High Life: Alice Makes a Change Pt. 06

[Author's note: Alice is married to James, a professional football player who has found himself at a loose end after retiring from the sport. After attending a charity auction in which she was outbid for her own husband, Alice and James have been blackmailed into service by Jodie and her upper-echelon friends. They have no choice but to do her bidding, letting Jodie pimp James out to clients, otherwise she will release the videos she took.

After performing for her at the hen's party at the Spa (High Life pt. 04), James has been booked again by Fee.]

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UNUSUAL PEOPLE

I held the phone up to my ear. I wasn't going to do this call on speaker.

"Yeah, that one," I said.

"The psycho bitch?" James replied.

"That doesn't narrow it down."

"I guess, yeah they were all psycho. Help me out. My recollection's a little hazy."

"The smart one."

"Oh. Her."

"You got the address?"

"It's local, round the back of the hill."

"When?"

"Friday night."

There was a pause.

"Always Friday night," he grumbled, "For once, I'd just like to enjoy the weekend."

"See you tonight."

"Yeah, see you tonight babe. Let's talk."

I ended the call, dropping my phone onto the tabletop. I'd made myself a coffee, but it was already cold. I heaved myself upright and wandered through the house to start stripping the boys' beds. It was at least something to take my mind off our latest booking.

My husband's recollection of the night at Sanctuary Point spa was hazy for a good reason: I'd drugged him and then let four women use him like a fuck toy all night. The fact that James, looking like crap the next morning, had been kind enough to roll over in bed and tell me I'd done a good job had brought me to tears on the spot.

Now, tall, slim, attractive, smart Ophelia had booked us for a night at her house. This time, mercifully, without the rest of the hen party in attendance. I shivered, remembering the way her fingers had explored the wet patch on the back of my maid costume, how she'd sniffed her fingers, detecting the scent of my juices, how she'd seemed to know instinctively that I had orgasmed just from watching her fuck my husband. I tugged the pillows out of their cases with renewed vigour.

The humiliation had been severe, triggering the feeling in me even now, safe in my home, weeks later, but what was unbearable was what she'd said at the end: that I was a submissive, that I shouldn't feel bad about reacting the way I did, watching Ophelia's dominant performance on top of my husband's supine body. She'd known just what to say, just what to do, taking her pleasure from my man and making me watch.

Friday night: I'd have to ask my parents to take the boys again. So far, no questions, but how long would that last?

I churned through the housework, doing school pick-up, getting the boys fed and bathed. James was flying in later, having snagged a commentary gig. It was television work, maybe a springboard into the lucrative panel show career some of the other retired football stars had managed to set up for themselves. We'd been angling for this chance for James to show his skills with a microphone after years of showing his skills on the grass. We needed to make sure Jodie had no idea about this; I couldn't risk that vindictive, manipulative bitch booking an appointment on the same night, just to cause a clash.

The boys were safely asleep by the time I heard the front door open. I got up from the couch and padded down the hallway barefoot, finding James standing there with his overnight bag by his side, looking shattered.

"Tough flight?" I asked, wrapping my arms around him.

"Tough couple of days," he replied, kissing me.

"Hungry? Do you need dinner?"

"Nah, I ate on the plane."

We went through the routine, the same one as we'd done for years, from back when he was playing all over the country with the team. I could see immediately that he just needed to hit the pillow: I'd be lucky to even get conversation from him tonight.

Later, side by side in bed, he brought up the subject of the booking.

"I do remember her," he said, "I remember a hot tub, and...."

His voice trailed off.

"Fucking her in the hot tub," I finished, "It's okay. I was there. I remember it better than you do."

"Yeah," he rumbled, "I guess we must have made an impression, if she went to Jodie and asked to go again."

"I looked her up," I offered.

"What did you find out?"

"Her full name, who she's married to. She's Ophelia Raine, her husband is Barton Raine, the neurosurgeon."

"He sounds familiar."

