Black Bull 07 Introductions

**** Friday night

"Would you please stop fidgeting!"

"I can't help it," I replied, completely honestly, turning my pint glass round for the umpteenth time, but stopping my finger drumming lest Claire got properly annoyed, "I'm nervous!"

I almost couldn't believe it - here we were, waiting to meet the 'bull', my sordid fantasy edging closer and closer to becoming a hot-as-fuck reality. The fact that we were here was only scarcely more believable to me than that Claire had agreed to it. Sure, I'd been working away on her for some time now, making it plain as day that this was what I wanted. The sex, the dirty-talk; fuck, that dildo. Still, that she'd gone along with it, that she was willing to contemplate this made me love her even more than I thought possible.

Nevertheless, nerves were definitely a big thing for both of us.

"You're nervous!?" my wife snorted, draining her glass of wine, eyeing a waiter and raising her finger to ask for a top up, the man shaking his head, pointing up to a sign behind him. She scowled.

She adjusted her top, a dark, almost brown red shirt, the buttons undone slightly at the neck, the hint of a black bra just discernible if you looked too closely. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, pulling the dark green skirt back down over her knees as it rode up with her incessant movements.

"But, you have to admit," I smiled, a look of school-boy glee on my face, "it is pretty exciting!"

It was my turn to fiddle with my getup, a smart dark blue blazer over a pressed-white shirt, jeans and black brogues.

We were both sat on a small table, next to each other, towards the back of the busy bar. Punters were coming and going all the time, the happy hum of a bar on a busy Friday evening filling the air. Despite ourselves, every time the door to the bar opened, we both leaned forward, expecting the man we'd set up the met with to come through the doors.

We'd had arranged to meet the bull - Samuel - here, in the busy London bar, as it was a place we all apparently knew. We'd agreed that both Samuel and I would be wearing a red carnation in our respective blazer pockets, so that we could spot each other.

"There'll probably be a pass-phrase," I'd joked. "'The red fox flies over the Volta by night'," I'd said, putting on a hackneyed Russian accent, my eyes narrowing as I did my best spy impression. Claire had laughed so sweetly.

"Is that him?" she asked, expectantly, as a tall, dark-skinned man walked in, a red flower in his blazer. She squeezed my hand painfully tight.

I squinted - "Is that a carnation?"

The man saw a group he evidently knew, hugging a young woman. We both sat back into the upholstered bench.

The sound of a glass smashing suddenly bought a low murmur of 'Way-hay!' from some of the more inebriated clientele. We both sat forward again, looking to see the cause of the commotion: one of the punters had evidently bumped into a man coming through the door, getting knocked to the ground. Towering over the prone figure, his large hand held out to help the stunned fellow up from the floor, was a black man in his late twenties. The unfortunate chap on the floor took the proffered hand, suddenly finding himself yanked quickly to his feet. He dusted himself off, apologising for not looking where he was going and sheepishly went back to his friends.

The tall gent came clearly into view, his eyes scanning the room to try and find something.

My wife let out a little cry of "Oh!", squeezing my hand, as she saw the front of the man's beige blazer, a large red carnation nestled neatly in the top pocket.

Samuel evidently caught a glimpse of me and my red flower and smiled, a flash of bright white teeth with a big gap in between the top front pair. He started to pick his way through the bar, weaving in between the drinkers.

His approach allowed us to get a clearer view of the man. He was certainly tall - six two, maybe three, I guessed - and quite imposing, punters moving out of his path. His blazer seemingly could not quite contain his large shoulders, the garment looking ever so slightly stretched across the top. He was wearing a dark blue shirt underneath the blazer, a pair of jeans and smart brown training shoes.

My wife just kept squeezing my hand ever harder as he got closer, clearly nervous/excited. We were both looking at his dark-skinned face - not midnight black, but not chocolate brown: a warm in-between - his black hair cropped close to his scalp, his big brown eyes seemingly friendly, inviting even. His wide, round face was beaming, his broad smile sat underneath a large, slightly flat nose. I found myself smiling back at him. I turned to Claire to see her doing the same.

"Hello!" said the man as he reached our table, his voice a deep, treacly tone. He reached out a hand as my wife and I both stood up to greet him, me offering mine in return, finding it swallowed up by the enormous paw.

