Ashfield Adventure Pt 03

Part Three. The Circle

As the week wore on, Angela, and me too, I suppose, began to get nervous. Friday night was looming up on the horizon, with all the uncertainty and apprehension that came with it. By Thursday evening she was a mess. I sat cuddling her, trying to support her, but only she knew really, how hard it was.

"I'm excited to see what will happen," she whispered, "but I'm terrified, too. It's like the angel and devil sitting on your shoulder, whispering in your ears, one wanting you to be good, the other telling you to be bad. And the bad guy is always stronger. One minute I can hardly move with fear, then the next, I'm wet between the legs in anticipation of what I might be made to do."

There was little I could do to calm her anxiety, other than hold her and be as loving as possible. I kept reminding her that we weren't in control of this aspect of our lives, that whatever happened wasn't really our fault. That it was OK to give herself up to her subconscious carnal urges. Eventually she became a little calmer and less uptight, but I know she slept badly that night.

The following morning we spoke again before I left for work. Her mood had changed overnight. She was still nervous, but now she was much more eager for the evening to come.

"To be honest," she admitted, "I can't wait to find out what he'll do to me this time."

All that day at work she was constantly on my mind. But whilst I was concerned for her wellbeing, I was also quivering with anticipation at the thought of what I might get to see. We all have that angel and devil on our shoulders, I guess. The day dragged and I was constantly checking the clock for home time.

When I arrived home that evening I found her in a surprisingly calm state of mind. I asked how she was feeling and she replied,

"I'm OK. I'm up for it, whatever happens. I just hope I please him, that's all, and you too."

"You always please me. You know that." We kissed, tenderly.

"I didn't bother cooking," she said. "I thought neither of us would have any appetite." I grunted in agreement. The thought of food hadn't crossed my mind. She drew a deep breath.

"Well, I'd best go upstairs and get showered and what not. I've left my outfit for the evening over there on the table."

I looked across at the meagre ensemble on the table and had to fight down a fresh surge of anxiety, rising in the pit of my stomach. In a couple of hour's time I was going to have to escort her next door, dressed only in that. A flimsy dress, a belt and a scrunchie for her hair. Wow!

She was upstairs an hour, I guess, getting prepared. I could hear the toilet flushing and the shower water running for a good while, then her footsteps walking about in the bedroom and bathroom. Finally the toilet flushed again and she came down, wrapped in her fleecy dressing gown, carrying her hairdryer and hairbrush.

"Would you give me a hand to dry my hair?" she asked coyly.

I sat her on a dining chair, plugged in the hairdryer and proceeded to blow-dry her long tresses. She smelled wonderful. I kept running my fingers through the fine locks, to help the hot air penetrate, but it still took a good twenty minutes before I was satisfied that it was properly dry. Then I took up the brush and brushed it until every knot and tangle was gone. When I'd finished, her hair shone like silk.

"There" I said at last. You're done. I guess we'd better get you dressed now, eh?" She nodded, without speaking. I motioned for her to get up, and moved the chair aside.

"Er." I stopped and cleared my throat. "Are you going to take the dressing gown off?" I suggested, with some trepidation. She sighed, then, in silent embarrassment, untied the belt and slipped the garment off. And there she was, naked once again. I must have seen her in the nude more over the past week than I had for the past year. She'd always been a coy dresser.

I held out the sheer, white, tabard-like, chiffon dress; arranging it on her shoulders as she placed her head into the central, lozenge-shaped hole. It hung down in front and behind, hanging open along the sides. I carefully adjusted the hem height, before taking up the braided cord and passing it twice around her waist, as Brian had demonstrated, and tied it neatly in a bow by the hip.

Her long hair was secured into a pony tail with the elasticated, white chiffon scrunchie. Then I stood back and admired my work critically. I made a couple of adjustments, until I was satisfied. She needed to be perfect.

The dress hid nothing. All that she possessed could clearly be seen beneath the fine, sheer chiffon. Her naked thighs and buttocks were exposed at the sides and her lovely breasts showed more cleavage than her mother would have liked. I passed the white leather sandals and she sat to put them on, then stood and said, decisively,

"I need to see myself in the mirror". She disappeared up to the bedroom where we had a wardrobe with mirrored doors. While she was gone I got myself ready, stripping off my everyday clothes and donning the simple green robe and sandals that constituted my minion's uniform. I felt awkward and very aware of my genitals dangling freely below the coarse material. It was not a sensation I was much used to. I sat in an easy chair and waited, until she reappeared ten minutes or so later.

