A Married Couple

Part 1 - True Confessions

I'm compelled to explain my personal life, again. I'm 3x (the bottom half) and single. I was almost married once but...that's another story.

Right now I'm dating a married couple. They're in their 40's - more middle than either end. I work with her and met her husband at an office party. We'd all had a few cocktails and they were both flirting with me separately, which I found odd but funny. Of course, it came to nought, like parties had been doing for a while, so I taxied home and fell asleep. Like always.

The next day at work, Mrs. Randell smiled and me and indicated she wanted me come into her office.

"Uh-oh," I thought. Mrs. R wasn't my supervisor, or even in my food chain, but these days even a complaint can be upsetting to one's career.

She closed the door."Really uh-oh," I thought.

"I just wanted to talk privately - this isn't business, dear," she said. She smiled but I didn't relax. Not yet.

"Uhhh, sure?" was all I could come up with.

"Oh, please, please don't worry. This is all just for fun." she offered, placing her hand on my shoulder. "Sit down, let's chat."

I sat in one of her guests' chairs and she sat in the other. It's a technique they teach them in manager training to put the guest at ease. Business or personal, it wasn't working on me.

"We had a nice time talking with you last night, C, and we have a proposal for you."

Obviously, they'd discussed my flirting together.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Mrs. R, I didn't mean anything talking to you or to your husband. I thought we'd all had a few drinks and maybe it didn't mean..."

She laughed, "Well, that part is true, I mean, the drinks, but we did enjoy talking with you and..."

I was confused, "It was okay for me to flirt with your husband?"

Her smile widened and she said, "As well as with me, dear. You'll learn one day that there's no secrets inside a good marriage and Mr. R and I have an especially good one. We'd both like to have a relationship with you."

"You mean, separately, or...?"

"Well, we'd like to get to know you separately, first. My husband would like to call you and if you find him charming, perhaps meet you for drinks. All this would be with my ..."

"Permission?"

"Well, I don't give Mr. R 'permission' to engage in relationships, but it would be with my knowledge and you might say, 'approval'."

"So, what if he wants to have an affair, you know, physical intimacy?"

"That's entirely up to you, Ms. C. You and I will remain friends, however this works out, and business colleagues no matter what you decide. Cut it off anytime, or even just tell him you'd prefer not to start. Treat him the way you'd treat any interested male, er... potential friend."

"There haven't been many of those, lately."

"Oh, pooh, C, you're a beautiful young woman and it's just a matter of time before one of these young men here get their courage up enough to ask you out."

"There aren't many the right age that aren't already married..."

"Not that that stops any man from flirting..."

"It's so annoying. The only proposals I get are ... ridiculous or disgusting."

"I know, it seems hopeless, but don't worry. In the meantime, may Mr. R call?"

"Sure, but ..."

"Don't' worry a bit. If you find him interesting, feel free to follow your heart and your desires. Pursue it however you like and end it whenever you want. He'd just appreciate the pleasure of your company."

"What about you, Mrs. R? I was flirting with both of you, remember?"

I loved her laugh, which continued, "I'm a harder nut to crack than Mr. R. If you'd like to get to know me better, he's the way to start. He knows me better than anyone and he'll tell you how he's charmed me all these years. When he thinks you're ready, he'll get us together."

"I'm not ..."

"Oh, no, dear, this is not an older married couple seducing a young woman into a threesome to liven their stale sex life. We'd like to get to know you separately, one step at a time, three equal partners. We'd love it if we each got to be good friends with you as individuals. That could go on forever, or end whenever any of us wants it to - if we all decide we'd like to become intimate as a group, maybe it will happen. But, it will always be your choice."

This seemed quite odd, but I did like them both. I liked that they both found me attractive. That was flattering. She's pretty and feminine and friendly - more reserved than perky. He's quiet, also, but quite handsome and fit like he plays tennis or swims or something. Charming, yes, I think that's the word for both of them. No wonder they ended up with each other. So, I decided.

"Sure, Mrs. R. I'll be home tonight. Could Mr. R call me then?"

She nodded, that big smile enchanting me. I smiled back, rose from the chair, and turned to leave her office.

"Mrs. R, I hope it doesn't take too long before I see you?"

"Have a good time with R. You'll enjoy it, I'm sure. He's quite...interesting."

He called that night. She was right, he was utterly charming. He acted from the first like we'd known each other forever. That would normally put me off, but he was so unselfconscious about it, it seemed natural and genuinely friendly. I spent most of the hour we talked laughing and I found myself sharing the most personal things with him. I kept telling myself to shut up but not doing it. He, on the other hand, mostly let me talk.

When he finally asked me to meet him for drinks the next evening, it seemed natural to accept. When I did, he was so happy that I'd accepted, it reminding me of dating boys when I was just starting out.

The next day, unfortunately, I managed to make it all the way to work before I realized that the place I was meeting him was really, really nice and that what I'd worn to work just wouldn't fit in. "Shit," I thought, it's lunchtime and I don't...

