Flawed Red Silk Ch. 09

I nodded. I wasn’t sure I had breath enough to speak.

“You stay there. I’ll be back soon.”

She gathered up her night-dress and bra and left. A few minutes later she reappeared, entering the room in a swirl of white silkiness. She sat on the bed propping her back against a pile of pillows.

“Your turn to eat, Ralph.”

She indicated where I should be. I moved to put my head between her legs. She spread them wide as her hand twined in my hair forcing me to her naked fair-haired bush. It took all my skill to satisfy her. Veronica had never been as demanding as this. I was aware that Patricia wanted everything I could give her and wouldn’t be content with anything less than my complete attention.

When she was contented and relaxed she pulled my head back allowing her night-dress to slide to cover her reddened sex. She rested my head back face down in her sheathed lap before leaning forward to drop her breasts over me. I felt surrounded by her and contained within her warm body.

She held that position for a long time as I breathed her sexual scents and enjoyed her warm skin wrapping me.

When she released me she went straight back into dominatrix mode. I got breakfast for her, tidied the house and did the things her injuries had prevented her from doing. It didn’t take long and it was only an hour or so after dawn when I had finished.

She suggested that she direct me on a tour of East Kent after I had checked out of the hotel. I wasn’t wholly sure about the wisdom of that because my wife could only contact me on the mobile if I wasn’t at a hotel. Would she get suspicious? Patricia dismissed the idea. She told me to check out and move in with her.

I obeyed. I paid my bill at the hotel and returned to Sandwich Bay with my suitcase. The warden stopped me on the way in.

“I know you are Patricia’s guest so I’m not stopping you to collect a fee. I just wanted to have a word.”

He looked at me as if considering what he should say.

“We like Patricia. She’s had a hard time. Her fall was the last straw of many.”

I understood what he was trying to say.

“Thank you for your concern for her. I will do what I can for her. I won’t hurt her and I will treat her as gently as she will let me.”

“Thank you. She is a determined lady. Several of us have wanted to help her but she wouldn’t have it. It seems she’s chosen you. Has she?”

“Yes. I’m chief cook and bottlewasher. I’m taking her out for the day but I sorted her house out this morning. Everything is back how she wants it to be.”

“I thought so. You were seen taking the trash out. Don’t tell her but while you two are out her garden will be tidied up. We have been waiting for her to leave the estate for a time but she hasn’t yet.”

“Then on her behalf, and without telling her, I thank you and anyone else who is her friend.”

The warden nodded and drove off.

Patricia directed me to St. Margaret’s Bay. The descent was a strain on my nerves. I hadn’t expected hairpin bends on a hill in Kent. We sat and watched the ferries crossing the channel for a while before going on to the National Trust Gateway to the White Cliffs to watch more ferries while eating a light lunch. A shower of rain cleared the air and we could see the cliffs of France and all the shipping.

Patricia bought a replacement walking stick from the small National Trust shop, trying several before she found one the right length. The stick looked much stronger than the one she had broken.

“Have you brought your passport?” Patricia asked suddenly.

I thought for a moment. It was usually in my briefcase, now locked in the boot of the car.

“I think so. It should be in the car. Do you want me to check?”

“Yes please. You could get me some more coffee on the way back.”

I brought my passport back and the coffee.

“Good. We could go to France tomorrow. All we have to do is drive down to the harbour and book.”

That was a surprise. I hadn’t thought how easy it was to cross the Channel. It was as Patricia said. We booked a crossing for the next morning for a price that was less than a half-day’s parking in the town near my country house.

I didn’t want to cook again this evening so we drove around the countryside until it got dark. Patricia used her mobile phone to book a meal at a country public house. I couldn’t have done it because most don’t do meals on Sunday evenings. Patricia’s local knowledge found a suitable public house on the third attempt. By six o’clock we were in comfortable armchairs in front of a roaring log fire deciding what we should have from the surprisingly extensive menu.

The meal would not be ready for at least an hour but we were enjoying ourselves. I was on soft drinks because I was the driver but Patricia had several sherries before we were called to our table in an oak beamed room with another log fire.

This was only the second full day of my holiday and a Sunday. It would have been a nice weekend but I still had two weeks to go before returning to work. I could feel that I had relaxed since Friday night. I was really enjoying Patricia’s company and the lack of stress.

