, I'm game if you are," Max continued. "This seems like a decent way to spend a night to me! So... have you got it on now?" he asked with a quizzical look on his face. Mark's eyebrows shot up as he realised Emily must have told Max everything. Telling him that she was married can't have been an easy conversation, but telling him her husband was also locked in chastity...?

"I dunno why you're into it," Max persisted, "but seems like I'm the winner here, so I say do whatever floats your boat. Or not, as the case may be!" Max laughed at his own joke, and Mark felt a strong sense of dislike for him.

Emily stepped forward between the two men, and tried more formal introductions. "Mark," she said, one hand resting on his arm, "meet Max. Max, this is Mark." Max extended his hand again, and Mark reluctantly shook it.

"Mark, honey, I asked Max to come back home with me as it seemed the most logical solution." Her hand still rested on his arm, and she looked into his eyes as she spoke. Mark stared back, his face clearly questioning her logic. How could bringing another man home possibly be a logical decision? Emily ignored his look and continued. "I hope that's OK. Max and I are going to spend some time together upstairs, maybe you'd like to wait here and watch some TV?"

"Em..." Mark began, but words failed him.

"OK then," Emily continued brightly. She bent down and pecked him on the cheek, then gently turned to push Max out of the lounge ahead of her. Mark watched as they went upstairs and heard the bedroom door open and shut as they closed themselves away.

*****

Behind the door, the conversation was limited. Max quickly removed his shirt and trousers to stand in just his underwear, BURBERRY stamped boldly across the waistband. This was Emily's first good look at his body, and she felt an animalistic urge to touch him. His well-toned muscles rippled with fluidity when he moved, and his broad chest tapered down to a narrow waist. He obviously shaved his chest, and his skin was smooth and taut. Her gaze travelled down, lingering on the growing bulge in his boxers; she could see that he wanted her as much as she did him.

She walked over to him and rested her fingertips on his pecs. It felt strange to be touching a man other than Mark, but she ran her hands across his chest and down his sides, feeling the definition and power of his body. Max put one finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. He leant in to kiss her, moving his hand behind her neck to pull her closer. His touch was electric, and she initially tensed in his grip before relaxing into the kiss. A few moments later she stumbled backwards, lifting the back of her hand to wipe her mouth.

Max stepped to her side and with a gentle but deliberate touch, he placed his hand behind her and traced the line of the zip running down the bodice. She stood still, holding her breath as he slowly drew the zipper down, revealing the smooth expanse of her back. As the dress slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet, she met his gaze.

Max returned her intense look, and moved to stand back in front of her.

"Like what you see?" he asked, as he pulled down the boxers and his penis flopped forwards. It wasn't yet fully hard, but was growing firmer with every second, his desire for Emily undeniable. "I've never had any complaints about my dick!"

Emily didn't hear his vulgar language or shudder at his oafish ignorance; she just saw a man she wanted. Although Max was shorter than Mark, he was bigger in every other way; ego, muscles, cock. Emily's eyes widened at the same rate as Max's penis. He really did seem huge, and she couldn't help but compare Max's body to Mark's. It wasn't just the length, but the girth too -- she briefly wondered if it might hurt.

Max stepped forward again to hook his fingers under the strap of her bra, deftly unfastening the clasp and pulling the garment away from her chest to expose the delicate lines of her collarbone and the soft rise and fall of her breath. Sliding his hands down her sides, he slipped his fingers under the trim of her knickers and pulled them slowly down her thighs, the material whispering against her skin. Max admired the graceful curve of Emily's hips as her underwear dropped to her ankles, and she unhesitatingly lifted her feet to step out of them.

Max stepped back to admire the view. "Fuck..." he murmured, mostly to himself. After savouring the sight for a long moment, he reached for his trousers that lay on the floor.

Emily waited -- now getting a little impatient -- as Max fished for a condom in his pocket. Although she was on the pill, Emily was grateful she didn't have to ask.

"Good," she thought to herself, even though she was aching to get on with events. "He might be arrogant, but at least he's considerate."

"Definitely wearing a franger tonight," Max said to himself as he ripped open the packet. "This girl seems a bit wacko. Probably trying to get herself preggo or some shit like that..."

