Happy

'Come home, I'm going to make you really happy.'

She announced it over the phone when he was at work. This announcement was made with a defined flourish. He caught the familiar tone of it over the phone. It was that same one she used when she was winning a game. 'Settlers' 'Puerto Rico' those games of his she professed to hate but won all the same, biding her time quietly and then with a flurry of dominating arm movements, a smile, and triumphant snapping down of cards or pieces it was over; It was the same tone heard when she won in court, having steered and controlled proceedings to just that point, and then the sudden expanse of her presence and the trap closing, a flurry of urgent client instruction and discussion of a point of law, and the end of the trial.

They'd been busy lately. Both of them independently, he had been away on trainings with the martial arts school, she had had that work thing she had to go on, that late night and he hadn't seen her, she hadn't seen him, and then the quiet confidence he had in her presence had become strained.

Where do those shadows creep in from? With her they were always there on the side lines. Her enigmatic cat smile, with sparks dancing dangerously in her eyes. The games she played that he'd watch, knowing there was something happening, but what? Before she explained her moves, her scheme. Things that were so obvious when she pointed them out, which had slipped beneath his vision.

Those moments when she'd flop against him tired by her day. When she was just there, by his side. 'I find you so restful, Ben.' She'd say, and he knew she meant it. He knew that he offered her something simpler, something calm away from the twists of her own fierce mind, from the job, from all of it. He was straight and honest with her because, somewhere deep down, it was what she craved and what she needed. Even up and coming corporate barristers need their easy days and they had them together.

And their sex life... He'd laughed and told her not to bring her work home with her, and she'd made him lick her while she wore her wig and gown. She loved his tongue, shamelessly opening herself for him, pushing his head down between her legs. She was like few of his other lovers in this regard. There was none of that vague anxiety about opening that part to the scrutiny of another, that shy vulnerability. There was simply a greed for sensual pleasure in her, a simple drive behind all that complexity that was almost disarming in its strength. She was thickset with a power and sensuality in her body that was a tool and a reflection of her. Her long blond hair and her large breasts were something she both transcended and embodied.

She rode him, was open for him. They made love and sometimes, more recently, they had explored something darker. She was the instigator, of course.

'I wish to piss in your mouth, Ben.'

She had said evenly as the flames of arousal flared between them,

'I've always wanted to do that.'

And they'd gone to the bathroom and fumbled in the bath so that she could, he laughing with a slight awkward emptiness as he humoured her, and then she did it, crouching animalistically high above him her feet on the sides of the bath. He watched her anus twitching and then she'd pissed over his face and filled his mouth and covered his face and hair almost violently with her hot, salty jet.

'Swallow it.'

And he had, actively ashamed now. He could hear her arousal.

'Now lick the drops from me. I want you to use your tongue as toilet paper. Get me clean again.'

And again he had, arching his neck up from the puddle of cooling urine, and licking her clean. And she'd told him to shower it off and come through, and she'd fucked him saying

'I can't believe you did that, you dirty boy.'

Perhaps in admiration more at her own daring than his. These things he would always remember that marked a spiral to a place. Her referring to him as "her" calling him a "good girl," making him wear her pants.

And then that subtle distance had opened between them, which he saw in moments of dark honesty. That behind their being busy was something else, some gyre in their relationship that had roiled up from the depths and was suddenly there, but perhaps had been there all along.

And this, the suddenness of her voice on the phone at work was part of it.

She still cared though, he could hear that. She was going to make him happy.

He was home early, as she'd asked. Work wanted him to stay, but he pleaded a headache and left distantly guilty, but buzzing with a low thrum of excitement which followed him separating him from the everyday of the tube journey, the walk home. He stopped in Sainsburys to get her some flowers.

It had been a while, perhaps too long, was that it? Had he been the distant one? He exited onto the street with that faint unease of any man carrying flowers in public. Was he trying to have sex, in love or just guilty? He was visibly one of these things and it forced him out of that masculine armour of anonymity into a declaration of passion of some kind. She liked it when he bought her flowers, but at least part of it was his walking through the streets with them, she'd told him.

The bright blooms bobbed in the grey. The curtains twitched excitedly, and his phone pinged as he reached the driveway: a text.