The evening ended with another session of anointing Patricia’s naked body. Whatever was in the ointment it seemed to work well. She was in less pain, the bruises were beginning to fade, and she could move easier.

That night she slept wrapped in my arms. I had forgotten just how pleasant it was to have a woman sleeping with me. I slept peacefully as well.

Almost the whole of the next week was like the Sunday except for the crossing to France. We had breakfast on the ferry, drove down the coast from Calais and walked a short way on a sandy beach looking back at the White Cliffs of Dover. We sat in the car, watching the sea while we ate a snack of warm French bread, local cheese from a market stall and bottled water.

In the afternoon we drove around the French countryside. I didn’t see as much of it as I would have liked to because I was concentrating on driving on the wrong side of the road and obeying signs of ‘Ceder le passage’ to cars coming from my right.

We spent the early part of the evening in the Old Town of Boulogne before a wonderful French meal cooked by a French chef in France. That meal was bliss.

The drive back to Calais to catch the ferry was boring as we used the motorway but it would have been pointless to take the scenic coastal road after dark. I could imagine that it would be very different say in May or June with the long evenings.

As I said, the rest of the week was like Sunday. We drove around to see the sights when it was daylight, found a country public house for our evening meal and slept in each other’s arms all night. I applied the ointment to Patricia morning and evening and only on her legs in the middle of the day.

On the Monday morning while Patricia was in the shower I rang Mary, Christopher Jones’ temporary Secretary. She arranged something for me. Late on the Wednesday afternoon Patricia sent me to the large supermarket near Dover. I diverted into Sandwich to the large chemical works to collect a parcel that had been sent care of a friend who worked there. He had been amused by the secrecy but promised to keep quiet about it.

By the Friday evening Patricia was moving better than she had when I had first seen her as a distant person beside the golf course.

Saturday morning I woke to realise that this day would be different. Patricia had left the bed before me and I heard the washing machine on a fast spin. She brought me a cup of tea in bed. She sat down and announced:

“Today is a boring day. I feel much better and although you have been good about clearing up this house needs a thorough clean. I was planning to do it the day after the horse threw me so it is overdue. Will you help?”

“Of course. You may be improved but you are not wholly recovered. I will do the heavy stuff.”

What had I let myself in for? I vacuumed the house from top to bottom moving most of the furniture. I polished wood, mopped floors, cleaned windows and made the bathroom sparkle. Patricia had the washing machine and tumble dryer rumbling away most of the day. She washed all my clothes as well as her own.

We had snatched a light lunch between the other activities. By five o’clock I was getting hungry again. The delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen as I passed did not help. I poked my head round the kitchen door. Patricia was putting a foil covered baking tray into the oven.

“I’ve finished everything you asked me to do, Patricia,” I said, “What shall I do now?”

“Go and have a shower. Dry yourself off and get into bed, naked.”

“What?” I queried.

“You heard, Ralph. Do it!” She winked at me.

I showered and shaved, dried myself off and got into the freshly made bed with my stomach beginning to rumble ominously.

Patricia appeared carrying a tray. She fed me on assorted vol-au-vents washed down with a glass of red wine. She wouldn’t let me feed myself.

“There will be more food later but I need I shower before I’m ready for you,” she said. “I want you to stay where you are.”

She pulled back the duvet, tied my ankles together and tied the bonds to the foot of the bed. With a long scarf she tied my hands to my waist. My faint protests were stifled by a lingering kiss. Then she left me. I heard the shower running followed by her hair dryer.

She came back into the bedroom wrapped in a blue satin housecoat I hadn’t seen before. The belt round her waist emphasised her curves. Her breasts strained against the wrap-over.

She knelt on the bed beside me. She kissed me then quickly stuffed my mouth with some material before winding a silk scarf round my lower face and tying it tight. She ignored my muffled grunts.

“Ralph,” she said in a conversational tone, “I have prepared a surprise for you. I don’t want you to spoil it by guessing what it is so…”

She blindfolded me efficiently. I tried to dislodge the blindfold and gag but her hands held my head in place while she tied a large silk scarf over my head, knotting it under my chin and then tying the ends at the back of my neck. That scarf covered the gag and blindfold. I could thrash my head as much as I liked but the last scarf just slid across the pillow.

