Maddie and the Summer of Seven

This story is set in the summer of 2015 and told as if in retrospect by selected participants from the cast. I need to make it clear it is wholly my own work and it is a work of fiction. In telling it I was influenced by the structure of nineteenth century serial fiction such as The Woman in White. I hope the multiple account approach is compelling. I welcome comments.

*****

April 2016.

Steve begins the story...

On my desk in my home office is a photograph of my wife. Her name is Maddie and she's 34. Everyone I know thinks Maddie is stunningly beautiful and I certainly wouldn't disagree with that. She stands 5' 5" with long dark hair and sapphire blue eyes that captive you the moment you catch her gaze. There is an intensity about Maddie's beauty that is momentarily unnerving, but she is so warm and welcoming, not to mention tactile, that you soon overcome your nervousness in talking to such an unattainably beautiful woman, and talking to her seems natural after a while. That's how it was for me at least, when we first met. It was on a company team-building exercise and I was put in charge of her group for a mix up task that involved two separate companies, Maddie's and my own, combining to achieve a common purpose. In our case the aim was to get a six-person team across a river in Wales using only rope and four planks. One person in the team had to be completely immobile throughout their crossing, and for us that person happened to be Maddie. I had seen this sort of thing before in navy training, and I knew I could get the team working together if I hit the right balance between coming across to the team members as authoritative and appearing open. Either I managed that really well or the rest of the group were clueless, but either way I ended up taking charge. We did well and won the task easily. It gave us all something to talk about in the bar later that night, and Maddie and I fell into easy conversation which led to my asking her out on a date.

She was seeing someone else; a guy called Clive who worked at the same firm but in a different department. However, to my surprise she agreed to meet me for a date. In fact we met for several over the next few weeks. If I had any scruples about dating another man's girlfriend behind his back, they disappeared after our first kiss - which occurred on about our third date and which hit me like an electric charge. We went back to my place and had animal-like sex until dawn when, utterly exhausted but exhilarated, we went to work still bathed in each other's sweat and passion.

After she finally broke up with Clive, about a month later, she moved in with me and a year later we were married. I was 32. Maddie was 28. She didn't ever say too much about Clive but I gathered that they did a lot of sub-dom stuff which I'm not really into. She did tell me once that she loved to be dominated, and once or twice we played a few roles out where she did everything I commanded - which she evidently really got off on, but after a while I went back to my usual path. I'm no actor, and I liked her to take the lead a few times too. For her birthdays I do the ordering around stuff which she loves, but apart from that we have a fairly conventional sex life.

Back to that photograph. The thing that strikes most people when they see it is Maddie is almost naked. It's a bit of a joke with us. She is actually wearing a perfectly legitimate black two-piece swim suit, but we had both laughed when we took it out of the box after ordering it online from an Australian beach wear company called Black Dolphin. For a start it's made of silk with some sort of waterproof lining that's gossamer thin. It also has lacy frills to it. If it wasn't for the tiny dolphin icon, you'd think it was lingerie. It even has a thin strip of translucent flesh-coloured silk across the crotch - as if to simulate crotchless panties. The back of the bottom piece is so thin it might as well not be there. It disappears up Maddie's crack, so all you see is almost bare arse when she wears it. The front is thin too, and she will only ever wear it if she's fresh from a visit to the spa. Maddie has a Brazilian shave every couple of weeks there. The guy who does it is the best in the business. There's never any soreness or redness and he leaves her smooth as silk. I'm sure he has immense job satisfaction. Imagine getting paid to shave beautiful women's pussies all day! Maddie says he's discreet, but I can't believe he can resist the odd stray finger incident. Who could blame him? Long ago I decided to adopt a "Vegas" attitude to Maddie's spa trips. What goes on there stays there. I know Maddie looks forward to her visits there, and she always come back glowing and goes straight up to take a long hot bath. As for me, I get a nice smooth shaved pussy to enjoy for the next few days. It's the definitive win-win.