I was interrupted by a messenger, a young man with a bicycle bag over his shoulder. He asked my name and handed me an envelope in response. Inside I found a single sheet of paper.

"Dear C - R. told me you're going out tonight and I'd love to help you get started, just a little bit. Here's the address of a friend's salon on the way to your rendezvous. She'll have everything you need to feel comfortable and confident when meeting a new 'friend'. There will be a car waiting for you downstairs to get you to The Shop and then to your destination. After that, it's back to serendipity :^)"

She continued: "PS: My treat. PPS: BTW, R. does not know I'm doing this - just a secret between us girls. Love, Madame R."

I poked my head over my cubicle and looked over toward her office. She glanced up from her desk and saw me, and smiled. I smiled back and ducked back down.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Part II - The Salon

The car wasn't a car, exactly, it was a taxi just like most of them you see, maybe a bit larger. It seemed odd, though, because he'd parked right outside the building and Security didn't seem to mind. The driver refused or ignored three attempts to hire him until I walked over to the car. The driver didn't speak, he just got out and opened the door for me, tipping his hat.

The ride took 10 minutes or so and I began to get anxious that I'd be able to meet my appointment with Mr. R. Whatever, I thought. We stopped in front of what looked like an abandoned factory or something. There weren't a lot of people around, so I asked the driver to walk me to the door.

Again, I got no response, but he accompanied me to an old wooden door with nothing written on it, just the numbers 2 and 7 and a faded indication of the letter "P" like that had fallen off.

The driver opened the plain facade for me and an Asian lady stepped up and hugged me. She smelled faintly of vanilla and something a bit more exotic. Enchanting, actually. She wore a flowing robe in a floral print and had her hair pinned up in some elaborate 'do that kept your eyes moving trying to find the center or the end. I realized I was mesmerized by this when she interrupted me.

"Ms. C, welcome, welcome, come in. Have some tea!"

I turned and saw the driver and taxi had disappeared like something I'd only imagined. The lady took my arm and escorted me inside. The shop wasn't opulent or fancy at all - it was exquisitely clean and clinical in appearance. The color scheme was brightly white and black, the only dash of color a single purple lilac in a vase.

"Lilacs", I thought, "That's what ..."

"Esme," the lady said, pointing at herself, and repeated, "Tea?"

"I don't think I have time, I'm in a ...."

She shook her head, laughing, "Plenty of time. We get you ready for good, good evening. Ha, ha!"

What did that laugh mean?

"But, I have to meet a friend at 7 and it's all the way..."

She interrupted, "I take care of appointment time - I know Mr/Mrs long, long time. He will be ready when you arrive and very, very happy to see you. You see!"

I know this Asian dialect is annoying, even offensive. I know now it's not how Esme talks, or rather, that it's not the only mode of speech she possesses. It is the way she interacted with me that night. It was for me, playing a character she thought I would understand. I'd find out later she's infinitely more interesting than my first impression.

She shoved a cup of tea into my hand. I sipped it politely and she grinned in response. I relaxed so quickly, I thought, "What's in that stuff?" Too late...

Esme said, "Now, strip!"

"What?" I cried, thinking, "I'm not that relaxed!"

"Now, strip. Esme see what she has to work with..."

I'm not the most modest of women, but this was the first salon I'd visited requiring nudity. Quickly, between the tea and the charming Asian hostess, I soon found myself in nothing but nail polish. She had me lie on what looked like a massage table. It felt weird to lay down. I felt even more odd when she slipped off her robe and stood before me also completely nude. I thought Asians had small breasts. (C!, I corrected myself.) I wanted to jump up, but somehow couldn't muster the will. I felt her hands spreading some kind of oil all over me. Her hands and eyes quickly characterized my body's smoothness, softness, and warmth. Her comments considered my need for grooming, shall we say.

"Oh, Ms., you need wax!"

"Oh, Ms,, you need face!"

"Oh, Ms., you so cold!"

et-cetera.

She even held her breasts together and rubbed them all over my face. She acted like they were a calibrated skin analyzer. This just felt nice to me at the time - vaguely odd, but nice.

She began giving me an elaborate spa treatment. While she rubbed and salved and massaged, then snipped and fussed and curled, I'd keep thinking, "This is taking forever!", then my mind would wander back to the relaxed, calm place created by the tea. There was music or water flowing, or something in the background. I think I smelled nail polish somewhere in there.

By the time I came to my normal self, Esme was done - I was fixed. I'd had the works, even a haircut and color. I didn't recognize the face of the beautiful woman across from me, then I realized it was a mirror. Highlights? My nails looked exquisite (quick look - toes, too.) When did all that happen? Cost a fortune, too, I bet.

Esme had her clothes on, now, and she helped me into a new cocktail dress and some shoes that looked like they cost enough to pay my rent that month. "Sizes?", I remembered vaguely wondering, as well as, "Had I seen Esme in R's office?" In my confusion, the answers didn't seem to matter.

Finally, I was ready. I turned to thank her, reaching into my new purse for a gratuity, when I realized Esme had disappeared and the driver was waiting at the door.

