A Slippery Slope.
When I first met my husband, I was eighteen years old and a student-teacher totally and utterly lacking in self-confidence with knack of getting myself into awkward situations I was unable to get out of. To me at that time he was my knight in shining armour, my hero only lacking a white horse and I was 100% besotted with him. He was a great husband a wonderful father and latterly a great provider although in our early years that wasn’t always the case. Even my own father who was on record as “hating” my husband had at least stopped sniping at him in my presence anyway.
Not only was he my husband and father to my children he was also my “Master” and “Owner” and over the by now sixteen years of our marriage he’d “shared, gifted or given me” to tens of dozens of other men and women. I had been fucked, buggered, beaten, whipped, slapped, spanked and just about every other perversion carried out on me or by me in that time. I had served “Master and Mistresses” serviced four generations of the same West Indian family to say nothing of all the people we’d met “Swinging” or at clubs. I never spoke to anybody outside my S&M contacts about my lifestyle the only “vanilla” people to know was my sister Alison and her husband Robert not that they could be 100% classified as vanilla.
The older I got the more self-confidence I gathered both in myself and in what I was be that a wife, mother or sex slave. I wasn’t sure when I began to question the things that I was allowing to happen to me or for that matter if I ever did crazy as it sounds. I think by the time I was reaching my early-thirties I knew that if I was in a room full of other women, I had a figure as good or in fact a lot better than most of them. I was well educated had a good job which I was advancing annually and money in my own right. It would be not untrue to say that I had begun to look down on certain people both in my work/vanilla life as well as in my position as a slave. It also wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that the more I liked myself the less I liked some people and I had a difficult time hiding it from them be they work colleagues or some less than commanding Dom/Domme.
This growing self-confidence allowed me to say “No” to my husband’s Mentor when he demanded I take myself off to “Oak Farm” and pleasure him for the weekend. I remember telling him and my husband that it wasn’t convenient at the time and repeated the same reply each other time I was asked. Although I was still willing and enjoying visits to members of The Circle I think it was more out of habit than any sense of duty. I was questioning just why I was doing it and why he, my husband was making me do it. Why if he loved me did he want other men to fuck me and hurt me was a question I often asked myself not that I am sure when I started asking it.
Work-wise I felt empowered I had a great job where I was in charge and had control of a massive budget and unlike teaching or working in an estate agent’s office, my opinion counted. I think the fact that in the seventeen years of our marriage he’d been away or on tour for most of it and I had started to be an independent person in my own right. As I did contact with my sister and her husband grew less and less as my other siblings also had grown and left home. No longer was I reliant on them babysitting my children when I needed to get out of the house not that at their ages, they needed sitting at all. Getting out of the house was one thing I liked to do a lot and as ever the constantly available Susan was there.
The now traditional Friday nights out had been joined by the addition of Sunday nights out as well. The pair of us like hundreds of other women also decided we’d look better if we did a few classes and with this in mind on Wednesday we went to an “aerobics class” at the local leisure centre. This was the start of my second “affair” the first being with my old boss he of the ponytail Jolly Rodger. Truth be told this was no middle-aged man with a preference for stockings and office sex as Clive De Freitas was a black guy who spoke with a soft American accent which he explained from going to school and University in Miami (he lied) and who described himself as a “Professional Sportsman” and lover. He was tall well over six feet three, athletic and had a hard body and ripped body like a Greek god. In the summer he played league cricket like a pro for not one team but two one on a Saturday the other on a Sunday. In winter he played none league football and all year round he taught aerobics three classes a week and also Karate two lessons a week all at our local leisure centre. He’d top up his income by giving private karate lessons mainly to an ever-growing army of doormen the local council now insisted every club and pub in the town centre had.
Sunday night we would see him out a newly popular pub close to my house and after we’d started at his Wednesday night class, he started to flirt outrageously with me on a Sunday. Often, we’d see him with some girl or other hanging on his every word he seemed to go for blondes which I had found wasn’t uncommon with black guys. As Susan was a redhead, she took that as a sign as to why he was chatting me up and not her. One Sunday night he offered to drive us both home as he didn’t drink (something else he had in common with my husband) and as Susan was slightly worse for a drink, I took him up on it. He dropped me off first as I lived the closest and then Susan, who told me on the phone on Monday he’d asked a lot of questions about me. The following week after buying us a lot of drinks again he suggested he drive us home. This time he told us that it was better for him if he dropped Susan off first as that way, he could get home easier, he lied and we all knew it.
Outside my house he made his first move on me, I knew it was coming and he knew I was expecting it. The arm around the back of the seat and the “why don’t you invite me in for a coffee?” was counteracted with “Oh I would but I don’t think my husband wouldn't like it much” even though he was 200 miles away most likely all snug in bed. He moved in for a hopeful kiss and I turned away and let him kiss me on the cheek and at the same time he groped my tit, he knew I was interested and he also knew that I knew he was, it was just a matter of time and we both knew that as well.