"Well. I couldn't have worn this to my school leaver's ball" she declared, with a nervous giggle. "I'm so scared to show myself like this, but I've never felt so sexy in my life. I wish now that I could have let myself enjoy sex more, before this all happened. I promise I'll be a hotter wife for you from now on."

Her face was red with embarrassment and I wanted to take her in my arms again, but was afraid I'd crease up the dress. Brian would be displeased and I was afraid she might be punished. I leaned over and kissed her, softly, on the lips.

"Come on. No point putting it off. It's time to go."

We were right at the end of the summer by now, and the nights were drawing in. It was dusk as we walked arm in arm along the drive, to the cottage next door; our new sandals crunching in the gravel. It was also cool in the evening air. I felt guilty, surreptitiously watching Angie's nipples harden beneath the sheer chiffon. As we reached Brian's gate I noticed several cars, parked up at the end of the driveway. It seemed odd. Generally only our car and Brian's were parked here. I shrugged it off. There were other things on my mind.

I squeezed Angie's hand, took a deep breath, and rang the doorbell.

After a while, a light was switched on inside. Through the frosted door glass I saw the silhouette of Brian's bulky frame. The door creaked open and we were admitted entrance. I saw that he was dressed in his coarse, monk-like habit that we had seen the previous week; similar to the one I wore, but brown rather than green and his was hooded.

He watched us critically as we entered. Or rather, I was given a cursory glance, she was watched intently. His black, piggy eyes examined her minutely, roaming over every inch of her body. He turned her around to savour every morsel of her loveliness, lightly fondling her buttocks, before turning her again to touch her breasts. The back of his fingers brushed her erect nipples. Angie stood demurely in the now familiar slave's position, eyes downcast in submission.

At last he grunted his satisfaction. "Good" he pronounced. "You are everything I have been expecting. Well done, both of you." He turned to a small hall table and presented us with two half full glasses of red wine.

"Drink this, before we go through. It is your top-up dose. We wouldn't want you developing free will all of a sudden, would we?" He laughed, but it was said without a hint of humour.

We drank the bitter tasting wine down, almost in one go. The glasses were taken from our hands and replaced on the table. He turned back to us, rubbing his fat, sweaty hands.

"Alright" he pronounced. "Let us go through. Your guests are eagerly awaiting you, My Dear. But first, slip your sandals off and leave them here, by the door."

We both started at the mention of guests, and my thoughts went to the cars we'd seen parked outside. A protest began to form in my thoughts, before promptly evaporating. We obediently followed his bulky frame along the short hallway, to the living room door; which he now opened, standing aside for us to enter before him.

The tableau that we walked into caused us both to pause, but we were hustled on into the room. The furniture had been rearranged since last Friday, the room cleared somewhat. The reading lamp was lit again and the long sofa was still there, now protected by a removable throw. Beside it Brian's deep easy chair and four dining chairs were arranged in a semicircle. A log fire burned brightly in the wood burning stove, making the room feel stuffy and hot. An unfamiliar low bench made of tubular steel, with a padded top, stood to one side. But it wasn't the furniture that was making us nervous. It was the people.

Three brown-robed, motionless figures stood before us, their faces hidden in the depths of their deep hoods, hands folded across chests. They neither moved nor spoke as Brian ushered us into the room, but their heads silently turned in unison to follow us. Brian carefully positioned Angie to face the sinister figures, standing back some six feet from them; head bowed, arms, as ever, at her back. I thought I saw Brian give her shoulders a brief squeeze of encouragement, before he turned and addressed me.

"Stephen" he said. "Kindly remove your robe, take one of those dining chairs and sit in the corner over there, for the time being. You will not speak or otherwise interrupt the proceedings. Just watch and listen. There will be a role for you, later. I'm sure you will enjoy the show." He then discounted me, turning his attention to the silent 'guests'; whilst I shrugged off my green robe and hurried to sit, naked, in the corner. My embarrassment was unnecessary. No-one paid me the slightest attention.