"Yeah, he's twenty years her senior, and old, old money. Ended up in a wheelchair after a skiing accident a few years back."

James shifted in the sheets.

"Yeah, that's right. I remember now. He broke his back. Then, something about him back in the operating theatre again, a special chair that he's designed so he can go back to work. There was a piece on him."

James was silent for a while, and I thought that was the end of the conversation.

"Poor bastard," he muttered.

"Yeah, it's awful."

"No, I mean, uh, yeah, that's awful but it wasn't what I was thinking about."

"What then?"

"Poor bastard, stuck in a wheelchair with his wife sneaking around behind his back. She's a real piece of shit."

---

The Raine house was obvious: single-storey and brand-new, in between the century-old brick mansions on one of the most expensive streets in Highbridge. They were perched on the high side of the street with views down the hill to the city in the distance. James buzzed the intercom and the gates opened for us to drive up to the garage. We parked inside. Ophelia was clearly taking no chances on us being seen.

James helped me out of the car, balancing in my ridiculous stiletto heels.

"You look fabulous," he grinned.

"You too."

James was in a white dress shirt and trousers, smart but casual. I was another matter entirely.

"Is it all straight?" I asked, doing a spin.

"Yes. You're fine."

I tugged at my hem again, trying to stretch the shiny latex just a little lower. I didn't know whether Jodie had specified that I wear the tight, long-sleeved black latex dress for this engagement, or whether Ophelia herself had requested it. Either way, the effect was the same: poured into the glossy, slick garment, the curves of my body on full display, I felt the familiar discomfort of humiliation. Everything was on show: Ophelia's eyes on my body would be degrading, but I had no other option. I had no other choices at all. The only comfort was the gleam in my husband's eyes.

"You look hot, Alice."

He nuzzled my ear.

"Very, very fuckable," he whispered.

Despite myself, I thrilled to hear those words.

"Ready?" he asked.

"No, but that doesn't matter. It's game time."

James chuckled, "That's my line."

I took his hand and we walked around to the front door. James rang the bell. I looked around, grateful that the house was shielded from the road by a tall hedge. It was very discreet. The door rattled.

"Here we go," James breathed.

A younger woman in jeans and a t-shirt opened the door.

"Ophelia," James began, but she cut him off.

"Fee, just Fee, remember?" she said, "Ah, but maybe you don't. You do, though, don't you Alice?"

"Hi Fee," I responded, trying to banish the reluctance from my voice.

Fee beamed at me.

"That's such an improvement, Alice. The maid outfit was truly dreadful. Come in."

She stepped to the side, letting us past. Fee fell into step with me, coming close.

"Much more practical," she murmured, "Leak-proof."

My cheeks coloured, but before I could respond, she had picked up the pace, leading us to a side table in the hallway. I saw a document and a pen.

"First, can you please read and sign?" Fee said, indicating the paper.

"We're, uh, what's this?" I blurted.

"It's nothing sinister. It's a standard non-disclosure agreement. I'm sure you've seen them before."

"Why do we need an NDA?" I asked.

"It's just an assurance. It benefits both parties, given the nature of our relationship. Take a look."

She picked up the pen and handed it to me. I took it from her and began to read the contract. It took a couple of minutes, and I was acutely aware of standing in my ankle-snapping heels and slick, shiny dress poring through the dry legalese before she got to fuck my husband. It seemed utterly surreal, but I found myself acknowledging with a nod that the wording was fairly standard. I signed.

"Great, thank you. Now, shall we get on with the night?"

Fee was smiling broadly, beckoning us to follow her through her beautiful house. I couldn't banish the thought from my mind, that here she was, booking in a little extra-marital fun because her oblivious husband was loaded and our nightly fee would be pocket cash: unmissed, undetected. The more I thought about it, the more furious I became, to the point that I found that I was grinding my teeth as I watched the back of this treacherous younger woman leading us into one of the back rooms of the house her husband had built for her.