The following week my husband arrived back mid-week just as I was going to go to my aerobics class taken of course by Clive “the body” De Freitas. As I was all dressed and ready bag with a change of clothes inside, I gave him a hug and told him I’d see him later and left him still holding his kit bag in the hall. At the class with Susan, I completely forgot about my husband and it was only when I was changing into some street clothes, I remembered he was home and had to change back to my leotard and as the taxi dropped me off home, I had the very genuine sense of disappointment. I missed the Sunday class as well as we had a family day out together with my sister and her husband. We arrived home and had an argument mainly because I was pissed off with the way Alison was talking to me and some of the things Robert was saying to my husband, sly little comments which skirted around the fact he’s fucked me and he knew the “real” me.
This wasn’t the first quarrel we’d had on that subject nor was it going to be the last either. In fact, we had been arguing a lot over stupid things from when he was going to leave the Royal Marines to the way he treated me and expected from me. I would scream at him “I am your wife and your children’s mother for god’s sake how can you treat me like this?” often to accompaniment to our daughters’ tears. It was Susan no stranger to divorce herself by now on her third, who pointed out to me that if we divorced, I’d get the house and he’d end up paying me maintenance. It never dawned on me that my oldest friend would have been more than happy if I’d joined her as a merry divorcee.
Mainly because of the never-ending rows and my utter and absolute refusal to meet yet another member of what I was now calling “his circle” has pointed out to him the same thing that Susan had to me about a divorce, he returned to Exmouth where he was now based Wednesday morning. He did this even though he had another weeks leave left making some excuse to the children with tears in his eyes. Neither of them believed him as he explained why he was going both of them close to tears. It was at that precise moment in time seeing the look on my sons face that I realised my relationship with him (my son) was from that second about to start to deteriorate. I have always known that my son loves me but to him his father was godlike and I knew then as I know now, I will and always would be second best.
That day at work went slowly, to say the least, it appeared to drag on and by mid-afternoon, I thought I’d been there a week already. I took phone calls from Alison who had been trying all day to get hold of my husband at home. The tone of her voice told me that she knew something was wrong when I explained to her that he’d gone back to Exmouth and tried to brush it off. Later she rang again telling me my daughter was at her house crying but wouldn’t tell her why. I told her that whatever the reason was it wasn’t her business and to keep her nose out of mine. I forget what was discussed in the rest of the conversation but I do remember it ended with me telling my sister to “Fuck off” and banging the phone down. When I arrived home, my son wasn’t there and I sat down and cried but not because I felt sorry for myself but out of sheer frustration.
I thought to myself to hell with the lot of them and once I’d established my daughter was fine and had her home, I rang Susan and told her I’d pick her up for aerobics. The class was packed as usual but my mind was elsewhere and it showed and Clive picked up on it telling me to “See him after class” at least half a dozen times. I told Susan I’d meet her and one of the other girls in the class on Sunday as I wanted to get home to my children and I hit the shower.
The thing with council-owned buildings most of all leisure centres is that they are all designed and built with the “greater good” in mind so there were no purpose-built “women’s showers although there were showers for the women at other times they would be used by men dependent of who was using the centre. A group of men in a five-a-side competition the showers would be used by men, a large group of women in an aerobics class and the showers would be used by them and the use of locks to keep the wrong sex out took care of that. After my shower, I was all alone in the changing room the majority of the class had gotten into their cars and changed at home. As I dressed, I heard his voice asking or maybe demanding of me “I thought I’d told you to see me after class young lady?” of course it was Clive.
I was half-naked in as much as I only had a pair of knickers on having recently reintroduced them to my wardrobe. I had a T-shirt in my hand but I didn’t even think about covering myself with it instead I looked him straight in the face and asked him if he’d “seen enough” which made him smile and he simply said “no” and nodded towards the door which led to his changing room. I know I have said this before and no doubt I will say it again, I have no idea why I followed him but I did even picking up my clothes carefully not to leave any behind.
The sex was sudden and intense he didn’t take off my knickers just pulled the gusset to one side and pushing me onto my back on a bench. There was no foreplay or kissing to tenderness at all just fucking me on my back knees bent and wide legs in the air with him inside me straight away and hammering to me. Later my back would ache as the bench was wooden and hard to say nothing of narrow. His sweat dripped off his face and onto mine but I didn’t care as all I was interested in was the pounding his cock was giving my cunt. After he came, he got off me and told me “Once you go black you never go back, lady.” I told the cocky bastard that he wasn’t the first black cock that I’d known which made him smile as he looked down at his cum leaking out of me.