"There's a mask in the porch. I'd like you to slip it on. Feel your way in, shut the door and strip in the hallway."

He found the black silk mask on the small shelf above the shoes. He opened the front door and a crack and slipped it over his eyes. He could see a little under it, but in the spirit of the game stared forward into the silk blackness.

The door swung open and he could feel a wave of warmth and the carpet under his feet. The latch clicked behind him. The flowers were rustlingly removed with a little coo of pleasure.

'Clothes off, Ben.'

He heard the rich-girl-estuary chime of her voice... on the stairs maybe. He tried to place her.

He removed his shirt, shoes, his pants dropped to the floor and he was naked and standing in the darkness in front of her. He stood waiting, hand on hip, sure of himself in the face or a risng sense of his own vulnerability. Then he felt her hand snake round his arm and draw him towards her. She guided him under her skirt.

'Can you feel me, Ben? Can you feel how I feel under your hand.'

She felt warm, engorged, he slid his hand around the side of her knickers into the moisture. She moved against his fingers.

'It's nice isn't it? Would you like to be inside there, Ben? Within these walls? Would you like me to hold you there, squeeze and coil around your shaft, find that perfect place where your head is rubbing against just the right spot and swelling to fill me more?'

He grunted by way of reply his erection brushing against the top of her thigh. She was wearing suspenders. He pushed her lightly back against the wall and lifted her skirt high and pulling her pants to one side with his hands.

'Dinner first, Ben, then a nice deep fuck.'

She said suddenly playfully cool and abrupt and pulled away from him.

She led him into the lounge and over to the dinner table and pulled a chair up for him. He felt the fabric beneath his bare buttocks. He could hear her cutting up something on his plate, the rustle of her clothes.

'Drink this please, Ben.'

She handed him a cup of liquid. Cherryade, his favourite drink when he was a kid. When had he last had that?

'Your mum told me how much you loved cherryade. Did you know that? I thought that would be appropriate really. The comfort of childhood. It's all so much simpler when you're a kid, isn't it?'

She was cutting up his food for him. A fork with meat on it appeared abruptly brushing his mouth.

'Are you hungry? One for the king.'

He opened his lips and enveloped the piece of meat, sensually.

'Oh, good boy.'

She praised him. Another mouthful rose to his lips. He took it. Chewed it slowly. She sat. He heard her cutting up food, raise a glass to her lips, swallow.

'All your decisions are made for you. You're just strapped in and on the ride... Oh I forgot, would you like some nice, grown-up wine. The cherryade will have dented your pallet a little, but this is very good.'

He heard a bottle pouring, then the cold rim of a wine glass pressed to his mouth. He brought his hand up to hold it.

'No let me.'

He slurped and sipped at the wine, she angled the glass away from him playfully.

'Reach out with your tongue, Ben, lap it up.'

He slid his tongue down the inside of the glass, the hardness against the softness. He touched the savoury surface of the wine. She tilted the glass back and some went into his mouth and some down his chin. She mopped his face with a tea towel.

'Thats enough wine, have something to eat.'

A fork full of meat was proffered, he caught sight of it beneath the mask.

'Open your mouth.'

He opened and the fork went in. He chewed it. The meat was delicious, expensive.

'Sirloin.' She said, apparently reading his mind. 'It's a special occasion. More?'

He nodded and another fork full of meat was placed in his open mouth.

'Your mother always loved you for your sensitivity, and how you wanted to please her. You were apparently a solicitous child, even through puberty. You loved your mum. Isn't that so nice?'

He felt confused by her warm revelatory tone. There was a point to this.

'Did you know she always wanted a girl? I think that's fascinating, considering the way you've turned out. And did you know that she was serially unfaithful to you your father?'

His face must have betrayed him, he had a flash of the connection of two generations of women in the kitchen lat Christmas, the warmth in his mothers tone when discussing Vanessa.

'Ah perhaps not. We got on well, your controlling mother and I, I'll miss her.'

The evening, this game, and his enquiring arousal suddenly pitched beneath him. What did she mean?

'So obviously we need to talk. That's how you usually start these sorts of things, isn't it? It's a prelude to not talking anymore and I really don't want that. I want whats best for you, and us.'