"Friends" he began. "Please be acquainted with our newest acolyte, Angela, brought into our Circle, as you all know, to be confirmed as my slave." Four hooded heads all nodded, silently. Brian then addressed my wife.

"Angela. You have been summoned here tonight to be introduced to The Circle. The people you see before you, plus a few others you may meet in the future, are all equally your Masters and Mistresses. You will address them as such and obey them in all things, except in the event that their orders conflict with my own. My instructions to you will always take precedence. You are mine."

"Stephen." He addressed me without even looking in my direction. "You must take note of this as well. It applies to you, too." I wondered whether I should answer that I understood, but he had ordered me not to speak. I remained silent.

"Angela. The ritual you will endure tonight will confirm your position in The Circle. All of those you see before you will have you tonight, each one will penetrate you. Afterwards you will be given the mark that you will bear to the end of your days, marking your servitude." He paused, briefly, before continuing; "Now I will introduce you, one by one. Father Graham!"

The first robed figure stepped forward, lowering his hood. I was shocked. I knew this man! He'd been in our home! He was the priest of the Roman Catholic Church down in the village.

The first week we had moved in he had knocked on our door one evening. He had come, he said, to welcome us to the village and to enquire whether we would be attending his church. We'd had to tell him that neither of us was religious, but invited him in for a cup of tea. He stayed chatting longer than we'd anticipated, but he had seemed quite a reasonable chap. Now, if I had heard correctly, he was about to fuck my wife! How the hell did he become involved in this sort of thing?

As he moved forward he unfastened the cord around his waist and dropped his robe to the floor. He was naked beneath, of course, and now I really was worried.

Father Graham was around fifty years of age. Five foot nine, I guess; ten, maybe; dark hair, greying around the edges. He was in pretty good shape, lean, getting towards skinny, but quite well toned, fit-looking. His body below the neck was absolutely devoid of any hint of hair and, alarmingly, his cock was huge! As thick as Brian's, maybe, but this priest had length as well as girth!

And I must admit, it was very well-shaped cock too! I'm not a connoisseur of penises but it was the sort of cock I would wish for if I were ever given three wishes. Long and thick, the veins prominent, it was hairless and utterly impressive. It looked a real bully-boy of a penis, and it wasn't even hard yet.

He stood in front of Angela and fondled her breasts through the chiffon, with both hands. Her downcast eyes must have been fixed on his enormous penis, probably wondering just how much of it she could take. He pulled her right arm from behind her back and, taking her by the wrist, guided her hand to his hanging member. Her fingers closed around the thick shaft and just grasped the thing. It slowly swelled and reared upwards, the foreskin slipping back as the massive head engorged.

He rasped at her in a gravelly voice. "Get down on your knees and suck it. NOW!" This last was bellowed with venom. She flinched, startled and immediately fell to her knees, hands reaching out and mouth closing around the swollen head.

She gagged as he thrust at her savagely, her head recoiling to try to get away from the implacable member. That earned her a fierce slap across the face, before he thrust his cock back at her, forcing it, without mercy, into her mouth again. Every few seconds she spluttered and gagged, and each time was punished by a stinging slap; or a hard cuff around the head, before the assault resumed.

I assumed that he was going to cum in her mouth, but after around a minute, or so, he withdrew unceremoniously, turned away without speaking and took a seat on the sofa; picking up his discarded robe as he went. He flung it onto a convenient chair. She was left swaying on her knees, fighting back tears, red cheeked and sore mouthed. Brian gave a dry cough, before stepping forward, and helped her to her feet. He stroked her hair, in a show of support, before facing the remaining two hooded guests.

"Doctor Gemma?"

The shortest of the gathering stepped forward, drawing back her hood.

Oh no! I knew this one, as well. She also had been in our house. I recognised her as the village doctor. She too had visited one evening, to introduce herself, she told us; and bring us the forms we needed to register at the local surgery. I thought at the time that it was odd for a doctor to make a house call like that.

My mind was ticking over furiously. It couldn't be a coincidence. They must have been inspecting us, assessing our suitability. I began to wonder just how long the events of this last week had been in the planning.