"You must be Neil," he said, still smiling broadly, a hint of an accent - Nigerian? - just detectable. I smiled back.

"And you must be Samuel," I said, stating the obvious, retracting my arm, glad to have my hand free again, shaking it behind my back.

Samuel turned to face my wife, the big man's eyebrows arching upwards, his smile broadening.

"Wow!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening, "So you must be Claire! A pleasure to meet you!"

He took her offered hand and turned it, her palm facing down, leaning forwards over the table to lightly kiss the back of it, his eyes looking up at her all the time. Claire, her own eyes wide, a large happy smile on her face, giggled girlishly; so far, so good.

"May I?" asked Samuel, pulling a chair out from underneath the table.

"Please!" enthused my wife. We all sat.

"Would you like something to drink?" I asked, nodding towards the bar.

"No, you're too kind, but I don't drink."

"First of all," said the man, sitting down only after we'd both sat, facing us, "let me just say it's a pleasure to meet you both! I know this can be a little awkward," - he was looking at my wife the whole time - "but please, do not feel uncomfortable. This is a strictly no strings attached meet. If you feel this isn't working for you, you have second thoughts, there's anything that doesn't sit right, by all means - and I promise, I will not be in the slightest offended - please, do say. You can, of course, leave whenever you want."

I have to say, he did seem like a nice chap. Granted, I think I'd be on my best behaviour if I was being offered a fortune to fuck another man's wife. Still, if the guy were a douche, the whole thing'd be off in a thrice.

"That's awfully good of you," I said, looking briefly to my side at my wife, Claire doing nothing but smile and stare at Samuel.

"Yes," said Claire, seemingly remembering she could speak, "it's fine. We're both brand new to this, but you seem... nice."

Her face was lit up, the slightly goofy smile she wore giving her initial impressions away. I almost breathed a sigh of relief; If she wasn't keen on the guy, the whole thing would have died, then and there.

"Ha!" boomed Samuel, throwing his head back, laughing deeply, "I am very glad to hear it. You," - he fixed Claire with his big eyes, my wife leaning forward, putting her elbows onto the table, resting her chin in her hands - "madame, are a very beautiful young woman."

I saw Claire's face flush, her eyes darting downwards, obviously unable to hold Samuel's intense gaze. Shit, but it was hot!

"Oh, please," she said, her cheeks going a bright pink, one hand casually batting the compliment away.

"I hope you don't mind," he said, looking to his side, searching the room for something, "but I need to make a phone call quickly. Why don't I leave you two alone for a minute, to gather your thoughts, yes?"

He pushed the chair back behind him, standing, my wife's head moving, tilting upwards to follow him. He nodded, quickly, then turned and purposefully walked away.

I heard Claire loudly exhale as the man moved out of earshot, fishing a phone from his inner blazer pocket.

"Well?" I said, turning to look at my still flushed wife, "what do you think?"

She didn't move, her eyes staring hard at the man on his phone, one finger going up to his ear to block out the noise as he talked into his device.

"He's gorgeous!" she gushed.

I felt my erection announce itself with a vengeance.

****

Samuel came back from his call, pulling out his seat. He looked down to see the glasses Claire and I had in front of them emptied.

"Can I offer you another drink?"

"Oh, yes, thank you!" said Claire.

"Please," I added.

The tall man simply turned to the bar, caught the eye of a barman, and put one finger up, then pointed it down at the table in front of him. The young man looked at him, slightly quizzically, and pointed up and behind himself, to a sign mounted above the bar that read 'No table service'. Samuel looked up the sign, tutted, shook his head and, staring at the young staff member, pointed down, slowly, exaggerating the movement, at the empty drinks on the table to his right. The barman visibly swallowed and came rushing over.

"Can I help you sir?" he said, nervously.

"My friends would like a drink," said Samuel, glowering at the server, his voice low but authoritative, his expression stern, commanding. He turned to look at my wife, his face immediately changing, becoming open and friendly again, "What would you like Claire?"

"I'll have a large Sancerre," she said, smiling back up at Samuel, not looking at the barman.

"And you, Neil, what would you like?"

"Urm, a lager please."

The barman took the empty glasses and hurried off back to the bar, a large group of people there looking jealously towards us. I saw one of the group pointing over at us, clearly remonstrating with the attendant busily getting their drinks. I couldn't hear what was said but could see the server shaking his head, pointing up at the sign again. The arguing man threw up his arms in frustration.