'But Ness, I... er...'

She put a finger to his lips, it smelt of meat and perhaps her juices. He felt the urge to lick the salt from it. She held it there and he kissed it and extended his tongue out to taste it. She leaned in, he could smell her perfume, the warmth from her breasts. He tried to kiss her, probing blindly towards her face, but she muttered 'No,' then more distantly and sadly 'No'. She reached forwards and lifted the mask. There was light. He was at the dinner table there were plates a bottle, Ness looking amazing, and there was a long, flesh-coloured dildo proudly erect, sitting on its wide base in the middle of the table.

'You really do have such a lovely, soft, gentle face, Ben. I've always liked that about you. And such a sensual mouth. There's so much to like... So much' She tailed off wistfully.

They both stared at the dildo.

'What's that Ness?' He tried to recover the ground again. She was grinning, those sparks dancing in her eyes.

'This?' she was laughing at him, 'It's quite a thing isn't it? Here feel it.'

She picked it up and passed it to him.

'More wine?' pouring herself some and then pouring him one. 'Not too much though, not tonight.'

The dildo was heavier than he'd expected. It had the heft and weight of a murder weapon, it made him think of the battering-with-a-dildo scene in Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. He ran his fingers up it, feeling the ridge of the glans, the veins.

It was about eight inches long and thick, close to the thickness of a small wine glass.

'I mean can you imagine sliding that into you.'

She leaned and looked him in the eyes and with an unwavering glance.

'Well can you?'

She repeated then smiled enigmatically at his sudden, flustered embarrassment.

It was quite a fascinating object. The head was very large, swollen beyond the size of the shaft.

It looked quite realistic, almost like the real thing jutting proudly up through the dinner table.

'As something of a connoisseur of these things, I can tell you this is cast from a very beautiful penis.'

"Cast" yes, perhaps all realistic dildoes had an original, this must be modelled on an original cock. I mean, perhaps you could sculpt one, but why not just copy from the real thing. He'd never wondered this.

'This is the sort of thing that's just the right size. Not too large as to be limiting, but filling... Now look at the angle of the shaft, it might just catch a girl with that lovely head, right where she needs it most, then the shaft will be pushed up against her clitoris, depending on the entry position. If you were feeling adventurous and it's owner was particularly gentle you could fit this into your arse quite nicely. You'd be quite stretched, you'd walk differently the next day, but it'd be a nice fit, if you were ready for it.

I always feel that anal sex is such a gentle kind of sex, don't you, Ben? There's such trust and intimacy about that kind of penetration. Really laying yourself bare. The moment that head gets past the sphincter and it slides in implausibly deeper and deeper. Do you fancy that, Ben? Would you like me to slide this up inside you?'

She stared probingly at him and then smiled a tiny, wicked, confident smile.

'I think you would.'

He felt suddenly strangely disorientated, his skin tingling lightly and a rush of adrenaline climbing his spine. The light had changed. The dildo in his hand felt suddenly more exciting, everything did. He felt strangely breathless and light. He wanted to kiss Vanessa, suddenly very badly.

'Are you ok, Ben?'

Her voice had a suppressed sing-song tone now.

'I should mention that there was a fairly strong dose of MDMA in the cherryade, and a little 2CB, I imagine you'll be starting to feel that about now. The steak will slow it down a bit, but we'd better press on with this. So come and sit on the sofa, bring the cock.'

Vanessa took his hand across the table and lead him over to the sofa. The carpet felt suddenly soft and inviting. Excitement ran through his chest like a flock of birds.

She patted the sofa and he sat down, his naked thigh pressed against her. He leaned to kiss her, dropping the cock behind him, but she pushed him back.

'No, Ben, we need to talk, and that isn't talking.'

She reached down to his lap and started to massage his member, bringing him to tumescence. He was uncertain, the ecstasy was making it more difficult, the energy rushing up to his head. Vanessa leaned down to his lap and ran her tongue around the head of his penis, then he was in her mouth, enveloped in her warmth. He stiffened in the cavern between her lips, became twitchingly erect. The tingling rushes running up his spine intensified.

'Now this is the elephant in the room.'