Part III - A Date with a Married Gentleman

The driver, wordlessly, turned me over to the doorman at the club. He introduced me to the Maitre'D, Charle, no 's', who was instantly my new best friend, confidant, and partner-in-crime. How do they do that? I'd come to this place just for the service. They could serve hamburgers.

Charle introduced me to Mr. R. He is a trim gentleman of moderate height, his eyes just above mine even with my heels. His eyes, his smile, his face, all were friendly and he greeted me warmly. I simultaneously realized Charle had left and that we were in a private dining room.

I wasn't druggy by now. I felt alert, happy, and confident that I looked as beautiful as I'd ever looked in my life. I felt that of course R. would want me and it would be my decision whether our relationship blossomed. I felt in control.

He spanked me.

Without another word, as soon as we were alone, he bent me over his lap and spanked my bottom, right through my designer dress, slip, and very brief panties.

It only felt odd for a moment, then I was utterly humiliated. I didn't feel humiliated, I was humiliated.

To the core of my being.

I lay across his lap, looking at the floor, and felt his hand slap my butt. Again. Again. Again.

More like two dozen times than one dozen. Each slap equally hard. When he'd finished he removed his hand from my bottom without a sound or comment.

"Do not speak."

I was still lying on his lap, tears coming out like rain. I cried unashamedly. It hurt and it hurt to be treated so callously.

"Get up and kneel before me."

His tone was not imperious or angry, just matter-of-fact, assuming compliance. The possibility that something else might happen did not exist. Not in that tone.

I got up and knelt before him. I made to look up at him and he stopped me.

"Look only at my shoes. Nod at my shoes to indicate you understand."

I looked. They were fine leather, polished brightly. I could see myself in the toes, through my tears. I nodded.

"It is important that you understand that my interest in you goes far beyond your beauty and youth."

Silence. Finally, I nodded.

"Our relationship is one of Dominance and Submission. You will submit to me when we are together. Is that understood?"

I nodded. My tears had stopped.

"As my wife implied, you may end our relationship at any time. You may get up and leave right now. The car will take you home. My wife will treat you as she always has, with friendship and respect. Your career will continue just as it has, nothing lost, no ramifications of any kind. You are free, you will always be free. You are permitted a question at this time."

It leapt from me, "Does she know...?"

"There are no secrets in a good marriage and Mrs. R and I have a very, very good marriage. Our aim is just as she described, for you and I to have a relationship valuable and rewarding in it's own right. In time you may be afforded the opportunity to get to know her better and for that relationship to develop. In time, the three couples - you and I, you and her, and she and I, may join to become an intimate group in its' own right. You will always be free to dismiss us from your life without question or retribution. That's important because we, my wife and I, want to be sure you're involved with us because you ... like us."

Silence. I wasn't given but one question.

"I'm gratified that you understand the detail of having only one question permitted. Now, you have a choice. You may rise and leave. No one will think anything about that beyond that this is just something in which you have no interest."

He pauses, then continues.

"The second alternative is that you may rise and excuse yourself to the Ladies Lounge. An attendant there will assist you in recovering your dignity and appearance and you may re-join me for drinks and dinner. I promise you we'll have a very nice time and get to know each other much better. Should you choose this route, we'll forgo a third alternative for the rest of this evening."

"The third alternative is you may rise, remove all your clothing, and then kneel before me in submission. Your training will begin. You will be judged harshly, punished, and dependent upon your progress, we may or may not engage in sexual intimacy. We will always have the means for your to interrupt our activities and to discuss as equals what made you uncomfortable. Our interaction will be used to guide your training once you decide you are ready to resume."

Another pause.

"Nod if you understand what I've told you."

I nod. I have a million questions but he didn't provide for that. Purposely, I'd judge. I have to decide based on what I was told. The quixotic nature of the choice given me is the reason I'm using, the excuse I'm giving myself for my decision. I follow his words precisely.

I rise, look him in the eye, and say, "I'd like to excuse myself to the Lounge, please?" I fight the urge to curtsey. I'm such a sarcastic bitch in my own mind, anyway. I hide any hint of potential rebellion from my eyes, and leave when he nods his assent. The attendant in the lounge was a pretty young woman who helped me without seeming sympathetic or condescending. She was respectful and very, very tactful. We restored my face to a facsimile of Esme's work of art.

The dinner was exquisite, the wine unbelievable. I think I now understand how people fall in love with the stuff - I've just never had anything remotely that good.

There was dancing. He is the most charming, handsome, wonderful companion. Mrs. R is a very, very lucky woman.

There was no discussion of the third alternative or of the future. I didn't try to broach the subject as I think he would have just closed it off cleverly and politely.

Ms. R has been very pleasant at work. Businesslike, but quite pleasant. When I asked, she said just that her husband enjoyed our date and hoped I had a nice time. She gave me Esme's phone number in case I want to use the salon again. When she told me of some additional services available there, my eyes widened.

"Just tell Esme what you want, dear. It's on my account."

I'll need her this week, in fact.

Mr. R and I have a new date for Saturday night.