Betrayal & Redemption

It's true, we really needed a new village hall. The existing building was just too small, and desperately in need of renovation. We had tried everything — jumble sales, fêtes, appeals in the local newspapers, but the amount of money we had raised was woefully short of what we needed, even for the most pressing repairs.

It was at a meeting of the Parish Council, of which I was chairman, that it was suggested — I forget by whom — that we ought to approach Sir George, who was very wealthy (he was a very successful hedge fund manager) and well known for his philanthropy. He had moved into the village a couple of years earlier and had bought the old Manor House, which made him sort of squire of the manor, and although he was away on business much of the time, his wife Lady Angela was often seen in the village. Some people thought that at the age of thirty four I was too young to be chairman, but in my work for the government industrial conciliation service I had already had considerable experience of difficult negotiations, and chairing the Parish Council was really simple by comparison.

If had known then the pain and humiliation I would suffer, I would not have approached him, but I was innocent of his true nature — and the nature of his business — so I went to see him in good faith. In the end the train of events that I set in motion cost me my marriage, and even now ten years later I still shudder when I look back at those few months. In the end everything has turned out for the better, but I am a sadder and wiser man now, although happier than at any time in my life.

When I rang to make an appointment, the phone was answered by his secretary, and when I had explained my business she said that Sir George would be able to fit me in the next week. It was with some trepidation that I walked up to the imposing front door of the Manor House — a building that dated back in parts to the sixteenth century, although there had been many later additions. When the door opened, I was greeted by a tall and well built man in a dark suit — I learned that he acted as major-domo for the establishment, but had been a professional wrestler at one time under the stage name Big Jake; I never did learn his real name. I was immediately ushered in to Sir George's study and asked to take a seat. While I was waiting I looked round the room and was struck by the rather racy Victorian prints on the walls — erotica seemed rather incongruous in the restrained atmosphere of the room with its wood panelling and bookcases filled with rare books and old manuscripts; fox-hunting prints would have been more in character I thought.

After a few minutes Sir George entered through an door in the panelling, and after shaking my hand, took his seat behind an opulent desk in front of the mullioned window. He asked me cordially what my business was, and after I had explained our predicament he thought for a while, and then said that he would be delighted to help and would a million pounds be sufficient. I nearly fell off my seat in surprise, but managed to stammer that such a generous gift would be more than enough to build a new village hall, and would give us a building that would serve the community well into the future.

"No time like the present," Sir George said, taking out his cheque book, "but there is one condition."

"Oh," I replied, immediately worried, "and what might that be."

"Don't be alarmed," he said, and laughed, "I want you to allow your wife to be our house guest for one week during the summer. See, nothing too terrible. I know that Lady Angela will enjoy having intelligent female company; I am often tied up with work even when I am at home and she can get a bit lonely."

I couldn't see anything wrong with this, so I gave my assent, and said I would let my wife know, thinking that she wouldn't have any problems. In fact I thought she might enjoy it. At that time I didn't think that my wife Sandra and Lady Angela were even acquainted, and certainly not intimately so. How wrong I was.

ooOoo

Sandra went to stay with Sir George and Lady Angela during the first week in August. When she got back home she seemed somehow different, which I put down to a week of high living, but when I asked how she had enjoyed it, her reply knocked me flat.

"I have had a wonderful week darling," she said, "I have never been fucked so well and so often." She did have the good grace to look slightly hesitant as she said this, but then looking me straight in the eyes, she said that I might be rather surprised to hear about her experiences during the week, and that it was time to confront some home truths about our sex life, such as it was.

"What are you talking about?" I shouted, "Have you gone raving mad? You must be making it up."

"O no," she replied, "I have just had one of the most sexually exciting and liberating weeks of my life."

By now I was very angry. "What about your wedding vows to love and honour me? I am your husband after all."

"You are so old fashioned Paul," she said, "love and romance are male inventions to make sure that they pass on their genes, and as for fidelity — well that is just the way that men try to control female sexuality; it is no more than a form of slavery, and so hypocritical too. Sex is like food, you need variety. Steak and kidney pie is all very well once in a while, but not every day. I don't know about you, but I need something more spicy and George and Angie have certainly given me that. They've opened my eyes to what I have been missing, and from now on I'm going to make up for lost time and have lots of lovely sex."

"But I thought you enjoyed it when we made love," I said, somewhat lamely.

"Oh, you have a nice enough cock, but you really don't have much imagination, and you are always so busy with your blessed Parish Council. It was fun when we were first married, but I have been so bored and frustrated. I thought I could make do with masturbating, but a dildo is not the same as a good fucking, and besides, I have missed a nice sweet pussy to play with. I haven't told you, but Angie and I were room mates at uni, and I was so happy when she came to live in the village. We used to have really great sex — she has a lovely pussy and I used to spend hours kissing and licking it, and when she returned the favour, I would come and come — God it was so fantastic I would almost pass out with pleasure."

"And what about the risks of VD? Have you thought about that?"

"Oh that. A quick shot of antibiotics will cure a dose of clap and syphilis, and everyone knows you can only catch HIV from using drugs," she retorted.