“Shaved pussy I like that,” he told me and then asked “Tell me white married lady you ever had a nice black cock up your tight white arse hole?” his question was expected to shock me, it didn’t. Turning away from him with my back to him I answered him with “Yes I have several as a matter of fact, nice ones and some not so nice” and with that I straddled the bench and bend down and put both my elbows down on it offering up my arse for his cock, it was an offer he soon took. I’d never enjoyed anal sex all that much and it had taken me years just to get used to it. This fact isn’t easy for me to get my head around as I had always done it, I’d learnt the hard way not to say no to a “bumming” as Susan called it. This bumming lasted quite a long time as he’d only just cum and this man was an athlete with something to prove. When he did cum he almost knocked me off the bench if it wasn’t for the fact he was gripping my hips and holding me up he would have done. I expected like most men he’d want me to suck his cock straight from my own arse why should he have been any different and he wasn’t.
So, I had started my second affair this time with a guy some ten years younger than me and it felt good to me. Not only the sex which was out of this world from the start but I was excited about it and for once I looked forward to the weekends which started on “Going out Fridays” and finished on “Going out Sunday” needless to say I was fucking the cock off Clive both nights not that I ever heard him complain. It wasn’t as if I was hiding the fact I was having an affair from anybody although we didn’t walk hand in hand down the street it must have been clear to however saw us together we were an item. One of these people who noticed was an old friend and stalwart member of the local Karate Club and doorman, Desmond.
On a visit to our favoured Sunday night watering hole Desmond joined the pair of us as we stood at the bar, the pair of them knew each other as they were both into Karate the doorman at the local club and Clive teaching it at the leisure centre. Clive didn’t realise just how offended Desmond was when he introduced me to him as “My new bitch” laughing as he wasn’t really like that at all. Desmond looked at me with a puzzled look on his face and told him “Yes I have known Susan for a long time, we are old acquaintances” I could tell he wasn’t happy with the situation. Feeling uncomfortable I excused myself and went to the ladies.
When I got back the mood had changed and they were like two cockerels puffing out their chests at each other. The other doormen were looking over and as the banter continued another couple moved to the bar behind Clive who was oblivious to their presence. On my return Clive put his arm around me and told me “Uncle Tom here tells me to leave you alone, tells me you husband is a bad man some kind of soldier hard case, well (turning to Desmond) I piss on hard cases and I shit on soldier boys so Uncle Tom here can fuck off.” Desmond was furious mainly at the Uncle Tom remarks and responded with “Well my friend I know how good you are I have seen you in competition and you are good, no you are better than good but you are stepping way, way out of your class and are aiming to get a serious beating. When that happens it’s not going to take place anywhere, I am working so you are both barred from here and all the other place I look after, so get out.” With that the other doormen moved towards us both and I took Clive by the arm and led him out he was incensed.
We drove to another pub in the town only to be refused access and later we tried a club and had the same response, Desmond was as good as his word. I spent the night with him at his flat and he was livid in between banging on about Desmond and him being a choc ice black on the outside and white on the inside, he banged into me hard and often only stopping to wipe the sweat of himself.
I arrived home at 6.20 looking a complete and utter mess and feeling tired and bruised from the night of hard fucking he’d given me. I went upstairs and had just enough time to take off what was left of my makeup rap by hair in a towel and put on a dressing gown before Robert dropped the kids off to get ready for school at 6.30 as they had been staying with them over the weekend. I don’t like early mornings and I don’t like Mondays and getting them fed dressed and dropped off at school homework complete and then getting to work on time was a real drag that day.
I didn’t hear from Clive at all that day or for the rest of the week and the Wednesday class taken by a woman. He didn’t answer my calls at his flat or at the leisure centre and that pissed me off. All week and no word from him and as usual on a Friday I hit the town with Susan but this time I was dressed to kill. I wore a pair of trousers I knew showed off my well-admired backside and as always, I left off my kickers no need for a VPL. I also wore a top that showed off what little cleavage I had as well as a bra to push it up. There wasn’t much there in my 34b’s but what there was I wanted to show it off.
We had no trouble at all getting to any bars or clubs as I expect the doormen had been warned to look out for a black guy and white woman. Although I soon realised that there would be no sign of Clive it didn’t stop me from looking for him much to Susan’s annoyance. I thought it was a bit ironic her lecturing me on the desperate way I was looking for a man. “For god’s sake Susan stops trying to find him he’s not here find another one there’s plenty going spare if you need a shag that badly,” she told me. I did find another man as a matter of fact who was only too pleased to take me from bar to bar and buy me drinks. I don’t know his name or what he looked like and I doubt that I would have recognised him the next day let alone now.
I was about to get into a taxi bound for his house or flat when a Police car drew up and asked me my name. Once I’d got over the fact this wasn’t me being arrested for being drunk and disorderly, I was informed that at 9.30pm my son had been attacked leaving the local cinema as he waited for a taxi home. It was then 3.00 am and my son had been in the ICU at our local hospital for five hours while I was getting drunk. The policewoman who was less than impressed with me asked me what a fourteen-year-old boy was doing out on a Friday night? I couldn’t answer as the horror of losing my son was a clear possibility.