"So, I imagine you have a lot of questions," said Samuel as the barman brought the drinks over, placing them directly in front of us. "Please, ask anything you want."

Claire turned, looking at me.

"I guess," she began, before looking back at Samuel, "I guess it would be best if you told us a bit about yourself first."

"Yes," I concurred, "we were both wondering - how did you come to this, er, this particular 'line of work'? Your website has some details, but there seemed a lot left, er, 'unsaid'."

Samuel smiled, his large grin exposing the gap in his teeth again.

"Well," he began, "I will happily tell you all the details."

My wife leaned in again, putting her face in her hands, clearly rapt.

****

Samuel told us about his parents, about how they'd emigrated to the UK from Nigeria back in the early 80s. His mother had been a nurse, his father a civil servant. They'd left after the latest in a line of coups, deciding it was too dangerous to stay.

"My name has a proud lineage," he said, Claire seemingly hanging on his every word.

"My last name is 'Akinyemi'. It refers to one who is born to be a soldier or warrior. Although," he smiled bashfully, leaning in, as if letting us in on a guilty secret, "I am not a fighter. I believe in love, peace, not violence."

He continued on, telling us about his upbringing in east London, about how it had been a tough, but stable, loving family. He told us of his father's pride as he had won a scholarship to a prestigious public school, about how he'd gone on to study engineering at UCL, then moved to do a Masters at Imperial.

"That," he said, "is where I came into 'this line of work', as you put it."

He told us that that was where he had begun an affair with one his his lecturers, a woman named Stephanie.

"She was married," he explained, "and had two children. I"- he waved his hands in front of him, as if absolving himself - "did not know she had children at the time."

He spoke about how she had said that she loved him, about how she wanted to leave her husband for him.

"This was not something I wanted," he continued. "I was - am! - young," - my wife giggled again - "I did not want to be tied down to one woman; I had other girlfriends at the time. That was when she told me she had children. I said to her, 'I cannot break up a family'. I would not deny a man his children. I told her she was not in love with me. I told her she was in love with what I could do to her, how I could make her feel. I find," he said, looking away from us, gazing up and away, as if looking back in on himself, "that women often confuse the feelings I can give them with love. They can be hard to disentangle. But they are not true love." He smiled, slightly sadly.

"What happened?" asked Claire, leaning further over the table, listening intently.

"She would not - could not - stop seeing me. I told her I had other girls, other women I was with. She did not care. She said she was devoted to me, and me alone. I told her again, I would not break up a family."

"What did she do?"

"She said she would tell her husband about us. She said she would make him stay with her, if that was what it took for her to be with me."

It was my turn to lean further in.

"What did her husband think?"

"He was, I think, not best pleased."

Samuel smiled. Claire matched his expression, smiling back at him.

"But he loved his wife. She made him stay with her. She told him that she was not complete without me."

"He came to see me. He found me at my flat. I think his plan was to confront me, to make me stop fucking his wife."

"I take it you didn't stop, er, fucking" - she whispered the word - "his wife?" said Claire, her attention focused entirely on the man telling the story.

Samuel threw his head back and let out a loud, deep laugh.

"No! I told him I wanted to keep fucking his wife. He tried to fight me!"

Samuel laughed again, his forehead raising, eyes wide, as if the idea of someone trying to physically best him seemed ludicrous.

"Oh no!" said my wife, "I hope he didn't hurt you!"

Her hand gently reached over to his, putting it on top of his large paw, lightly stroking it. I felt my trousers get tighter.

Again, that big, deep laugh.

"No. I was - I am very strong." - Claire nodded, as if this should be taken for granted, her eyes blatantly roaming his upper body, admiring his large shoulders and biceps, his blazer straining at the seams each time he moved his arms - "I overpowered him. I didn't hit him though, you understand?" He seemed to beseech us, as if our thinking he had been violent would be a terrible thing.

"But I was not happy with him. He had tried to use violence against me!"

His eyes were wide, his expression suggesting he was genuinely shocked someone could try do him harm.

"What did you do?" asked my wife, her wine still sat untouched on the table in front of her.