The Black Dolphin bikini bottom demands a smooth shave because any pubic hair would show either side of the thin strip of silk that serves as cover for the wearer's crotch. It's barely legal, yet we had ordered it in all innocence and, as I said, we had to laugh when she took it out of the packaging. The top piece is barely any better. Maddie's a 34C, and the cups on this thing barely keep anything covered. They show Maddie's cleavage to maximum advantage. As it happens, I'm more of a legs man myself, and Maddie is blessed in that department too. She has long, smooth, tanned legs that drive me wild when she hooks them around my butt while we're fucking. She's so strong she can hold me inside her even if I'm trying to get off. I'm not complaining, of course.

Time to cut to the main point of this story. The most unusual thing about the photo is I'm not in it. In fact, I was the one who took it. In the photo are two other guys. One is sitting on the end of the sun lounger staring into the camera. The other has his arm around Maddie and his fingers are across her navel. Because I haven't ever really looked at the photo properly I've only noticed tonight that her arm is around his waist too. You can see the ends of her fingers as they appear on his waist at the left-hand-side. I had never noticed that before tonight and seeing it for the first time got me wondering.

Maddie had thrown a silk beach robe over her that afternoon to cover herself up a little. It was a company barbecue I was hosting and my bosses and other important folks were going to be there, so it probably wasn't the occasion to have my stunning wife walking around almost naked but for two ounces of silk. In the photo I can see the guy has his arm around her waist underneath the beach robe. He's holding her tightly and she's leaning into him. When I first started looking at this picture about an hour ago I found myself thinking back to that afternoon in the summer last year...

We almost never use our old Nikon D40 as we take all our photos with our phones these days, but I remembered having left the camera out on the day of our pool party so anyone could pick it up and snap some impromptu shots with it. I went over and got it out of its box. I had hardly used it since that party and scrolling through the card I quickly found the range of photos from that day - July 18, 2015. I had invited some of the student interns from our company to the party. We have a regular party season at work and we take it in turns to host each week. This party last July had been the first of seven that summer, and Maddie had been to all but one of them with me. Although I had suggested she wear the Black Dolphin bikini for the party we were hosting, I had been joking. She had taken me seriously, though and by the time I saw what she was wearing - having been preoccupied with finding a replacement gas canister for the barbecue, the first guests were already knocking at the door and there wasn't time to tell her I'd been joking and get her to change into something a little more modest. Maddie had thrown on that beach robe, but it was still several degrees more revealing than intended, and it wasn't until the first guests started jumping into the pool that Maddie felt she could throw off the robe and join in with the water-splashing and swimming that accompanied the afternoon's eating and drinking.

I remembered all this as I scrolled through the snaps. There was one of my boss boring his wife and everyone around him with more stories from his recent fishing trip. There was Malcolm from marketing getting steadily more and more drunk (he'd eventually passed out in the guest bedroom and I'd had to drive him home). And there was the one of Maddie. The guy with his arm around her was Pete. He was nineteen or twenty, in his first year at university and on summer secondment to us while he learned about online marketing. I remembered talking to him about sports and inviting him to play squash at lunchtimes. We had been evenly matched and I enjoyed that daily workout. There was another picture of him talking to Maddie earlier on at the party. And another of them later on. And another. And another. Clearly, they had enjoyed their chat, and whoever had been taking the pictures had certainly framed Maddie well. There was one more posed shot of the two of them. I had to look twice but it was clear as day. Pete had his hand on Maddie's butt and they were both laughing at the picture taker. I recalled that the strip of silk that formed the back of the bikini bottom almost disappeared completely up her crack, so Pete's hand was effectively stroking her bare arse in this shot! I wasn't sure I liked that at all. The last picture on the scroll was of three women in sales that I didn't know too well. But in the background there was Maddie again, sitting on Pete's lap on a sun lounger by the spa pool and talking to someone else from what I assumed was one of our associate companies. In the photo the other guy is standing in front of Maddie and taking a picture of her with his phone. Pete is sitting behind her in his swim shorts. His hands are on Maddie's waist and her bare feet are resting on his.

I was aware, looking at this particular picture, that I had an erection growing. The pose Pete and Maddie were in in the photo was one of Maddie's favourite sex positions. She loves to sit on my lap and grind her groin into me while I thrust up into her. She has been known to shriek the house down when we get the angle right. Looking at her sitting in exactly the same pose on Pete's lap reminded me of the last time we had done that - about two weeks before while watching an adult film on Channel 4. I put the camera back in the box and went to the bathroom to jack off.