I arrived at the general hospital still drunk and my tits on display after having a button broken off as I was groped by whoever his name was. Alison my sister was there having been rung by the Police and waking out of the IC was my husband who had travelled 200 miles in less than three hours. He walked straight up to me and slapped me straight across the face with the back of his hand. I may have been drunk when his arm swung but as I hit the floor, I was stone-cold sober. Our son had a fractured skull and a broken disk in his spine as the result of being kicked about. I stood and listened as the Doctor told me that there was every chance that he’d pull out of the coma they had been forced to induce and recover. I hate the word “however” because of what it means and I hated it even more when they told us “However; there is also a good chance that he may not recover 100% as there was a massive amount of haemorrhaging inside the brain and we cannot operate on his back until we get that under control we will just have to do our best and wait and see.”
The next day the police proved once again to be worse than useless there were no witnesses, no leads and as far as they could see no reason for this attack and they suspected it was just a mugging although there was no evidence for that either. Midday a group of five men arrived and made a beeline for my husband who had not spoken a word to me in all the time he’d been there. Handshakes all-round and he left with them briefly and returned to sit in silence and wait. My mother and father came to find out what was happening and left both of them in tears. My mother looked at me still dressed as I was the night before and said: “Susan look at you, you look like a slut for god’s sake go home and take a bath I am ashamed of you.”
I can’t remember up to that point in my life how lonely and ashamed I was of myself I was. I’d been out getting drunk and looking for a fuck while my son was fighting for his life and may even die. My daughter was at home with Alison and Robert who I could tell were as upset as she was. Robert told me that he’d been with my husband’s friends to show them where it had happened and had tried to help as much as he could. To tell you the truth I wasn’t listening to him all I wanted was to hug my daughter and cry.
After putting my daughter to bed I returned to the hospital where I tried to speak to my husband without him even acknowledging I was there. My son’s condition didn’t change nor did the prognosis it was still waiting and see. The five friends of my husband returned, having been married to a Marine for as long as I had been and spend time in married quarters, it didn’t take me long to realise they were all military. None of them was tall in fact I’d say they were all under 5’ 8” some of them even had longish hair and all of them had longer hair than any policeman or I’d ever seen my husband ever had and none of them dressed like military but there was no doubt that they all were.
My husband left the ICU sometime about 2 am and returned with my brother an hour later, my brother looked visibly shaken. The five men who I was never introduced to or ever saw again after that night also returned. An hour later we were all ushered out of the ICU as another person was admitted and brought in. This was a 36-year-old former paratrooper who made his living collecting bad debts and as an un-licensed doorman at local venues. He had the reputation for being hot-tempered, violent and had fondness for hitting people with pickaxe handle which was something he’d learnt in the army in short, this man as a major bully.
Something as I write this scribble, I remember most things some more clearly than others. One of the things I do recollect as clear as if it happened an hour ago, my husband had not spoken a single word to me and his expression was emotionless throughout the time he was there at the ICU but I swear as they pushed the man passed us on a trolley my husband gave a brief, very brief but definite smile. It lasted a split second and was gone in the blink of an eye never the less it was there.
After four days our son was brought out of the coma that the doctors had induced and slowly is condition got better and although he’d need months of rehab and would miss a lot of school but he’d make a full recovery. Unlike the former soldier who was left blind and deaf quadriplegic doubly inconsonant from having a broken pickaxe handle rammed deep into his anus. As with the attack on my son the police never found out who did this to the man, only he and the person or people who did it to him and they aren’t going to say anything and he can’t.
After my son left the ICU and into an ordinary hospital ward my husband went back to Exmouth without speaking a single word to me in all the time he was there having stayed with his mother. I didn’t see him again until Christmas when he arrived back and announced he was taking the children to Tenerife over the holiday period. Alison my sister had been in and packed their clothes and they were really excited my daughter especially so. I, of course, protested as I’d always made a huge thing about Christmas as I loved that time of year and when I pointed out that Christmas in Tenerife wouldn’t be the same, he just stared through me and told me “You’re not invited.”
I wasn’t invited to my parents, brothers or my sister’s house’s over Christmas either and when I visited any of them with presents it was clear I wasn’t welcome and I got that message loud and clear. Clive, on the other hand, was pleased to hear from me as he always was although he was busy with his semi-pro football team over the holiday he did manage to “fit me in” which meant fitting his cock repeatedly into whatever orifice he felt liked and as often as he liked. The sex was out of this world as it always was with my black stud but after he’d even pulled out of me, I knew there was something missing.