Emily moved to the bed and lay on her back as Max rolled down the Durex, her feet still resting on the floor. This way, Max wouldn't have to get into the marital bed, which somehow seemed a step too far. Fully sheathed, he stepped forwards to her with a grin.

"Looks like you're ready for me!" he said, looking at her reclining on the bed. Her face flushed, and the pink tinge spread to the skin of her breast.

She willingly spread her legs as Max stepped forwards. There was none of the feared pain when he entered her, but she certainly felt her body stretching to accommodate him. Involuntarily, she gulped in a mouthful of air as it happened.

"Yeah, that feel good?" Max asked with a smirk. "I often get that response, but the chicks seem to dig it."

Emily answered in her actions rather than words, and pushed her hips forwards. Her muscles relaxed and her lubrication swiftly increased as Max began pounding, but the incredible sense of fullness remained. Was

this

what she had been missing all these years?! She tilted back her head and shut her eyes.

The room fell silent, save the noise of hot breath and moist movements. Soon, an undercurrent of soft moaning was added. Max looked down and saw a woman lost to pleasure; legs spread, nipples hard, hands gripping the bedspread. He leered at her as they thrust in unison, the edge of his lip curling up unattractively.

"What a

moll

," he thought to himself uncharitably as he plunged himself repeatedly into her, taking a mental photo to keep for his 'library of private reflection'.

Waves of pleasure began to crest within Emily. Her skin tingled as she felt the breeze from an open window drift over her. Her breaths became ragged and a pressure built within her, a hot, coiling tension that demanded release. When the orgasm broke, there was an explosion of light behind her closed eyelids and a cry escaped her lips. Her body arched, back bowing as the climax seized her. Every muscle tightened, then released, and a flood of oxytocin entered her bloodstream. Moments later, Max too spurted forth, grunting loudly as he did so.

Listening outside at the top of the stairs, Mark grimaced as he heard their passion. Realising the events were over, he turned and went quietly back downstairs, walking uncomfortably as his penis desperately tried to break free from its guard, trying not to make any noise that would reveal his ear had been pressed to the door.

Spent, Max pulled out of Emily. He slipped the condom off, and Emily saw big globs of semen still coating him. She watched in disbelief as he wiped himself on the duvet, first the tip, then the shaft. His secretions turned the white cotton dark as it soaked in -- it was like watching a dog mark its territory. "Do people

really

behave like this?" she wondered. "What a total

douchebag

."

"That," said Max, "was an amazing fuck."

"A fucking amazing fuck," Emily agreed a little breathlessly, suddenly not caring about the duvet as she flopped back on the bed. Her words caught in her throat as she said them, the coarse language so conflicting with her usual grace.

Both knew there was little in common between them except a primal desire to screw, and they still wore the same look of wanton lust.

******

Mark was back on the sofa when he heard the bedroom door open and heavy footsteps come down the stairs. Max's face appeared.

"She's a wild one!" he joked. "Well, I'll see myself out -- see you next weekend!" And with that, he left.

Mark went up the stairs to find the bed stripped, the sheets in a heap on the floor. He could hear Emily in the shower. Sighing, he stooped to scoop up the linen, taking it to the utility room and pushing it inside the washing machine. "Bloody fucker..." he mumbled under his breath. "Washing the bed clothes after he fucks my wife... fucking arsehole... why did she even take him back here...?" Angry thoughts continued to rattle around his brain as he punched the buttons of the machine and watched it start to spin.

Back upstairs, he fetched new sheets from the cupboard and remade the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, a fresh laundry smell filling the air. Finally, the shower turned off and Emily emerged wrapped in a towel. She'd even washed her hair, which now hung in damp curls, the natural spring gradually returning as it dried. She looked in surprise at the newly made bed and smiled nervously at Mark.

"Sorry, there was a bit of a mess... Thanks for sorting it." Her smile turned to a look of uncertainty, and then alarm as she looked at her husband. At her words, Mark's face had crumpled, and a sob now broke free. Except for stubbed toes and burnt fingers, Emily had only seen him cry once before from emotional overload, and she rushed to his side.