"I told him I would punish him. I told him to phone his wife, to ask her to come to my flat. I told him I would fuck his wife in front of him, that he would watch, watch as I showed him the power I had over his woman."

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Claire, her hand going up to her mouth in shock.

"She came to see me. Her husband begged her not to do it. She scolded him, told him it was his fault for not being able to fully satisfy her."

He chuckled to himself. I looked over at my wife, her hand back on top of Samuel's, her face flushed, her breathing slightly shallower, quicker.

"She told him to watch, to watch as a real man satisfied her."

I heard Claire take a sharp intake of breath.

"You made him watch as you... you fucked her?"

Samuel smiled at my wife, his right hand reaching forward, putting it on top of hers, gently stroking it. He gazed intently into her eyes; I felt my heart hammering faster in my chest.

"I am very good at fucking women."

I looked round to see Claire's face flush, her eyes fixed on Samuel's. She licked her lips. God, she was gorgeous. Seeing her so obviously attracted to this man, this 'bull', was sending my already stratospheric arousal levels up and out of the atmosphere.

Adjusting my pants for the umpteenth time, I looked at Samuel.

"What did the husband do?" I asked, admittedly similarly engrossed.

"After the first few hours," - Claire, again, took a quick intake of breath - "I think he began to understand. He saw the joy his wife was being given, something he knew he could never give her, not to that extent. He saw her cum more times in a few hours" - I saw my wife squeeze Samuel's hand, the man smiling at her - "than he had managed in months. I think he made his peace, and actually started to enjoy it."

"Really?" I said, swallowing.

"Yes. He even started to masturbate," - "Oh!" squeaked Claire - "playing with himself as he watched his wife being pleasured."

"And that," he said, taking his hands back from Claire's, leaning back into his seat, my wife exhaling loudly, as if realising she'd been holding her breath in, "is how I came to this, as you say, this 'line of work'. I enjoyed both fucking this man's wife in front of him and his helplessness. It made me feel..." - he paused, as if searching for the right word - "more masculine, taking another man's woman whilst he watched."

****

Over the next hour, Samuel explained how this had grown from just Stephanie to another woman, a young fellow student on his course. It had been her idea to make a business from it, to setup a website, a payment plan.

"Indeed," he laughed, "the idea to make the man be the one who has to pay came directly from her boyfriend!"

"Really?!" exclaimed my wife, sounding slightly shocked.

"Yes," replied Samuel, looking over at me, his broad face with a big smile on it, "he said it helped with the, what did he call it, the 'power dynamic'. Do you agree Neil?"

My wife turned to look at me, subtly moving her hand down onto my lap, lightly rubbing me as she smiled sweetly, as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

"Do you agree honey?"

Jesus.

I swallowed, feeling both their gazes boring into me, as if the whole bar was waiting for my answer.

"I think, yes, I think I would have to agree. It does make it a bit... 'hotter'."

Claire smiled at me, squeezing my erect cock with her hand, turning to look back at Samuel, but keeping her grip on her me. It was all just so damned hot.

"But please," said Samuel, as if he had been monopolising the conversation, even though he had been asked, "tell me a little bit about yourselves! I'm always keen to find out how you came to this point. What was it that drew you to make this choice?"

He leant forward, his turn to rest his big head in his hands, his face open, engaging, wanting to learn more about us.

"Well," said my wife, turning to face me, wearing a pretty smile, but with a lightly mischievous hint to it, "I think Neil here - if you don't mind me speaking for you, honey? -" - I nodded my assent, unable to muster any words, as Claire squeezed my rock hard cock a little harder - "first seriously got the idea when we were away at a hotel, a few weeks back..."

****

We continued talking, the bar getting busier and louder as the Friday night revelries really kicked into gear. It seemed as though we were locked in our own little world, ignoring the people around us. Claire, in particular, seemed completely enthralled by Samuel, her still untouched wine testimony to her rapt attentiveness.

I'll admit, I did begin to feel a little excluded, sitting next to my wife, as Claire seemed to talk only to Samuel, and him to her. I consoled himself by thinking of the possibilities, of the sight of my wife cumming over and over again, her slender, delicate body buried beneath the man's powerful frame.

"But please," he said, looking up at the big ornate clock above the bar, "it is getting late. I do not want you to feel you have to come to any decisions now. Go away, think about it, talk between yourselves. But choose the option that makes you happy."