I send all of Christmas day with Clive at his place which was a one-bedroom apartment quite close to my parent’s house so close in fact I am amazed they couldn’t hear my screams as he pounded into me time and again. I cooked Christmas dinner for the two of us naked and we ate it in the same way as there was no point dressing as that would have been a waste of time. I left him to go home before midnight and arrived to find I had missed my children ringing me repeatedly to wish me “Merry Christmas” all in all there were five messages in the answer phone from them and although they started off with both of them saying hello but after just a couple it was just my daughter and in the last message she was clearly crying. As I listened to that last message, I cried myself and as I lay in bed on my own, I cried some more and felt empty.
The next day Boxing Day Clive was playing football in some big game or other halfway across the country I had been asked to go with him but I rang him and told him couldn’t go. I read in the paper the following week that I hadn’t missed anything not that I know anything about football and Clive had, had a lethargic game, no doubt tired out from all the bedroom athletics the day before. I was on my own for the rest holiday and for a few days into the New Year until the children arrived home. I saw them arrive from the bedroom both of them hugging their father who didn’t give me a second glance as he got back into his car and drove off.
I didn’t see him again for three months although he rang the children once a week while they were at my sister's. No matter how much I fucked Clive which was as often as I could I wasn’t happy, with him it was just fucking. As mad as that sounds I had been “just fucked” by dozens if not hundreds of men and women for that matter but I’d never felt so empty not that it has anything to do with Clive’s performance I doubt ever had so many orgasms with anybody before.
It was Susan who told me I was miserable without my husband even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself and I knew she was right. I didn’t know how to put it right he’d not speak to me or even look at me. I also knew him well enough to know it wasn’t the fact I was fucking another man he’d made me fuck hundreds and if Clive had asked him, he’d most likely have let him fuck me anyway. More than anything I knew that it was of because of what had happened to our son and that for him that was unforgivable he didn’t forgive me then and he never would.
I wrote him a letter telling him how sorry I was and how much I missed him and wanted things to go back to the way things were. I didn’t get an answer and so in a week I wrote again and when he didn’t answer me again. I wrote the third letter this time begging in no uncertain way making it clear way that I was pleading with him. The letter I got back from him told me that he was still angry with me and he doubted he forgives me for not being there for my son. There was no mention of Clive at all in his letter but it ended with the words “I do love you” and that was all I needed to know. I wrote back to him telling him I loved him but that although I wasn’t there for my son I loved him (our son) more than life itself and that it wasn’t my fault or anybody else’s that he was attacked other than the person who assaulted him, later he told me I was right but not forgiven.
I continued to see Clive for another few months but I decided to end it after he started to get just a little possessive. It started with him ringing me repeatedly at work and at night at home and when we met he was continually telling me that he’d “kick the shit out of your husband” and when I asked him was that a question or something he was trying to convince himself he flew into a rage and hit me. That wasn’t the last time I saw him or the last time he hit me but it was the last time I spoke back to him. One day he rang me at work demanding I see him that night and I decided that that was the time I to end it and I told him so.
In all the months I was “seeing” him he’d never been to my house but the night I ended it with him he turned up banging on the door. I stood on the other side of our front door with him banging on the other side. My daughter was terrified not knowing just what was going on but my son god bless him was there with me still not recovered from his attack with his cricket bat in his hand. Luckily, he didn’t have to use it as one of our neighbours rang the Police and they came and took him away.
Next he turned up at my office screaming his head off and was again taken away by security who rang the Police. I didn’t see him again for a couple of weeks when I was out with Susan the children safely at my sister’s house. This time he was refused admittance to a club as one of Desmond’s doormen recognised him. He’d spotted me inside and wasn’t taking no for an answer and a fight broke out and two doormen ended up being taken to hospital and after Clive was brought down by a Police Dog, I didn’t see him again for a few months.
A few weeks after that incident my husband came home on a three-month leave. It took a month for him to move back into our house and another month for him to get back into my bed. Not that he touched me once he was back there. Eventually, things did start to get back to normal if we ever had a normal life. The kids loved having him back and he even stayed long enough for him to get some much-needed home improvements made. There was no talk of The Circle, being blindfolded for Robert, swinging, dogging or anything.
I was surprised myself with just as it always surprises most people who think I’m some kind of nymphomaniac but I didn’t miss the sex, not in the slightest. I didn’t want sex I wasn’t craving it in any way shape or form. That isn’t to say I wouldn’t have taken some sex if it was on offer or given to me or for that matter if something was inflicted on me. The thing was that my husband didn’t want to have any form of sex with me and he wasn’t interested in letting others have me either. Requests from members of The Circle for me to “attend” other “Owners” which he didn’t allow as was his prerogative not that I missed that either. One thing I did notice was that my relationship with my sister had changed and changed considerably. I recall that although she talked to me as if there was nothing different between us the moment she spoke her words to me I knew that things between us had also changed. It is difficult for me to put down in writing precisely how but I realised after just a couple of conversations things would never be the same between us both.
