Black Bull 11 Coffee 2

**** Friday morning

What the actual fuck?!

Slack-jawed, eyes wide, I just sat, staring, staring with mounting anger at the offensive document in front of me.

I looked up at Claire, my wife sat on the other end of the table, the morning light seemingly focusing its attentions on her, making her look somehow angelic; the paper I was reading certainly gave lie to that. She had her arms crossed, a sickeningly smug, self-satisfied smile on her face.

She must have been out of her mind.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" I shouted, feeling the hot, sharp bile of rage rising up from deep in my belly.

I couldn't believe my wife had the plain cheek to even print the thing out, let alone ask me to read it, to sign it!

She just sat, watching my face grow redder by the second.

"Fuck you and your anger," she said, calmly, icily, "it's because of your stupid decision that I can't see Samuel."

"No sex?! Ever again? What the fuck Claire? You think I'm going to sign this?!"

I held the piece of paper up in front of me, waving it angrily, as if shaking it enough would make the ridiculous words fall loose.

"You've got another thing coming if you think that's ever going to happen!"

Having seen those videos, I know now that it was pretty much a verbatim copy of what the unfortunate Charles had signed; I was damned if I was going to follow the man down that particular path.

My wife had clearly figured that this was the best way to be able to make me serve my 'penance', for her to be able to see the bull again. That, and that alone, seemed to be her whole focus, her only want in the world. Fuck me, fuck her husband, she wanted to fuck her bull. That was all that mattered to her.

"If you don't sign," explained my wife, calmly, borrowing word for word from the other woman's playbook, "I'll divorce you tomorrow."

...Holy...

It felt like I'd taken a heavyweight's blow to the gut. I just sat, mouth open, staring, stunned. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally managed to string the beginnings of a coherent sentence together.

"You'd... you'd..."

"Yes," she said, answering my unasked question, "yes, I would divorce you. I love you, I really do-"

"I should bloody well hope so!"

"-but I need to be with Samuel again. You saw what he did to me. You saw the incredible orgasms I had-"

"You value that, your own selfish pleasure, above our marriage?!" I asked, incredulous.

"Yes," she replied without hesitation, "yes. I won't deny myself those feelings, that fullness, the amazing sensation of being truly taken, truly fucked. I want to be your wife," - she leant forward, over the table, almost beseeching me - "but I have to have Samuel fuck me. I have to feel like that again. Again and again."

How I was regretting ever getting us involved in this. It had only been a matter of days, and it seemed like my wife's priorities had shifted, a 360 turn, her whole raison d'être now to simply be bulled.

I already knew she wasn't going to relent; Claire was nothing if not goal-driven, even if the goal was getting fucked senseless by a man I had to pay for the privilege of doing so. Nonetheless, I couldn't, I wouldn't voluntarily agree to a life of enforced celibacy.

I stood up, mind set, pushing the chair behind me, the squeaking sound of the legs running across the hard floor jarring in the otherwise silent room.

"Well," I said, defiant, "then I guess you'll have to divorce me!"

I turned and strode out of the room, slamming the door. Claire heard the front door slam shut a few seconds later.

****

**** Friday afternoon

"But what should I do?!"

I was imploring the man, desperate for an answer, any answer, any way out of the hole I'd dug for myself.

"You said you've seen this sort of messiness before - what should I do?!"

Deejay was looking out of the coffee shop window, apparently admiring the shapely backside of a young tourist, the girl holding her boyfriend's hand.

"You see that girl over there, the one with the nice ass, with her boyfriend?"

Damn him, I wanted answers, not gawping at hot girls!

"Deejay, my question?!"

"I'm getting to that Neil," he said, as if he explaining to a particularly slow pupil.

"What do you see, what do you think, when you look at her?"

Where the fuck was this leading?

"Er," I started, genuinely stymied, "er, I guess, I'm thinking she's got a nice ass?" I offered.

The smile on Deejay's face was particularly grating.

"That, that right there Neil, that's the difference between men like Samuel and I and men like, well, you."

"I'm looking at her shapely little bouncy cheeks and wondering just how much they'd wobble as I had her over my lap, spanking her, while her little boyfriend there thanks me for showing him how a real man handles an ass like that.

He looked round over his shoulder, seeing the queue lengthen as the pretty dark-haired barista he was bulling smiled at him, ignoring the angry customer waving his card in front of her face.

Deejay reached into his pocket, retrieving his phone, taping a button.

"9pm," he dictated, "spank the coffee shop girl and have boyfriend film whilst thanking me."