June 2016

Maddie takes up the sory

In my desk at work I have something unusual. It's a dog collar made of black leather. What's unusual about it is the only creature ever to have worn it is me.

I'm Maddie. I'm 34 and I am commonly thought extremely attractive. I won't deny that I am aware of that but I hope it alone doesn't define me. It's important to me that my work is seen as valued in its own right, and not because the person who created it happens to be easy on the eye. My husband is Steve and I intend to remain married to him. But I have a past Steve knows nothing of. A recent past and a distant past. The two are connected but there was a very long gap between the end of one and the beginnings of the next. The collar is in some ways part of the connection between them.

In some ways I think Steve largely rescued me from the effects of the distant past, but it haunts me still, and some occasions bring it back with a vividness that can be unnerving. Its origins are probably deep and rooted in my early life experiences, as these things often are. I had a happy childhood but the happiness was darkened by my parents' divorce when I was eighteen, around the end of my first year at university. Aside from the emotional toll this event took on my family and me, I was suddenly in desperate need of money since my father, who had funded me throughout that first term, cut off all ties with my mother and me and I wondered if I could carry on with my studies at all. In desperation, and after exhausting more alternatives than I care to list here, I accepted the offer of help from an older man (quite a bit older, in fact) whom I met online on one of those sugar daddy websites. Back in the early noughties when all this took place these websites weren't as sophisticated as they are now, and the website was really just a virtual meeting place where people arranged hook-ups in real life so they could take their relationship on to the next level or decide it wasn't going to go anywhere. In my case Mr. Knightley, as I always had to call him, proved to be an avuncular man who, while he certainly had strange tastes and some fairly demanding expectations of me, was ready to stump up the cash for clothes, books and other necessities in exchange for monthly dinner dates and a few extras. Mr. Knightley made it clear on our first date that when I met him I was never to be wearing panties. He would often buy me the clothes he wanted me to wear at our next date the following month, and I soon realised he simply enjoyed having dinner with a nineteen-year-old girl (as I was then) knowing that she was naked underneath the dress he had bought her and that he had ordered her to wear.

Occasionally, having driven me home, Mr. Knightley would stop in a dark street and ask me to lift my skirt. He would stroke my legs and look at my pussy, but he never once touched it or demanded sex. The most I ever had to do was masturbate in front of him. This happened only once - towards the end of our relationship. It was a rainy Sunday afternoon and he had called me out of the blue and demanded I come to him. I had to get a bus to his house because for some reason he refused to collect me in his Jaguar as he usually did. When I got there he ordered me to strip completely while I was still standing there on the doorstep. I did so, and then stood there completely naked in the rain for a few minutes while eyed me up and down. Then he tied a collar around my neck - the very one I have in my drawer at work. He fastened a long lead to the collar and ordered me to get on all fours and walk like a dog into his living room. I was aware of a new feeling sweeping over me as he tied the collar around my neck and put the lead on. He ordered me to lie on the rug by the fire and masturbate for him. This I did - still wearing the collar. While I did so he barked out orders at me like "Faster" and "Now squeeze your tits!"

That afternoon was the only time in our eighteen-month relationship that I came. It took me years to realise it was his ordering me about, rather than my own fingers, that had produced that reaction in me. I was getting my kicks from my own subservience. That set the pattern for a lifetime of sexual behaviour, and I've sometimes wondered if Mr. Knightley (whose obituary I read in the newspapers only a few months ago - heart attack at the age of 83) caused that, or whether he simply revealed to me something that was already a part of my psyche.

When I met Steve I was dating a guy called Clive. Clive was a complete Neanderthal. He was uneducated, coarse and completely lacking in any redeeming features. Except one. He recognised in me the need I had fought for years to overcome before I found the answer lay in accepting it was part of who I am, and not to fight it. That need was, of course, to be dominated. The need doesn't pervade all aspects of my life. For example, I don't feel the need to be dominated in my everyday work; I run a small design team in a successful company and I like to think I'm a good and understanding team leader. But in the bedroom I have learned that my body reacts in a powerful way when I am submissive. When a man asserts himself over me in a sexual way I go weak at the knees. Tied up, spanked, collared or walked with a leash, I've been known to dissolve into a mess of ecstasy. Clive recognised that even during the first drunken post-party fuck we found ourselves in one night after a friend's leaving do at a night club.