Things could also be said of the relationship between my parents and me as both of them knew of my affair with Clive. They would have had to have been on another planet not to have known as did my brothers and just about everybody else I knew in the small town we lived in. As a pillar of the community and respected bank manager to say nothing of Captain of the Golf Club and leading Freemason, for my father his daughter fucking a black man and making a public sceptical of herself things could not have been worse. When he spoke to me about it the first thing, he told me was that he loved me but he’s never been so ashamed in his life and he’d never forgiven me, his words hurt like a knife in the chest. Unable to stop myself I told him that he wasn’t bothered that I’d had an affair or that my marriage to a man he hated could have ended or the effect it would have had on his grandchildren. No all he was bothered was the things people would say about him it was all about him, not me or anybody else, I knew as I said them it wasn’t even true.
As for my mother she a avoided saying anything to me at all about it until one day I got into an argument with my brother who told me that I’d broken our father's heart behaving like a slut. Intervening she told my brother that no matter what I was still his sister and her daughter. After telling him this she also told him his father loved me just as much and when he stormed out of the house, she turned to me and told me I was a “Stupid girl” that was her last words on the matter.
My one constant was Susan who had stuck by me no matter what and was even encouraging me to hit the town with her once more however; I thought better of that. I knew that at that stage my marriage could still have broken down I also knew that I’d do anything to stop it doing so. The more people were horrible to me and the more amicable my husband was, the more I wanted things to go back to the way they had been before I messed it all up.
He returned to Exmouth after his leave was up, he’d not touched me sexually apart from the odd hug towards the end. When he left, I missed him something I’d not done for years which in itself is a strange thing to say. Once he’d driven off the drive, I wanted him to turnaround and come straight back. Later about two hours or maybe more he rang me from a Motorway service station and told me he was almost in Devon. He went on to tell me that driving back had given him time to think and my heart missed a beat what had he thought about and why was it so important he’d had to ring me.
He’d rung me to tell me that he loved me and that the next time he was home he’d show me just how much. He also said that it I liked he’d put his papers in and leave the Marines to be with me and the children all the time. I knew how much this meant to him this had been his life for the last decade and a half if he was ready to do that, I knew he’d forgiven me. I told him that we’d talk about it on his next leave and we left it at that.
It was a month later he came home having talked to his CO about putting his papers in and was still willing to do it to be with us. I wanted him to leave after all in all the years of our marriage I doubt we’d had been together for more than 20% of the time. Tours of Ulster, The Falklands War, The Balkans and various other “action’s in his beloved Green Beret or the light blue of the UN and now “Desert Storm” was going to keep him away from me and his children. Life I thought was never fair as I watched the news I expected as he did the dreaded phone call which of course came telling him all leave was cancelled and he had to return to not the Officer Training Academy in Exmouth where he’d been stationed for the last year or so but once again to his former unit based in Poole.
It would be another six months before I saw my husband again and it would be another two after that he’d finally leave the Royals as he called them a twenty-year veteran. The last year he’d was promoted to Captain which he didn’t want and didn’t enjoy at all to this day he will not be called “Sir” by anybody that isn’t a submissive/slave but then again that is always a different thing isn’t it?
One thing that causes a blot on the horizon my now ex-lover Clive who was fast becoming a royal pain in the arse, not that I hadn’t enjoyed a different pain in my arse from him before. I think the fact he’d lost his “white bitch on the side” coupled with ending up in court three times had huge fines and lost his job at the leisure centre because of it had a lot to do with it. These days he played for a team in the lower reaches of the Football League meant that he had moved away from our town if only for the time being anyway.
Be careful what you wish for.
They call it “Civvies Street” when somebody leaves the forces and enters civilian life it is but one street that a lot of ex militaries find hard to walk down. At first, he thought that he’d be able to make a living in a way he’d always planned on doing, with a camera. This had been a dream of his for the last twenty years ever since he’d first joined the local Camera Club he was and still is a passionate photographer and on top of that, he is very talented. The downside to this was that anybody with a camera thinks they can take a picture which of course they can, however; of course, the quality is never the same. Nevertheless, the competition was fierce and people were unwilling to pay and that was something he hadn’t planned for.
His career with a camera came to a sudden end at a “Wedding” he was engaged to take the photographs for. The Mother of the Bride having married off six of her daughters and she knew what she wanted and she was used to getting her own way. Unfortunately, her reputation had gone before her and at least five local photographers had refused to work for her. Taken only on the Thursday before Saturday wedding it proved to be the nightmare from the second, he got to the church to the moment he left the reception having lost his legendary temper after being provoked severely with the Mother of the Bride.
