After moving to the village of Ashfield, my wife and I have fallen under the malign influence of The Circle. Angela has been inducted as our landlord's slave, in a bizarre initiation rite.
Part Four. The Dinner Date.
Arriving home after the initiation ritual, we stood embracing, just holding each other tight, for a long while. She was obviously drained, physically and emotionally; and I really just wanted to get her to sleep.
"Come on," I said gently. "You need a shower, then bed"
She grunted. "I don't think a shower will be enough. I need a long soak in the bath."
"I know" I sympathised. "But you can't. Your tattoo might get infected. You can bathe tomorrow, if you want, but it's just a shower for now." I released her from my embrace. "You need rest."
She agreed, groaning as she flexed her arms and rubbed her hips. "My joints are so stiff and painful. And my pussy has never been so sore. I don't know if I'll even get up the stairs."
"You'll be alright after a nights rest. Come on, let's clean you up."
I helped her up the stairs and into the bathroom, turning on the over the bath shower. She discarded the chiffon dress and the scrunchie from her hair, before climbing, with my assistance into the bath. I, too, got rid of my robe, and stepped in beside her.
"Come" I said. Let me wash you."
She stood under the steamy water spray for a minute or two, enjoying the feel of the hot water running down her body; easing her aches and pains. Then I picked up the soap and shower gel and thoroughly soaped her all over, paying particular attention around her vulva, anus, thighs and pubic hair. She was plastered with dried semen.
Once done, I shampooed her long hair, and left her to rinse herself off under the hot water; whilst I went to look out some warm towels from the airing cupboard.
When she was ready, I held out a large bath sheet, as she stepped out of the bath, wrapping her up snugly. I passed her a smaller towel to wrap her wet hair in.
"Are you alright to dry yourself?" I asked. She nodded.
"I'm OK. Thanks."
I left her, put on my dressing gown; and headed downstairs to the kitchen, where I filled the kettle, to make a reviving cup of tea. I carried her tea up to her, but when I got back upstairs, I found her crashed out, already sound asleep, on top of the bed; with the towels still wrapped around her body and hair. I found a warm blanket, spread it over her, and left her where she was.
After I had showered myself, taking care around my new tattoo, I went back down and took a bottle of whisky and a glass through to the living room. I sat in an armchair, thinking, brooding; as I worked my way down the bottle. At some stage I fell asleep in the armchair.
I woke up to daylight, with a whisky headache and a creaky neck, from sleeping at an odd angle. It was seven o'clock. I went in to the kitchen to get a glass of water and a couple of painkillers, before climbing the stairs.
Angie was still asleep on top of the bed sheets. At some stage she had thrown off the blanket I'd covered her with. The bath towel, too, had fallen away from her body. Surprisingly, the towel wrapping her hair was still intact.
I stood still for a while, just watching her. After over a year of marriage, in which she had been so shy about her body, I couldn't get enough of seeing her naked like this. Her sweet breasts rising and falling as she breathed, deeply. The gentle swell of her belly. The fine, soft hairs gracing her pubic mound. It almost seemed unusual, after the past week, to see her nipples at ease, rather than rampantly erect. She looked so innocent. It seemed impossible that she had just been through a wild, rampant sex ritual involving five other people; all of whom had fucked her.
I made to pull the blanket to cover her nakedness. She stirred at the first movement, and woke up. Seeing me standing over her, she pushed herself upright, yawning. She smiled at me, shyly.
"You look like you slept well" I commented.
"Like a log, thank goodness. I was worn out."
"You had good reason to be," I replied, sitting beside her on the bed and taking her by the hand. I placed my pointing finger against her forehead.
"How are you feeling in there" I asked, raising my eyebrows. She blushed, taking a deep breath,
"Oh, I'm fine," she chuckled, in a bashful tone. She paused and continued, "I can't believe what went on, last night. The things they did to me!" Her eyes widened, hand covering her mouth as a memory came back. "They made me wee in front of them, and then made me drink it! And then we all drank it! Can you believe it?" Her face reddened at the thought, but she was laughing as she spoke.