The Doctor was a short, rather waspish woman in her forties. She had blonde, shoulder length, straight hair; and wore severe glasses, giving her a very bossy countenance. I remembered that when she visited us she was wearing some pretty hard core high heels, presumable to make her look taller, but tonight she was wearing the regulation leather sandals.

Like the Priest before her, the Doctor examined Angela in detail. I watched a couple of teardrops roll down Angie's cheek, dripping to the floor. Doctor Gemma produced a tissue from somewhere and thrust it at her.

"Wipe your face, blow your nose. You are ruining your appearance." This was said with little hint of sympathy.

With a "Thank you, Mistress" Angie took the proffered tissue and did as she was told. "I-I'm sorry, Mistress." The tissue was taken back and tossed away. The Doctor was the shorter of the two, by half a head. She lifted Angie's chin and looked her in the face, critically.

"As I said before," she announced to the room, "she could be a bit prettier. Nice body though. Let's have a closer look."

Manicured fingers with painted nails drew the top of Angie's dress apart, pulling it off the shoulders and drawing it down to the waist, leaving my wife's back and breasts totally exposed. Her hands moved to fondle the breasts; stroking, rubbing, pulling and pinching gently. For the first time that evening my cock began to stiffen. The shock of unexpectedly coming before these people, as well as the ferocity of the Priest's assault on my wife had somehow distracted my mind from the eroticism of the occasion. However, the image of my wife being seduced by another woman was one of my secret fantasies.

"Good tits," Doctor Gemma affirmed. "Love these nipples. We could have some fun with these." I wondered what 'fun' meant in this case.

"Lift up the hem of your dress, girl. I want to examine your pussy."

Angie complied hastily. The Doctor bent down, peering closely at the exposed pubis. Red-nailed fingers toyed with her light, wispy hair, critically.

"You know, she should be shaved, really" she opined loudly. This time Brian answered the comment.

"As you well know, I've already made my decision on that. At a later date, maybe, but for now, I like her as she is."

"Well, it's a mistake in my opinion." She stood up abruptly. "Alright, girl. Drop the dress and go and stand in front of that chair." She indicated the deep armchair by the fireside. Angie obediently untied the cord at her hip and lifted the gauzy material over her head, dropping it on the floor; then quickly moved across to the chair. She turned to stand in front of it, facing the Doctor.

"Turn around girl, face the chair. Good. Now lean forward and place your hands on the arms." I thought that Angela looked very vulnerable in that position; breasts hanging down, ass raised, offered up to Doctor Gemma's mercy. I wondered if she was about to be beaten.

The Doctor admired the raised buttocks admiringly. She stepped closer and caressed the globes of the soft cheeks, murmuring her satisfaction.

"She has fine hindquarters" she pronounced, thoughtfully, almost to herself. Then, with a light smack on the right cheek, "Open your legs. Come along, feet well apart. Good girl. That's better. Now we can see properly."

Her hand went between Angie's thighs, a painted fingernail tracing the labia. Again she grunted approvingly.

"She's good and wet down there! Well done! You are a hot little thing, aren't you?" The finger pushed into the proffered vagina, easily parting the dripping lips. Angie flinched, very slightly, at the insistent finger probing her sex, but resisted the urge to pull away. The doctor gentled her, muttering low sounds of encouragement as if she were a skittish horse. She thoughtfully fingered Angela for a couple of minutes, with one, then two fingers, before withdrawing; just as Angie's ass and thighs began to twitch and tremble with arousal.

Then the same finger promptly came back, lightly touching Angie's exposed anus. This time, Angie immediately, instinctively, jerked away from the unwelcome intruder. The Doctor angrily smacked her ass, twice.

"HOLD STILL. Don't you dare pull away from me in that manner. Now stand as you were." Angie resumed her position, while the Doctor produced a small container from about her person, squirting a blob of some clear fluid or gel onto her fingertip. Then the finger returned to the puckered ring of her anus. This time Angie held still as the gelled finger tip pressed against her asshole, forcing entrance and slipping inside an inch or so. My wife's bent-over stance, with her feet wide apart, offered an unobscured view of her dripping sex. Even from my position, sitting in the corner of the room, I could see that she was clearly totally aroused.

After a short time the finger was withdrawn, then presented to Angie's mouth with a peremptory "Clean it for me". The third of Angie's holes was invaded and she sucked the fingertip clean of the messy gel.