The stupid woman was on his case all day so other guests testified and, in the end, when he refused to take anymore, she slapped him not once but twice across the face. Warned not to even try it again the woman looked all around to those watching and then again at the man she had slapped said “Oh really I am so scared you shit” and went to slap him again. I sat in the court listening to the witnesses say how he caught her arm turned it so she was bent over and then kicked her in the face before snapping her arm. Result in one broken arm a broken jaw and six missing teeth the jury find him not guilty but the Judge advised him to find another profession more suited to his other talents. As a final postscript, I sent the wretched woman a bill for services undertaken at the wedding together with the wedding photographs which of course she refused to pay. So, I took her to the small claims court and she was made to pay, god I loved that day.
The first year of “Civvie Street” was really hard for him as his dream hadn’t come true, although that said after the “Wedding of Broken Jaw” as the press called it business did pick up for him but it was all weddings and kids which was very soul-destroying for him and hardly paid at all. The job hunt didn’t go well at all either as he was told on the courses the Navy sent him on to prepare him for the real world. “As soon as they read that you were a former Marine be ready for two things. One, they will ask you, Oh, have you ever killed anybody. Two they will think you are either psychopath or a moron, pity them and ignore them.” At one job interview one man annoyed him so much when he asked not once but three times “Have you ever killed anybody?” only to be told “not for over a year but I am seriously thinking about ripping your throat out, right now” he didn’t get the job.
As for me my career it was going from strength to strength and I was now the head of a whole department and went to work in my brand-new company car. Salary wise I was earning more that he’d ever earned even as an Officer. It was enough to pay what little mortgage we had as well as all the bills and provide more to spare for holidays abroad. The one thing that was the problem was he didn’t want me to do that as he saw it as his job.
It would appear that being out of the military wasn’t going to be easy for him or for me and our children it was as if the balance of power had changed away from him and towards me. As far as our financial position it would be to say that either of us liked it the way it was at all. The thing was he had an income from his Navy pension as well as a pension awarded to him by a “Grateful US Government” for some reason or other he never fully explained to me something to do with a medal, not that I’d be interested anyway I expect. The problem was that he didn’t want to be a “pensioner” while he was still a young man as he’d expected to be the next David Bailey and so with this in mind, he deferred it until he was older and at least fifty.
A number of no hope and dead-end jobs came and went one memorable end came when he got into an argument with his boss who took a swing at him knocking him into a skip and he arrived home stinking of rotting vegetables. This time he kept a cool head and had his boss arrested but a settlement of a few thousand meant he’d drop the charges. Other jobs he turned down such as a £4 an hour security job guarding a builder’s merchants and another one at £3 guarding a car park with no cars.
It wasn’t as if we weren’t getting or I should say he was getting calls from The Circle members requesting my “attendance” but I hadn’t been sent. That isn’t to say we hadn’t played as people put it, together as we had. In fact, he’d triggered me most nights when he first got back to the country after “Desert Storm” and it continued even more intensely when he retired. I enjoyed the play as it was just him and me, Master and slave as well as husband and wife. The sex between us had always been good it had been better than good it had always been fantastic. Maybe it was because of the fact he knew me so well both physically but most of all mentally for the reason that as he told me “It all takes place in your mind.”
One sad day we received a letter from somebody we didn’t know on behalf of my dogging friend Alan it was from a firm of Funeral Directors. It told us the Justine had died of a heart attack a few days before and when the funeral would be taking place which was the following week. Poor Justine was a big lady, to say the least, and in the time we’d last seen her and her death she grown even larger and in the end, it caused her to have an overdue heart attack. We attended the funeral together with several other members of The Circle. To see so many of them together in one place shocked me it really did as I’d only ever seen them with no more than three or four of them at a time at a dinner party or individually now seeing most of them altogether, they seemed so old. In fact, some of them mostly those I’d never met looked ancient clearly too old to dominate anybody. One of them was being aided with a Zimmer Frame and I thought he looked as if he was about to join Justine at any time, which was ironic because the next funeral we attended was just two weeks later and it was his.
We’d given those we knew nicknames “The Dentist, The Bishop, Ropeman” were just a few they were all there and a lot more. I was the only woman there that wasn’t vanilla at Justine’s funeral which I thought was odd and as I only had one outfit in black that didn’t have a short skirt or a low top and that was a suit I wore for work and I chose a black silk blouse and black stockings to go with it finished off with black patent leather heels with ankle straps. I looked like an expensive hooker a prostitute yes but an expensive one I looked good and I liked it and I wasn’t the only one who did. That same night my “Owner” had at least a dozen requests for me to attend Circle members all of which he told me about and all of which he turned down, tell them all the same “Oh I’m sorry but she’s all booked up for the next few weeks.
