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.