I looked around myself, nervous that some other patron might have overheard. Deejay just smiled, as if this was all the most normal thing in the world.

"Diverting as this might be Deejay..." I said, eyebrows raised, trying to coax the man into giving me something, anything that might help me.

"Well," he said, "that difference between us, that's why you're in this position. Your wife has met a real man, a real bull, and now she knows what it's like to be taken, to be dominated, to submit herself to a big, powerful black bull. In my experience, women find that... addictive."

Not useful. I already knew that. I already knew this was my own doing, a painful bed I'd made and now would have the unenviable experience of lying in.

"Besides," he said, an amused grin on his face, "it strikes me you shouldn't have gone behind your wife's back in the first place."

"Thanks a fucking bunch," I snapped.

"I'm sorry," he said, his large smile belying his words, "but I think you're - if you'll pardon the pun - fucked."

"Wow, I'm so glad I called you."

"Yeah, so why did you call me?"

Deejay checked his watch; he'd already mentioned a 4 o'clock he had to be back for.

"Who the hell else can I talk to about it? You're the only other person who knows."

"Fair," he conceded. He carried on, a more somber expression on his face now. "Look, do you love your wife?"

"Of course!" I replied, offended the question could even be raised.

"And you want her to be happy, right? I mean, what's the expression - 'happy wife, happy life', right?"

I was getting increasingly exasperated.

"I got her a fucking bull, right?"

"Sure, but how much of that was for your wife's benefit - I mean, purely for her - and how much for yours?"

"Fine, I take your point. So I want a happy wife. But I want to be happy too!"

"And you can be happy Neil," he said, putting a big arm around my shoulder.

"I don't get to have sex with my wife ever again!" I thundered, "How's that meant to make me happy?!"

"Sure, sure. But you get to watch a lot of sex, right? I mean, I'm assuming you're a big fan of that?" he smiled, "And - I'm gonna go out on a limb here Neil - I'm guessing Samuel's a bit better at it than you, right?"

His smugness was starting to grate. But I couldn't really deny his point.

"But you have to look after your wife too. Look, you've got a choice. Suck it up or leave. It's as simple as that."

I just stared out the window.

"And I think..." smiled Deejay, pulling his arm back from me, "I think we both know what decision you're going to make."

"Easy for you to say," I said, morosely, as I stared down at my coffee, "you're the one doing the bulling."

"What can I say?" he smiled, looking back at the barista girl. She was still smiling at him.

"Life's a bitch!" he said, before adding, unhelpfully, "And so, it would seem, is your wife."

****

**** Friday evening

"You mean it!" squeaked my wife, an enormous, expectant smile on her face.

"Yes," I said, begrudgingly scrawling my signature across the bottom of the paper, "if this is what it takes to make you happy, I'll do it."

What was I thinking? What was wrong with me? Why was I doing this, going along with this madness?

I tried to rationalise it to myself, to tell myself that I was doing this for her, for my wife, telling myself that this was what it took to make her happy. That was all true - I did want her to be happy. But I think, looking back now, I think there also a nasty little part of me, buried deep down inside, a voice I was trying to stifle that was eager, keen, almost, to go along with this, some sort of kink that excited me about the prospect of us both submitting to the big bull.

"Oh baby, I love you so much!"

She flung her arms around me; I was smiling, despite of myself.

"You're the best husband a woman could ask for!"

She kissed my forehead, holding my face in both hands.

"But you're doing the dishes from now on!" I tried to joke, desperately attempting to ignore the sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach.

"Ha!" Claire wife threw her head back, laughing, "Deal!"

"Where are you going?" I asked as my wife let me go, walking to the leave the kitchen.

She turned, just about to exit. "I'm getting my mobile, silly! I need to phone Samuel!"

I honestly could not remember Claire look so happy.

****

**** Friday night

Samuel answered the door, politely bowing as he offered us into his penthouse, casually dressed in a tight white t-shirt and dark blue jeans, holes fashionably ripped in the the knees.

"I'm very glad to hear of your 'penance' Neil," he smiled, closing the door behind the us, my wife practically skipping into the place.

She'd spent hours getting ready, fretting over what to wear, asking me to judge her outfits for the 'wow' factor, determined to make herself as alluring as possible.

I had to admit, despite the interminable clothing changes, Claire looked amazing. She had her hair tied back in a tight ponytail, her lips finished off by a deeper shade of red than I remembered her usually wearing. She wore more eyeliner and blusher than I was used to seeing too, and had a large hoop gold bangle dangling from each lobe.

