This story is rather different to many of
my others.
I don't write a world where all white men are weaklings and all Black men are automatically good guys.
If a character is a natural submissive then he or she is clearly vulnerable to falling under the sway of someone who is not a positive for them.
Things can go very wrong.
Such themes are more central to this story than to most of my others.
Again my respects to a long-gone author whose long unavailable story suggested this one.
Picking Up The Pieces
After our experience with Levy, Hazel calmed down a lot. For months I think I was the only man in her life. She went out with Vicky, of course, but her other activities stopped altogether.
It seemed we'd reached a new chapter. Playing with women could get damn wild but it was much safer than 'The Pit'.
Vicky told me that Hazel's piercings had been a great idea. I know that some of the girls at the lesbian clubs they went to agreed. She come back with nipples sore from them tugging her rings. She also learned how to use that tongue piercing to fine effect and skills learned on pussy seemed to transfer well to a cock - I can happily testify to that.
If there was any experimentation it was in those piercings. The old fear of needles was gone so, against all appearances, Levy had achieved something positive. Pretty soon Hazel had five studs in each ear as well as the rings in her lobes.
I think she even wanted a nose-ring but that was certainly not in the dress code at the school where she taught. So instead she got bigger-gauge gold rings for her nipples. I swear you could sometimes see them through her blouse in the Summer but if the
head-master noticed he didn't complain!
She also swapped her simple pussy piercing for something she learned about at one of the clubs. It was a circular barbell running horizontally right behind the most sensitive part of her clit. Any stimulation from the front would now produce stimulation at the back. She loved it.
Vicky hated Hazel's tramp stamp almost as much as I did. I researched tattoo removal and made an appointment for Hazel but she wouldn't play ball. "It's part of me and where I've been - I can't just rub it out. Meeting Levy was weird and scary, but amazing. I don't want to forget that."
However, after about six months she did seem to forget him. My work looked like taking me to London more and more. We talked about Hazel transferring schools and maybe us moving closer to the city to cut the commute. In the meantime we sold up our houses and gave up the old flat.
We moved into a nice house in the suburbs of the city. Close to the airport and with a rail station very handy. Five bedrooms, a hot-tub and loads too much room for just the two of us.
Five bedrooms - and at Hazel's insistence? It wasn't too much of a surprise to get back from London one early morning and find the house full of people, some sleeping but most fucking. To judge by the mini-bus parked outside and the clothing scattered around there was a rugby club on tour and 'the girls' were entertaining them. There was a box of condoms on the little table in the hall and three props practising team-building by making the love of my life 'air-tight'.
I went to my little study-office and poured myself a whisky. It was damn good to be home.
From then Hazel and 'the girls' used my house as their fuck-pad. Whether hunting all together, singly or in pairs they would bring their male catch home for a good night's sucking and fucking. The neighbours' curtains twitched on a regular basis but who cared. Probably gave them a cheap thrill.
'The girls' had always been equal-opportunity fuckers. Tall or short, thin or fat, Black or white, male or female - they'd have whatever took their fancy that particular night. Sometimes a partner would be around for a few days, or weeks, or even a month or two, but 'the girls' had self-selected for wildness. They weren't settling down any time soon.
In all this hectic action Hazel had definitely changed in one thing. I saw her with white men, South Asians, Arabs, East Asians and even a nice guy from Guatemala, but I never saw her with a Black guy. If one showed interest, and that fucking tattoo didn't help, she'd just smile and move on. They soon got over it - Dee had four gorgeous young friends who had no such reservations.
I'd always fancied myself a bit of an amateur psychologist and it was clear to me what had happened. Levy, or her reaction to Levy, had scared her and she was putting up a barrier against that memory by avoiding Black guys as sexual partners.
All very simple.
All very wrong.
It was maybe a year after our trip to 'The Pit' when Hazel asked me for something from her bag. That was very rare because her bag was a sacrosanct private space for her. I remember she was in the shower and very late for work - she didn't really think about what she had asked me to do.
I found her bag, opened it and got her car-keys. I didn't mean to snoop, I didn't hunt through her private stuff, I didn't need to.
It was right under her keys - one of those leather wallets with a clear plastic window that you kept the old-style driving licence in. But this one hadn't got a driving licence in it. It had a piece of paper, very neatly mended where it had been roughly torn into pieces. A piece of paper placed in the wallet to keep it clean and safe. Kept in her bag, so it was always by her. At the top of her bag, not in a corner at the bottom, so she'd looked at it recently, probably last night. A piece of paper with Levy's name and number on it.
My blood froze. We weren't safe, that bastard was still in her mind. I thought about confronting Hazel, about destroying the note, about walking out of the house and never looking back. What I actually did, of course, was put the wallet back into the bag and cover it with a pack of disposable tissues so that she wouldn't know that I had seen it. I loved her and when we were together, and I'm not even talking about sex here, she made my life mean something. I'd known what I was getting into.
An Unusual Proposal
It was the next Valentine's day that Hazel made her proposal.
It's a grand tradition - woman tired of waiting get to 'pop the question' on that particular day. It's just as well that I said yes because Hazel had clearly been thinking about it and had planned well in advance.
It was going to be a little private occasion - just the two of us somewhere hot and far away. She told me it should be in three months time and to book three weekends off from work. Who was I to argue?
On the Monday after the first of those weekends Hazel told me we were going to fly out the next Friday evening. Her eyes were a little wild and she had that wonderful naughty little grin. God I'd missed that, I'd only seen it maybe a couple of times since...well, you know when.
My credit card had apparently already bought the flight so I also arranged the accommodation. Hazel had researched the local laws and apparently it took a leaf out of Vegas' and Gretna's play-book. Quickie marriages were very good for business.
We slept on the plane and then got a taxi to the hotel I had booked. I'd kept the details secret but it was five-star and it was the honeymoon suite.
As we walked in her jaw dropped. "Oh my God, it's gorgeous."