She said, unwelcomely rising from his lap, his cock now throbbing in empty air, her saliva cooling on it.

'This,' she waved the rubber cock in his face for emphasis. 'And not this' She gestured down at him disparagingly.

'I mean don't get me wrong, Ben, you are an adequate lover. Perhaps for a girl of appropriate size who's more about the 'emotional connection' side of things, you could be just fine. Now look at me, Ben'

She stood up. He looked down, confused, angry, the ecstasy twisting uncertainly beneath him now, panicky hurt building.

'No look.'

She leaned forwards and held his chin drawing his face up to look into her eyes.

'Do you see the problem? I'm simply not that kind of a girl, am I?'

Holding his gaze, she stepped back. He could see her body, it's fullness, the richness of it. The breadth of her hips, her breasts, the shapely strength of her legs, her long blond hair tumbling over her shoulders. She was beautiful, in the buzzing light of the ecstasy, he loved her, felt his heart stretching open.

'Am I?'

'No Ness.'

He wanted to placate her but knew it was almost certainly too late. The cards and pieces were snapping down. They were at the end of discussion of a complex point of law.

'I want you to understand me better, understand what it is that I want, what it's like to be me. And firstly you need to understand that this,' she waved the dildo for emphasis, 'is what I want, and you lack. You can see that, can't you. I just want you to understand me. Is that too difficult? And I know that you want to. I need filling. I need that feeling of challenge and something big to hold onto.

It turns out that I'm actually something of a size queen which is obviously something I couldn't share with you.' She looked down at his erect cock. 'You can see this thing is more me, can't you? Please try, and try not to be sad. It's not just about size either. Honestly, Ben, I'm not that shallow. It's about the confidence that comes with that size. I like sizeable men, I like the way they move through the world. I like the way they are and what they do. And I love it when they use that confidence to come on to me and fuck me.'

She kissed him on his lips, like the warm sun in this sudden winter between them.

'Put the mask back on, Ben, we're going to another room now.'

He slipped mask back over his eyes, back into the silken darkness, back into the steps of journey she knew and he did not. The drugs were becoming stronger now. His jaw was starting to tighten involuntarily, How much had she given him? And it was becoming more hallucinatory. He saw clowns, a dog. He thought of the dildo, and felt a rising sense of doubt reach up and grab him around the heart. In tune with him, her warm hand fumbled and suddenly gripped his penis leading him by it and he was snapped away from the doubt back into a rushing pit of excitement. They were going somewhere, he was carried by the trajectory again, the carpet felt thick and creamy under his bare feet.

'Stop here.' She said. 'Now, I'd like you to lift your right leg.'

He lifted his foot a little off the ground steadying himself on the cool of a wall.

'Now your left.'

Something soft slid over his ankle. She slid the pants up his legs. More cool, he felt held now, his cock rubbing lightly against silk. It matched the blindfold.

'I'll bet they feel nice. It's amazing what a good pair of pants can do for one. You rubbing against them's going to feel lovely. You'll feel like a girl in them, won't you, Ben. If you are 'Ben' by then and not something a little... different.'

She stroked him through the material. Then pulled him by the waist band, drawing the pants between his moving buttocks. They entered the spare room. She steered him carefully around some unseen objects and led him to a chair. It was not one he recognised. It had a hard wooden seat. They didn't have chairs with a hard seat. The wood felt little cold and unforgiving beneath his buttocks, it was cold against his back. He heard the stretch-scream of duct tape being unrolled. A loop was thrown round his ankle pulling his leg back and taping him to the chair leg.

He wasn't sure now... He thought perhaps he didn't want this, objections were rising and the waves of rushing and hallucinatory colour became more menacing Another ankle was being taped. Vanessa, suddenly strong and determined, grabbed his arm and pushed it down to onto the arm of the chair and taped it flat. He was almost immobile in the silk darkness of the pants and the blindfold. He struggled weakly with his remaining arm, but he had lost.

'Ben... Ben,' Her lips were by his ear now. 'Yield.' She said softly, but firmly.

He relaxed the arm tentatively and felt the rising panic drop into resignation Vanessa pinned and held down his other arm, her face close to his. 'Now Ben, or whatever you are now, I want you to consent to this'