We called on Alan one Sunday afternoon about three months after his wives death and he was pleased to see us. The guy had no children or family at all, in fact, the only people he saw on a regular basis people he worked with. On his drive was very nice-looking Bentley all shiny and new and I asked him if he’d bought a new car only to be told no he’d had it for a few years now at least two anyway. When I inquired about the Volvo, he told me that he still had it but he’d only bought it to take Justine dogging adding “I don’t suppose I will have much use for it now she’s gone.” I didn’t know what to say and there was an awkward silence until my husband said that he was sure Alan would find somebody for him to take. To this Alan looked at me and said to both of us “Do you think so, maybe Susan would volunteer?” I was a little taken aback by this and what my husband replied to him “Maybe she would but you’d have to ask her that Alan” which he did straight away “What about it Susan you fancy a little car park cock?” what could I say I mean I was put on the spot and before I knew it I said “OK I’m up for it.”
I think those few words cheered the pair of them up for Alan it gave him somebody to play with as well as giving him a sex life once more. More importantly, it signalled to my husband I was willing to be a slag for him. I am not sure that I wasn’t ever unwilling. Maybe I was less willing at one point I must admit but I was never 100% unwilling or maybe I am fooling myself because I did tell him I didn’t want to go to Oak Farm or meet Circle members. The ease I agreed to go with Alan dogging did tell me that I wanted it and not just to cheer the widower up or for that matter to please my husband either. I thought about it on the way home why did I agree to go with a man I’d hardly knew, (in fact I’d only met him a dozen times) to some car park and let other men I didn’t know at all some of which would be utterly gross and let them fuck, bugger me and pump their cum down my throat? I didn’t know then and I don’t know now all I do know is I wanted to do it.
The following weekend he suggested we go to Oak Farm to see Mentor and once again I found myself agreeing to go. The old man was now almost eighty years-old and if anything, his farm was looking even more dilapidated than I remembered and the buildings that looked like they’d needed a coat of paint sixteen years before still hadn’t had one. By this time Oak farm was a farm in name only as it had ceased to be a working farm about four years before following the death of his wife and slave “Cow” there were no animals or crops just empty fields and barns, the place looked sad and worn out as did the man who owned it. The one thing that wasn’t worn out was Mentor’s enthusiasm for inflicting pain and humiliation. I was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt for this social visit much to the old man’s annoyance and he made his feelings clear to my husband addressing him directly without speaking a word to me which was quite normal, well in his own private little world anyway.
Years before some form of apology would have been given offered but times and experience had changed all that. This time it was pointed out in no uncertain terms that he decided how I dressed and as this was purely social visit, he’d decided I wear jeans and a T-shirt. I smiled to myself not wanting either of them to know how I felt as the place was the location of too many painful beatings and lessons learnt the hard way to chance more of the same. Nevertheless, it was clear that the balance of power had changed there as well and to quote Star Wars “Now I am the Master” and for the time being my clothes stayed on.
The two friends talked about old times and lessons learnt mainly by yours truly and I realised just how far I’d travelled in the now eighteen or so years since I was first taken there by him to be gang-banged by twelve old men just six weeks after I’d met him. I sat there in silence unsure of what to say or what I could offer to the conversation if anything. I was discussed as if I wasn’t there and in the third person I was called “she, it, her or just Slag” never once Susan I was a slave an object or a possession, not a wife or a mother it was odd but something I was used to and may even have found it pleasing in some way. Mentor was told of my experiences with other people and would ask a question but not of me but to my husband who would, in turn, ask me to answer.
Sitting there in the dark, dirty farmhouse that smelt of damp, piss and decay telling an old man about my sex life and how I was beaten and buggered by a collection of men and women was humiliating but I couldn’t stop myself for complying. First, I told them in detail what I’d done and for who, as a matter of defiance if anything. Then as I spoke and answered the questions, I was aware that I was in proud of myself and if anything, enjoying it and the more intimate the questions and my answers the more I delight in it.
Then out of the blue my husband turned to me and asked me “Tell me what you are?” to which instantly I answered “I'm a slag Master” and the Slag Susan was fully back 100% and we both knew it. Sucking Mentor’s cock seconds later and now naked I recall just how his trousers smelt of stale pee and how dirty his cock was. I also remember delighting on how hard I got it and the vile names he called me as I did it and I loved it. The beating I was given by Mentor for being a “dog fucking wilful whore” did more for him than it did for me but that said I still enjoyed it which clearly, he didn’t notice but my Master did.
The first months of Civvie Street hadn’t gone well for my husband and he’d even considered going back into the forces as he had been invited to discuss it out of the blue. It was an offer he refused and told me he’d promised me that he’d be with me all the time and he’d meant it. I knew that he had meant every single word of his promise and I told him so and I also pointed out I made good money and he’d had better let me pay more bills but pride or stupidity wouldn’t let him. I’d wished for him to leave the Marines and he had done choosing me and our children and he was still my husband and my Master for that matter but in some way or another, it seemed less than it was in some way diminished and not the same.
As a child, I’d was always told I had too many dreams and sometimes those dreams do come true but not always in the way you want them to.
To be continued.