"Honey,

honey

," she said, a note of panic in her voice. The last thing she wanted was to lose him -- she knew she'd be playing a dangerous game, and now she'd broken him. She sat knelt on the floor beside him and stroked his knee. "I'm sorry," Emily continued breathlessly, tears now pricking in her own eyes. "I've been such an idiot, I'm so, so sorry." She tried to hug him, but the tight towel and Mark's hunched posture made it impossible.

Mark couldn't speak, the tears running freely down his cheeks. He sniffed and wiped them away angrily, trying unsuccessfully to hide his feelings from Emily. "It's just..." he tried to speak, his voice wobbling. "It's just difficult to understand what's going on in your head. Do you love him? Are you going to leave me?"

"Never, Marky,

never

. I love you with my whole heart. This... this is just some stupid game... I thought you liked it too -- what you said at my birthday, the

thing

you bought," she said gesturing to his crotch. "You did kind of start it. Look, let's get that stupid thing off you and get rid of it, I don't want anything to hurt us, our relationship."

Mark nodded. He sniffed and wiped his eyes, feeling a little better at her words. Emily stood and fetched the keys from her bedside table.

"Come on, let's get it off now," she said. "This has been a terrible mistake." Mark unbuttoned his fly and pulled down his trousers, revealing a visible damp spot on the outside of his boxers. Emily pretended not to notice, and pulled them down so she could unlock the cage. She quickly removed the device.

"Look, I'm going to throw this away right now and delete his number. It was supposed to be a bit of fun, but it's gone way too far if you end up in a state like this." She took Mark by the hand and led him into the bathroom to witness the impromptu ceremony. Both looked down in the bin as she threw the chastity cage down for disposal.

There, staring up at them from bottom of the basket like a sea snake poking its head out of an underwater cave, lay Max's used condom for the whole world to see.

"Shit..." thought Emily.

"Fucking hell, Em," Mark exclaimed discontentedly, his voice wobbly again.

"Oh

come on

," said Emily, suddenly unwilling to shoulder all the blame. "

You

started this. This was

your

idea - don't make this all my fault." She stormed out of the bathroom, her own guilt driving her anger. Mark followed, ready to escalate the argument.

"ME?!" roared Mark as he followed her into the bedroom. "This was

not

my idea. This is all

your

work!" He felt incensed at her duplicity, his rage intensifying. "Why would I want my wife to be fucked by another man in my own house?!"

Emily was in her own fury and was standing to face him as he entered the room, ready to defend herself against his words. Looking him up and down, she wanted to wound him as much as she felt hurt now. Unexpectedly, she saw her opportunity.

"It looks like you loved it to me," she said angrily, pointing at his half-erection that had appeared since she had released him from his cage.

Mark looked down. Fuck. "Why did that happen," he thought furiously. "This ruins my point." He recognised his own innuendo even through his red mist, and a glimmer of a smile played around his mouth.

"Stop it, Mark," he thought to himself. "You're supposed to be cross!" He felt a snigger building as he dwelt on the childish inappropriateness of the thought, his memory cast back to holding in laughter during school assemblies when a younger child wet themselves. His anger start to abate.

"It's just

hard

, Em," he said more calmly, trying to calm the mood. ("

Damn

," he thought, "Stop the suggestive language man, you're trying to argue!")

Emily heard the change in his tone, but her anger was still being driven by feelings of regret at her own actions. She still wanted to land a punch on Mark, to make him feel as she did.

"It's not the only thing that's hard," she said, jaw set in indignation. She walked over to him, and grabbed between his legs. "Look at this! Looks like someone

did

like it, but can't admit it." Mark immediately became like rock in her hands.

Emily felt the change in his body, and there was a break in the mood of the room. Moving her hands to his chest, she pushed Mark backwards towards the bed, then shoved him hard so that he fell onto his back. Still in her towel, she sat down next to him. She reached out and put her hand on top of his, lacing her fingers through his as her palm rested on the back of his hand. Lifting both their hands, she guided him to touch his own erect body, and helped him wrap his fingers around his cock. And then, she let go.

She could hardly believe she had the power to do this to him -- the idea that she would make him masturbate to the thought of her having sex with another man was cruel, but Mark's massive hard on seemed to reveal a potential interest in this scenario, and he didn't seem to be complaining so far.