James seemed to sense my mood, grasping my hand tightly until I looked up at him. He gave me an almost imperceptible nod, but I knew what he meant. I needed to get it together, for the sake of the night. Straight in and straight out, that was the game plan. We didn't need complications, we didn't need me going off-script because I disliked her. All I knew is that it was going to be a lot harder watching Fee fuck James than it had been watching him with someone like Phoebe.

"Do you both want to go through?" Fee said, "There are drinks on the side, please help yourself. I'm just going to slip into something a little less comfortable."

She didn't wait for a response, turning on her heel and disappearing back the way we'd come. I turned to James.

"The fucking nerve of her," I hissed.

"Get it together," James snapped, shocking me.

"What?" I gasped.

"I feel the same, but that's not something we can afford right now. I need you. I need the team."

His expression was stern, uncompromising. I had to concede that he was right. I just had to sit there in the background, James was the one who needed to perform. The consequences, what Jodie could do to our lives if a bad report went back to her, made this high stakes. I took a deep breath. James was correct: I needed to get it together.

James watched me for a moment, then when he seemed satisfied, he nodded to the doorway and I stepped into the room that Fee had indicated. It was large, low-lit and scattered with comfortable seating, looking out through tall glass windows at a beautifully manicured garden lit with little recessed up-lights. On the left-hand side, in a small pool of illumination, I could see the drinks tray.

"Shall we?" I asked.

"Just one."

"Okay. Whiskey?"

I moved towards the drinks.

"Whiskey sounds perfect."

I froze. The voice had come from the other side of the room. I turned, scanning the couches, seeking its source.

"If you could," the voice continued, "I'm sorry I'm not able to be more hospitable."

A man was sitting in a high armchair, legs crossed, neat in a shirt and trousers, sporting close-cropped black hair. He was smiling.

"Barton," he announced, "You've already met my wife."

"Yes," I blurted, "Sorry, I, we, uh, I hadn't expected you to be here."

There was a rumbling sound from the far side of the room and I realised that Barton was laughing.

"Oh, that would be entirely a waste of money. Come and have a seat. Like I said, please forgive me, making you serve yourselves."

I turned back to the drinks trolley, pouring out two measures of whiskey. There was champagne as well, already opened and sitting in an ice bucket. Against my better judgement, I poured myself a glass.

There was a couch next to him and we made for it, James taking his whiskey when I offered it. I found myself walking up to Fee's husband, drinks in hand, swaying on my high heels, painfully aware of how I looked as his eyes took in the sight of me.

"Whiskey."

It was all I could manage. I handed him his drink and then settled down delicately on the couch next to my husband, very careful to ensure the tight latex hemline of my dress didn't rise any further up my thighs.

"Not what you were expecting?" Barton asked.

"No," I confessed.

"Fee was glowing in her praise after the hen's night."

I must have betrayed my surprise.

"Oh, don't worry. There are no secrets here. I know all about the hot tub, what you got up to."

"You don't mind?" I mumbled.

"Of course not. Who do you think paid for it all? Marielle certainly couldn't have afforded you for the night."

I found myself gaping at him, watching as he took a sip of whiskey. He gave me a warm smile, acknowledging my confusion.

"Marie still needed to seal the deal before she got access to her husband's money," came a voice from behind us.

I turned to see Fee enter the room, dressed in a long trenchcoat, crossing over to the drinks trolley to pour herself a glass of champagne.

"She's an awful gold digger," Fee continued, "Just looking for a man to fuck who can keep her in the manner to which she would like to become accustomed."

"Spoken from experience," Barton replied, "She learned everything from you."

Fee crossed over to them, perching on the arm of her husband's chair. Peeking out from beneath the trenchcoat, I could see opaque white stockings and black mary-jane shoes with the straps done up over her ankles.

"I knew what you were looking for the moment I set eyes on you," he continued.

"A man to spend the rest of my life with," Fee countered.

