**** Saturday morning
Slumped on the sofa, flicking aimlessly through the TV channels; not exactly my perfect Saturday morning.
Maybe it was just a salience thing, but I swore most of the adverts were either for erectile disfunction or couples' counselling services; how nicely ironic. I snorted, clicking the programme off and throwing the remote onto the floor.
Claire and I would normally be out this time on a Saturday, having a coffee or doing some shopping. But she'd still not come back from her 'date' the previous evening.
Honestly, I was still almost shell-shocked, trying to process the speed with which things had so quickly spiralled.
It had only been a few weeks since we'd been away at the hotel, since we'd made love on that big bed; it seemed like another lifetime. Fast-forward to now, and here I was, in my house, having agreed never to have sex with my wife again, her bull having exclusive rights to her body, Claire having given herself, mind, body and spirit to the big man. The phrase 'be careful what you wish for' didn't seem to do the situation justice.
The 'ground rules' had quickly gone out the window. She was wearing the underwear, the stuff she'd promised was for my eyes only. She was with her bull - alone. And the condom plan had barely lasted a minute on contact with reality.
As much as I tried to be angry at my wife, as much as I felt this was unfair, a betrayal even, I couldn't shake my semi-permanent erection, the thought of what Claire and her bull might be doing keeping me in a state of continuous arousal.
I leaned forward, picking the remote off the floor, deciding that if she could have her fun, I could at least have some, about to search for an adult TV channel.
My phone suddenly chimed. I picked it up, excited despite my misgivings, and read the message from Claire.
"Dear Neil," it started, "don't expect me back tonight - Samuel wants me to stay round one more night. He says he's keen to introduce me to another one of the women he bulls," - "Fuck!" I yelled out loud, to no one, imagining my wife kissing another woman, my cock as hard as a rock now - "but he did say you can watch the videos he made last night. I think you'll enjoy them. XXX, your loving wife, Claire."
There was another message, a simple four-digit code. I ran upstairs to boot the laptop.
****
Samuel clearly had his whole place wired up, judging from the shot. It must have been from what I'd assumed was a security stud just above the door to the apartment. It wasn't - it was full-colour high-def.
The video caption had read "Claire - How to Tame a Professional Woman". He must have pressed record as soon as I'd left; they were pretty much in the same positions as when I'd skulked out.
It started off, the first ten, fifteen minutes or so, with a lot of heavy petting, the pair passionately kissing, the big bull's hands roaming all over my wife. He worked his hand into her panties, fingering and rubbing, as they continued their make-out session. Claire's moaning was clearly audible.
The big man kept his hand in Claire's knickers, but used his right arm, putting it up around her, onto the back of her shoulders, pulling her down across his lap. I heard my wife let out a little startled yelp as she put her hands out to stop her face-planting into the settee.
Jesus, I could feel my heartbeat in my dick, the thing throbbing as my strong, independent career-driven wife was roundly spanked for the next several minutes, Samuel commanding her to hike her skirt up.
He still had his left hand buried in her groin, obviously fingering her, judging by Claire's moans of pleasure. He told her to put her hands behind her back, my wife letting out a submissive little whimper as she did so, her head down on the coach, her face turned, right cheek to the fabric, looking into the camera.
It felt like she was looking directly at me, into me, her eyes communicating to me just how much she was his, not mine. Not my wife; his plaything, his little, married, white plaything.
Samuel steadily built the force of each slap, my wife's bottom visibly reddening, until she was crying out for mercy, literally begging him to stop, her eyes bunched tight. She didn't, I noted, move her hands.
Samuel smiled directly into the camera, then down at Claire. "Who do you belong to Claire?"
"You, I belong to you Samuel!" she cried.
"Call me 'master' from now on Claire."
He slapped her glowing cheeks again, hard.
"Ah! Yes master!"
Oh shit. I think I knew this was coming, could see how the big bull was building towards it, how he'd upped his dominance with each step, leading my wife down this sordid path. But now, hearing it, hearing her say it out loud...
Claire's eyes were still scrunched tight; she was biting her bottom lip.