"Yes, but what about genital warts? They cause cervical cancer you know."

"Silly, there's a vaccine to prevent warts."

"But it's only given to teenage girls."

"Normally that is true," she said airily, "but Georgy can get anything he wants, and he has arranged for me to have a shot from one of his doctor friends, plus hepatitis vaccine as well. There's absolutely nothing to worry about."

"And was last week the first time you have cheated on me since we were married?" I asked, dreading what her answer might be.

"Oh no," she replied, "Angie and I met by accident in the village shop a couple of months after she and Georgy moved into the Manor House, and we picked up our old relationship almost immediately. I have regularly been having sex with Angie and George — and Big Jake (and he really is big) — for well over two years. I meant to tell you months ago, but the right opportunity never seemed to arrive, and judging by your reaction, it is a jolly good thing it didn't."

I realised there was no point in arguing further. It was clear that Sandra was no longer the sweet woman I had married. "You had better tell me everything," I said resignedly, "and then I can decide what to do. At the moment I feel totally humiliated, and I'm not sure whether our marriage can survive."

"Okay" she said, "and after I have told you, I have a DVD that you can watch. I am willing to bet you will find it terrifically arousing, and I am certain that George and Angie will be happy to let you join in our games — a foursome is just mind blowing, and Angie knows a lot of tricks to make a man think he has died and gone to heaven. We used to call her the blow job queen."

ooOoo

Sandra's Story

As I've said, Angie and I were room mates at uni. She was a bit strapped for cash and decided she needed to find a way to earn some money. She didn't want to do anything boring like stacking shelves at Tescos or serving behind the counter at McDonalds, which is what many other girls did, and working in a pub was bloody hard work and would have left little time for enjoying herself, quite apart from studying. She had a lovely figure and thought it would be fun to work as an exotic dancer.

She easily found a job in a local club and was having a good time. However, the money wasn't as good as she had expected, and when she was talking to the other girls in the dressing room after a show, they told her that with a body like hers she could get really good money as a lap dancer. She thought about it for a couple of nights and then decided why not, she had no hang ups about nudity, and it might be quite exciting to have power over men. To cut a long story short, one of the girls introduced her to the manager of a lap dancing club near the business quarter of the city, and after a brief interview during which she was asked to strip and give the man a dance, she was offered a job, originally for three nights a week.

At first Angie only had a few routines, but after watching the other dancers, she realised that she needed to develop her own specialities. She also discovered that displaying her body and flashing her naked pussy at the punters made her extremely horny, and when she got home in the early hours she would either masturbate with her favourite vibrator until she almost passed out in ecstasy after the most amazing multiple orgasms, or better still , wake me up for a fantastic sex session during which she would often ask me to fuck her with a strap-on dildo.

Although touching wasn't allowed, she found that she could surreptitiously grind her naked pussy against a client's crotch, and she was sure that some of them ejaculated in their pants — the look on their faces certainly suggested it, and she would always get a big tip tucked into the strap of her g-string afterwards. All tips had to be handed over to the barman at the end of the night, but she would receive a bonus at the end of the week based on a percentage of what she had been given. She noticed that many of the girls would disappear with their client through a door at the rear of the bar, and when she asked, they told her that there were rooms at the back where they could give a private show for a really big tip.

After she had been working there for a couple of months, the manager called her into his office after closing. She was rather worried that she was going to be reprimanded for overstepping the mark with her act, but she was relieved and delighted when he told her that some of the regulars had asked if she gave private shows.

"You are very popular," he said, "and it would be good for custom if you would look after our richer clients and their special guests, quite apart from increasing your own earnings. What you do is your own business, but many men will pay well to watch a girl masturbate, and even more if she obviously has a climax. Fucking is not allowed — this is not a brothel, and I don't want to fall foul of the law — and this also applies to blow jobs, but you may give a client manual relief."

It was at the club that she met Georgy. He was in town on business, and once the deal had been signed off after a week of hard negotiating, the CEO of the company suggested that a little celebration was in order. The CEO was a regular customer, and after Angie had danced for him and George, he suggested that she might like to take George back stage for a private dance — "It will be well worth your while," he said, "and will make it more likely that Sir George will put more business my way, rather than going to one of my competitors."

Georgy came back the following night, and again the next night, and at the end of her private show, he told her that he should have gone back to London, but that he just had to see her again. "I have a business proposition to put to you, so come to my hotel tomorrow at 7pm, and I'll treat you to a slap up meal and tell you what I have in mind."

Angie came home cock-a-hoop and woke me up to share her news. While I was licking her pussy she told me all the details of how she had come for Georgy three times before giving him a hand job — "You should see how hard he comes, I have never seen so much spunk, " she giggled. While we were cuddling after our mutual orgasms, she told me about his offer, and how hoped that he was going to offer her a job.

She didn't come back at all the following night, and it wasn't until after lectures the next day that I saw her again. "It's true," she almost shouted, "Georgy has offered me a job in London, and he is prepared to pay me ten times what I'm earning at the club. I almost bit his hand off when he asked me, and I signed the contract there and then. I'll be starting in two months time after the end of term, and I won't be coming back. I'll miss you dreadfully of course, but I will text you with my address, and you must come to see me."