Her getup left little to the imagination. She'd clearly been shopping, the small black one-piece mini dress sporting both a large, swooping cut down the middle, her lace blue bra clearly visible, and cut much higher than he'd ever seen anything her wear, stopping only just below her shapely posterior. The bull clearly approved, his eyes following her bottom as she sashayed in; I swore my wife put on an exaggerated hip dip with each step.

"I must say," smiled Samuel, fixing her a drink from behind the counter-top, "you look positively glorious Claire!"

She smiled, coyly, doing a little spin for him. "You like?" she giggled, coquettishly.

"I like," said the big man, moving round the counter to hand Claire a glass of wine.

"Please, sit," he said, parking himself on a chair, pointing for myself and my wife to use the sofa.

"Neil," said Samuel, holding the piece of paper Claire had handed him up in front of him, "so you have willing undertaken this commitment, that you cannot have sex with your wife ever again? You cannot have her pleasure you at all, except at my discretion?"

"Yes mister Akinyemi," I said, solemnly, looking at my wife as she smiled gleefully at me. Did she have to look so damn happy about it?

"And you, Claire, you will submit your body to my ownership, your mouth, your pussy, your married little ass" - I gasped; Claire didn't bat an eyelid - "mine to do with as I wish?"

My wife looked fit to pop, the thought of her becoming her bull's possession obviously filling her with a submissive joy.

"Oh, God yes! My mouth, my pussy and my ass are all yours!"

She was looking into my eyes as she said it, seemingly soaking in the beaten-down puppy look I was in danger of perfecting.

"Good, good," chuckled Samuel. "In that case," he said, leaning forward in his chair, taking Claire's left hand in his, gently stroking the back of it, "I would like to make some videos of you, Claire, as I fuck you, for my website."

Did I just hear that right?!

It stopped both of us dead in our tracks, looking at Samuel, the shocked look on my wife's face mirroring my own.

He let out a booming laugh.

"This is a requirement I have of all my couples. My website is my professional 'calling card', if you will. It is important to me that you submit, completely, and do what I tell you to do."

I could see the expectant, nay, triumphant look on Samuel's face. If my wife agreed to this, hell, what wouldn't she do for him?

"But..." stammered Claire, "Videos?! I'm a professional woman! I'm not sure I'm comfortable being filmed. What if it got out?"

She was right, of course. This was a step too far, one move where he'd overplayed his hand. No way would she go along with it. In the privacy of his flat, sure, she was his. But I knew how private a person Claire was; hell, she didn't even have a social media presence!

I chimed in, backing her up.

"Please, mister Akinyemi, my wife is right. This could ruin her!"

He laughed the same deep laugh again.

"Claire, Neil - you do not seem to fully understand. Yes, you may be a professional woman, with a career, a 'high-flyer', if you will. But you are also mine," - he put particular emphasis on the word, seemingly relishing the feel of it as it rolled off his tongue - "and I decide what happens to you. You either agree to my terms or you leave."

Holy Christ. I could actually see Claire thinking about it! Surely, surely, there was no way she'd go this far down the rabbit hole?!

And just like that, she nodded her assent, her life-changing decision to completely submit to her bull made in a fraction of a second.

What had I done, bringing us here?!

"Good girl," smiled Samuel.

He turned to look at me, his smile suddenly thinner, meaner, "Neil, as part of your penance, you must leave. Now."

"What?!" I cried. I'd already agreed to these insane terms, already emasculated myself enough. Now this?!

"You can't be serious?! I have to agree not to have sex with my wife and now I can't even watch?!"

"Baby, please," said Claire, an impassive look on her face as she spoke, "don't argue. Just be a good husband and go back home."

"If I'm feeling generous," smiled Samuel, seemingly delighting in the feeling of power the dejected expression on my face gave him, "I'll tell your wife to share her activation code with you, so you can watch what I do to her."

"Please, Claire," I begged, already aware of the futility of it, "please, you can't ask me to leave!"

My wife looked directly into my eyes, a stern expression on her face, her voice low, commanding, "Do as you're told Neil."

I knew there was no use in arguing.

I got up from the sofa, slowly, begrudgingly, and walked towards the door, head down, a beaten man. I took my coat from the rack, turning to see my wife's joyous expression as her bull moved from the chair to the sofa, sitting next to her, putting his arm around her waist. He smiled, lifted up his left arm and waved. Claire was already lovingly kissing his neck.