"They did a lot of stuff that has never been done to me before. Four men had sex with me! A woman made love to me! Did you see her, kissing me on the mouth?" I nodded silently, allowing her to continue.
"I was embarrassed, scared, mortified the whole time; but I was so aroused as well. I wanted more. Is that wrong?" I shook my head.
"I'm happy for you. It would be terrible if you hated it." She was quiet for a moment, then burst out;
"Can you believe the doctor and that filthy priest? How do you think they got involved in all of this?" I shrugged. After another short silence I ventured,
"And Brother Frank?" I let the question hang in the air, unfinished. Her humour evaporated instantly. Her face fell.
"I'm sorry about that. I don't know what happened. I couldn't help myself." She swallowed and paused for a few seconds, then went on;
"I hate him. I hate him more than any of them. Now, in this instant, thinking about him makes my skin crawl. He's an awful, immature, arrogant jerk. But I still want him. If he were here, now, I would be craving his attention, desperate for his touch. I want him to be my Master." She looked up at me, tears in her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Steve. This must be so hard for you. I don't love you any less. I just don't have any free will in this matter."
I held her close, nuzzling her face, kissing her tenderly. "Don't worry about me. You're the one they want; I'm mostly just a bystander. The hardest thing for me is that I know I'll have to see the bastard, every day at work. I get the impression that he'll be doing his best to rub it in my face; and I won't be able to do anything about it."
We sat on the bed for a while just chatting, being close, loving. Then I went down to get us some breakfast. A short while later she joined me, fully dressed, and we ate together, putting the previous night behind us.
******************************
That afternoon, Brian arrived at our door, carrying a small holdall. He declined the offer of coffee or tea, bustling straight into our living room. Angie was upstairs. He sat on a chair by the dining room table and ordered me to call her down. We heard the toilet flush in the bathroom and she hurried down, red faced; still drying her hands on a small towel.
As soon as saw her Master, she fell onto her knees, head down and hands behind her back. I was getting used to seeing her like that. He made her rise and told us both to join him at the table.
"There are a few things I need to talk to you about," he said. "Firstly, Angela, you have an appointment with Doctor Gemma at her surgery on Monday evening. Six o'clock. Stephen, you may accompany her."
"Secondly, I've had second thoughts about the dress I had made for you. You looked marvellous, my dear, but after discussion with the others; I'm not entirely convinced by it. He indicated the holdall he had brought with him.
"Your revised costume is in that bag, there. You can check it out after I go. You may still wear the sandals to protect your feet outside, of course; and the cloak in bad weather." He paused to gather his thoughts, before continuing,
"Now. Let me see your tattoos; you first, Stephen." I pulled my T shirt over my head, letting him see the new tattoo at my left breast. He carefully removed the protective film that covered it and examined it closely.
"Yes, no problem there. The redness will soon fade. It will heal nicely. Just keep it clean. Wash it with ordinary soap, it will be fine. Now let's see your lovely wife's tattoo."
He swivelled his beady eyes to Angie. She stood up, straight away; unfastening her denim jeans; slipping them down, over her hips to her knees. Her knickers followed after. She turned her back towards him, so that he could see the tattoo on her right buttock. At his command she bent over and gripped her knees in both hands, presenting her lovely ass for his inspection.
He examined her, closely, his left hand idly caressing her left buttock. Eventually he was satisfied.
"Yes. The same for you, My Dear. It will soon heal. Leave the dressing off, now; and keep it clean. You can pull your pants up, now."
She zipped and re-buttoned her jeans before rejoining us at the table.
"That brings me onto my next point. I'm not happy with you wearing jeans, or trousers. I've never seen you in a dress, or skirt. Do you have any?" It was true; she never wore dresses, except on very rare occasions, when it was expected.
She nodded, answering, "Yes, Master. I do have one dress and one skirt."
"Good," he replied. "This weekend, you will get rid of any trousers, jeans, and shorts in your wardrobe. Also, any pyjamas or tights; leggings of any sort. Take them to the dump, charity shop, or whatever; just get rid of them. You can wear the dress and skirt you have for this week. On Friday I will take you clothes shopping while Stephen is at work. We'll get you a new wardrobe." He paused, as if coming to a decision.