“I’m going to leave you for a few minutes to get ready for my guests. They will want to be introduced to you so please stay where you are.”

I felt her cover me with the duvet that she then strapped down across me. Even without the bonds holding my hands and ankles I would have had difficulty leaving the bed.

I was helpless and fuming. Who were these guests? What did Patricia intend to do with me? How much did I really know about her? Was I in real danger or was she just teasing me? Whether it was a tease or not she had made me completely immobile, unable to talk or see.

While I strained my ears to the faintest sound I heard her entering and leaving the bedroom repeatedly. Could I smell food? I did smell coffee and heard her plug a percolator in to a socket. It blurped away happily to itself as I strained at my bonds.

I heard the doorbell sound and Patricia’s voice as she greeted the visitors. I thought they must be female. I heard the tone of their voices but not the words. I was sure I heard at least one pair of high heels and Patricia had been wearing soft mules.

The high heels approached the bedroom. I thought I heard a different pair of shoes as well as the soft sound of Patricia’s mules. There was a sharp intake of breath at the bedroom door and then the sounds entered the room.

“There he is,” Patricia announced, “as promised. He has no idea what to expect.”

Her hand stroked that small part of my cheek that was not covered by scarf, blindfold or gag.

“Relax, Ralph.” She ordered. “This won’t hurt and may well help you. I’m going to remove your gag but you mustn’t make a sound. Nod if you agree to keep quiet.”

I nodded.

Patricia’s hands untied the scarf from my head. She loosened the gag and dropped it to my neck, pulling out the damp material she had stuffed into my mouth. She gave me a quick peck on the lips.

“Remember. Not a sound.”

I sense someone on the bed beside me. A rough material brushed my face as I was straddled. Hands pulled the material up and away, leaving a slithery light material before two bare warm thighs clasped my cheeks. Behind my head a pillow was pushed against me, tilting my face forward against a curly bush that wasn’t Patricia’s. I thought I ought to recognise this bush but it couldn’t be. It had been so long ago if it was that bush.

The woman above me sighed as she pushed down against me. I tried to satisfy the offered pussy but it wasn’t well lubricated. After a few minutes I was relieved when the thighs relaxed their grip and the woman climbed off me. Who was it that my tongue couldn’t arouse?

Another woman replaced her. This pussy was silky. If I hadn’t been in the wilds of East Kent I would have said this was Veronica. The touch, taste and scent were Veronica’s but how could that be? Patricia didn’t know Veronica and I hadn’t given her enough information to find Veronica. Or had I?

If this really was Veronica then the other woman must be the only other woman in my life, my wife Daphne. That would explain why she seemed familiar but I couldn't arouse her. We had drifted so far apart that neither of us had any sexual attraction left for the other.

If this was Veronica I owed her a lot, more than a pair of silky French Knickers could repay. Without Veronica I would not have met Patricia, not had such a relaxing and enjoyable week, nor forgotten my problems.

I acted on the assumption that this was Veronica and put my heart, soul and tongue into satisfying her. I was rewarded by the sound of heavy breathing, a growing warm dampness and heated thighs that clamped me tight as the woman screamed in ecstasy above me. I recognised Veronica’s cry of sexual triumph.

This was Veronica. Daphne was the other unsatisfied woman.

Veronica slid off me. Patricia’s lips covered mine as soon as they were free.

“Well, Ralph, did you recognise them?”

I nodded.

“You can speak now. Who were they?”

“My wife Daphne was first; Veronica was second.”

Patricia’s hands removed my blindfold. Veronica was smiling at me. She was dressed in all concealing black jersey. I turned my head. Daphne was smiling at me as well, the sort of smile I hadn’t seen from her in years. She was wearing a skirt suit in a country tweed. The tweed had been the rough material I felt before her slip.

Why was Daphne smiling? Here I was, tied up in another woman’s bed, just having eaten a whore and Daphne was pleased with me? I didn’t understand what she had to smile about. It wasn’t a triumphant smile, or a smile of a woman who had proof for a divorce. It was almost a loving smile.