"But why didn't you come home last night?" I asked, although I had a pretty good idea why.

"Oh, we celebrated the deal by fucking — several times that night, and again a couple of times this morning," she replied, "Georgy is magnificent, and his cock is so beautiful. He really knows how to give a girl a good time," and she sighed with the memory of her night of pleasure.

Angie never did text, and it wasn't until she came to live in the village that I found out what she had been doing for the last fifteen years. The job that Georgy offered her was as the senior hostess in a private club he was opening in London. He would bring important clients and politicians he wished to influence, and offer them a dining experience par excellence with the most expensive and rare wines, followed by a live sex show. He would tell the hostesses beforehand which of his guests he would like them to fuck, and for this purpose he had fitted out several bedrooms in truly opulent style — complete with closed circuit cameras linked to a central console where everything was recorded on a hard drive — "Just in case there are any misunderstandings," as he put it.

At the time Georgy was going through a rather messy divorce, but once he had received the Degree Absolute, he asked Angie to marry him. Three years ago he decided that he would like to offer an even more luxurious and erotic service, particularly to overseas clients, and knowing how popular the English Country House experience was, he was delighted when the Manor House came up for sale. Angie looks after everything to do with the girls, as well as entertaining really important clients herself.

So that is it in a nutshell, and Angie and Georgy have asked me to join the payroll as senior hostess, giving Angie more time to deal the entertainment and all the financial details.

I was utterly horrified by what I had heard, and I told Sandra that if she was determined to go through with it, I felt that we ought to go through a separation until she came to her senses.

"You really are an old fuddy duddy," she said, "and you are turning your back on the opportunity to make a lot of money. But if that is how you feel, I won't stand in your way — it's no skin off my nose, and it will mean more money for me, apart from amazing sex."

ooOoo

The splendid new village hall was completed six months later — whatever private views I may have had about him, Sir George was a very able business man and knew how to get things done. Invitations were sent out to all the villagers for the opening ceremony. Sir George had managed to cajole a celebrity actress well known for her cameo roles in all the soaps to come and cut the ribbon, and everything went down very smoothly to everyone's obvious enjoyment.

Along with other leading members of the community, I received a second invitation to a private party at the Manor House later that evening. I was dreading what might happen, but as chairman of the Parish Council, I could hardly refuse. The first part of the evening was unexceptional, and Sandra even deigned to come and sit with me for the dinner and after dinner speeches, although we were sleeping in separate bedrooms by then. I made a short speech of thanks to Sir George for his generosity and saying how the new village hall would benefit the community in ways we could not have imagined without his help. In his speech Sir George replied that it was an honour to be able to do his small bit for the village, and how welcome he and Lady Angela had been made to feel by the community. Then after he had proposed a toast to the community, he announced that following a comfort break there would be a small entertainment.

Ten minutes later there was a fanfare over the PA, and the main lights in the room dimmed. Sandra had slipped out during the interval, and I assumed that she was going to be playing a part in what to follow — I dreaded to think what that part was going to be, but in the end it was far worse than I had imagined.

There was a small stage at the end of the room, lit by a single spotlight, and Sir George appeared through the curtains, dressed now in what he obviously imagined a mediaeval Lord of the Manor might have worn.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "the following entertainment will be a celebration of female beauty and the delights of love. So make yourselves comfortable and be prepared to be carried to new heights of pleasure and delight."

With that, he clapped his hands and the curtains opened on a scene of nubile maidens dressed as shepherdesses sitting around a woodland pool enjoying a picnic. A man dressed as a faun entered from the wings, and to music that I recognised as Debussy's L'apres midi d'un faune, started to caper around, weaving in and out of the girls and touching them on their breasts as he danced. When each girl was touched, as if entranced, she stood up and started to slowly remove her clothes until she was completely naked. The tableau ended with the faun lying with his head in the lap of one of the maidens being caressed and petted by the others.

The curtains closed to wild applause, and when they opened again the scene was of a room in a castle, with George and Lady Angela sitting on thrones to one side of the stage. A tall man who I immediately recognised as Jake, then entered from the other side of the stage, dressed only in tight leather breeches and carrying a whip, leading a line of girls in chains, wearing long flimsy skirts of a gauzy material but who were otherwise naked. The first girl in the line was Sandra, and a gasp went up from the audience as soon as they recognised her.

Jake, who was obviously acting the part of the slave master, then announced in a stentorian voice, that each of these lovely ladies was highly skilled in the arts of pleasure, and that the highest bidder for their services would be able to take them home for the night to enjoy as he or she wished. Before he could start the bidding process, Sir George interrupted him, "I think you need to show us more of their charms before we part with any money. Start with the first one."

Jake nodded his assent, and turning to Sandra, pulled her roughly to the front of the stage. "Take off your skirt," he commanded, "and show us what you have on offer."

Sandra complied with his order, and stood there completely naked to our view.

"Open your legs so that we can see better," he shouted, and when she did, he slowly stroked the inside of her thighs with the butt end of his whip before rubbing it between the lips of her pussy, making her writhe and moan.