We had been flirting in the club but it was in the taxi that things suddenly accelerated. We kissed and groped each other and put on quite a show for the taxi driver who, I assume, watched us in the rear-view mirror. Clive was fingering me to a near climax before we even got to the little terraced house I had bought and was living in. He paid the taxi and walked me to my door. Instead of me leading him inside, he dragged me almost off my feet and up the stairs. There was only one bedroom and he pushed me into it and onto the bed. He stripped me completely naked and started calling me his bitch. I started to moan with desire and he must have recognised that domination would light my fire because for the next three hours he took complete control - and took me as close to heaven as any girl need go. I must have come a dozen times. He bent me over his knee and spanked me, put a collar around my neck (fashioned out of a pashmina of mine he found in my wardrobe), and squeezed it around my neck before guiding my mouth to his erect cock and making me gag on it as he face fucked me. Finally he tied me to the bed spreadeagled and subjected me to a thirty minute fucking marathon that drove me insane with ecstasy. I was utterly exhausted by the time he finally spurted what felt like a pint of warm cum into my red raw swollen pussy. Then he got up, took out his phone, took some photos of me lying there with his cum dripping out of my cunt, and finally untied me.

He left a few minutes later but within a few days I received a text from him with the pictures. I was at work and the sight of them was hypnotic. I found my crotch moistening as I scrolled through them, and I knew I needed a repeat dose. He was a million light years from my type, and we had absolutely nothing in common. But he represented the sex drug my pussy told me I needed. I texted him back and that night we did a repeat performance, only this time he stayed with me and we woke up together and fucked again before taking separate routes to work.

Clive and I were solely fuck buddies. When Steve came along I recognised in him a soul mate with whom I could be a more complete me. But it took me a while to make the leap. I had three or four sessions with Clive while I was seeing Steve just to ease the pain of separating from my drug. Steve is a good fuck. He's a wonderful man and I love him dearly. But Clive set me alight. Sometimes, for sanity's sake, you need to forget the IQ difference and simply enjoy the ride. After we got married I burned everything that reminded me of Clive. There wasn't much, to be honest. Two birthday cards, a hand written note he'd enclosed with some BDSM stuff he'd bought me on Valentine's Day and six pairs of panties. They all went up in flames. I was determined to be a faithful wife.

Last July Steve hosted a party at our house. It was a company barbecue - the first of seven weekly get togethers the team was hosting at different people's houses through the summer. It was a lovely day - 86 degrees and clear blue skies. It was perfect for a poolside party and Steve demanded I wear my swimsuit. I loved the thrill that went through me when Steve asserted himself. It was like the dominant Steve I can sometimes see in the best of our lovemaking, and I duly complied with his demand - even though the bikini in question was extremely revealing. Steve was busy with the barbecue when I came down to show him but he certainly noticed how much flesh I was showing, and his eyes were a picture. I ran to get the door as our first guests were arriving. I threw on my beach robe that happened to be lying on one of the sun loungers and prepared to greet everyone and help Steve make that all-important good impression.

The party was a great success. I was careful to be the perfect hostess and I made sure everyone's drinks were topped up. Steve had told me to especially nice to the new boys at the company. They were Pete and Daniel. They were a lot younger than the others. I think they were actually still at university but Steve's company do a lot of intern opportunities so this wasn't particularly unusual. The thing that struck me was how much Pete reminded me of Clive. His voice was the same, his beard was the same, his general build was the same. If he'd been twenty years older, he could have passed for Clive. I even loved it when he told me to get him a fresh beer. He didn't say please. He seemed so confident. A bit chauvinist, perhaps, but assertive and mature. I gave him his beer and he took it from me without saying thank you. I took the opportunity to look him up and down. He was wearing speedo swim shorts and he had a leather necklace with a little silver dolphin dangling from it. It rested against his collar bone and danced on his chest when he laughed - which he did a lot, usually at his own jokes.