Daphne spoke:

“I think you deserve an explanation, Ralph. You should thank Patricia for finding a satisfactory solution to your problems. She put considerable effort into solving them this week. She contacted Veronica and I to invite us here. We came because she made it worth our while to come. We came because both of us do have some feelings for you, even if they are not the feelings you really wanted from us.”

Veronica added:

“This is my farewell visit. I think and hope that you won’t need me any more because Patricia will give you more than I could. You became more than a customer. Once that happened we had to stop. We have real lives to live, not fantasy ones however important your fantasy might have been to you.”

Veronica kissed me full on the lips. I recognised that it was a goodbye kiss.

“How did you…?” I started to ask Patricia.

“…find them? Easy. You had their telephone numbers and names programmed into your mobile phone. I just looked at the phone’s ‘phone book’ and there they were. Talking to Maria, Veronica’s maid, was simple. I mentioned your name and Veronica cut in on the conversation. We had a woman to woman talk and she agreed to come here for you. Daphne…”

“I wasn’t so simple,” interrupted Daphne. “It never is simple for a woman to contact the wife. Patricia used a detective agency. They soon found out what you never suspected, Ralph. I’ve had a lover for years.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“You know him. He is William, the golf club captain. His wife divorced him over our affair but you never suspected us, did you?”

“No, Daphne. Even if I had I would have turned a blind eye. We lost each other a long time ago. As far as I know William is more suited to you than I ever was. You enjoy the same activities and move in the same social circle.”

“I hoped you would say something like that. I want to divorce you, or rather I want US to divorce each other. I can’t bring William into it. He was upset when he realised that his wife wanted a divorce so that she could have her lover. She blackened his name when a mutually agreed divorce could have been arranged. I don’t want that to happen to either you or I. Will you co-operate?”

I looked at all three women who were waiting expectantly.

“Of course I will, Daphne. I owe you that much and more.”

The tension in the room vanished.

Daphne kissed me, Veronica kissed me, Patricia kissed me and sat beside me on the bed.

“One apparently inane question, Daphne,” I said. “What would you have said to me if I gave you a pair of embroidered red silk French Knickers?”

Daphne laughed.

“I would have given them back to you. I’d never wear French Knickers, embroidered red silk or not. You should know me better than that.”

Patricia partially released me and propped me up in the bed. Around the room were trays of finger food. The three of them took it in turns to feed me. Daphne was efficient, I suppose from practice with the children when they were younger. Veronica was delicate but Patricia was sensual as if each piece of food was a love offering.

Daphne left after an hour. When she had gone I asked Veronica to do something for me.

“Will you bring my briefcase from the hall, please?”

She did. Patricia looked puzzled.

“Patricia, inside that briefcase is a padded envelope. Get it, please.”

She pulled out the padded envelope. It was addressed to me, care of my friend at the chemical works. It had been opened.

“Veronica, will you take out the contents and give them to Patricia with my love, please?”

Veronica had guessed what was in the envelope. Out of Patricia’s sight she winked at me. She lifted out a white tissue wrapped bundle and passed it to Patricia.

Patricia opened it carefully and gasped. The red silk gleamed. She held up the knickers to show us. They were embroidered with London landmarks. I saw Big Ben, St Paul’s and Tower Bridge as she turned them in her hands.

“Well?” I asked, “Do you like them?”

Patricia fell on me and kissed me over and over. In between the kisses I could see Veronica smiling broadly. When Patricia stopped she asked:

“Could I have a look at them, Patricia?”

They examined them minutely. They pointed out the workmanship and the delicacy of the needlework. They ignored me. Mistress and whore were lost in contemplation of a pair of knickers leaving me still tied up. Eventually they remembered me. Veronica stroked my cheek before she left. Patricia escorted her out before returning to sit back beside me.

“Well, Ralph, have I solved your problems?”

“Not all of them. When I am a divorced man I want to ask you to marry me.”

“Why not ask now?”

“Patricia, will you marry me?”

“I want a demonstration of your love first.”

She untied her housecoat, pulled up her night-dress and straddled me. I gave her pussy as much attention as I had given Veronica’s. The difference was Patricia’s response. We moved together as if we were hearing the same music. When she was satisfied she moved down my body and sheathed me inside hers. Slowly she brought me to the edge of a climax again and again until I was pleading for her to let me come.