"All you saw was a walking wallet."

"With a lovely smile. But if we're going to play this game, what did you see?"

Barton smiled at her, and replied, "Someone who would do just about anything for a passport to the easy life."

Fee patted his leg, a tiny smile on her lips, eyes narrowed to slits as she surveyed her husband.

"Yeah, and then you messed up all my plans when you went skiing."

Fee turned to me.

"I had it all laid out. I'd wheedled him into getting the will changed in my favour, and all I had left to do was dispose of the husband. I was planning to kill him with sex."

She squeezed his leg again.

"Then he went and got himself put in a wheelchair. I had to wait around, six months in hospital, with him having the indecency to never quite finish the job."

She turned back to me again, pouting.

"I was so close, I could almost touch it."

"Imagine what I was thinking," Barton interjected, "Afraid to go to sleep, hooked up to all those machines, in case you unplugged a tube."

"No darling, they would have traced that. I'd never be able to inherit from prison."

She shrugged, "So now I'm stuck with you."

Barton's eyes were like little hard marbles, his smile fixed.

"Getting what you want however you can," he said.

"And not being able to leave your side," Fee responded, "It's the worst arrangement."

She bent down to him, taking his face in her hands, kissing him deeply.

"Until death do us part," she breathed, "Daddy."

Barton drew her down onto his lap, kissing her tenderly. James and I looked at each other.

"Now, are you going to fuck the nice man, babygirl?"

"Of course, Daddy. I want to fuck so badly."

"Get to it," Barton replied, slapping her on the thigh.

Fee shrieked and sprang up from his lap, jiggling back a step and giggling. I could see the excitement in her face. Her attention shifted to James and she opened up her trenchcoat, letting it pool around her ankles, revealing what she was wearing beneath.

Fee stood in front of us in a schoolgirl uniform, complete with white stockings, black shoes and her hair in a ponytail, held in place by a ribbon. She clasped her hands in front of her and dropped her gaze to her feet, suddenly bashful.

"I've been disappointed, babygirl," Barton told her, "Your grades have been slipping. I thought it was best to hire a private tutor. I want you to try your hardest, James will be assessing your progress."

There was a moment's pause, and then James rose to his feet.

"Do your best, James," Barton said, "Her continued education is very important to me."

James gave me a glance, and then nodded to Barton.

"I'll try," he said.

Fee's face lit up, and I noticed the colour in her cheeks. She bent over Barton and I heard her murmur into his ear.

"Thank you, Daddy."

She gave him a kiss, tender and lingering. He slapped her on the backside again.

"Your tutor is waiting," he growled.

Fee made her way across the room, with my husband trailing behind her, leaving me with Barton.

"Would you like something else?" he asked, indicating the untouched glass in my hand.

I blinked at him, needing to take a moment to switch mental gears from the scene unfolding in front of me.

"Sorry about the dress, you can change if you want," Barton mumbled, "Fee thought it would add something to the evening. I suspect she thought she was providing me with eye candy. Not that you're not, I mean, uh, the dress is quite arresting."

"I'm fine," I replied without thinking.

"I know this is all a little strange. I appreciate your forbearance."

"It's not," I replied.

"Not what."

"Strange."

Barton laughed quietly.

"Oh, Alice, yes it is. This is utterly bizarre. If you'd have said two years ago that I'd be happily watching another man fucking my wife on my behalf, I'd have thrown you out of the house."

"So, why did you arrange this?"

I saw the change in his expression, and regretted my question. I was conscious of delving into a deeply personal area of a stranger's life. He sipped his whiskey in silence and I felt my cheeks colouring in embarrassment.

"You're puzzled by my motives?"

"I suppose."

"I know what it looks like. It's not."

He shifted in his seat, sipping his whiskey again, then he fixed his attention on me.

"I married a gold digger. I know that. I wanted a beautiful trophy wife, to go with my beautiful car, and my beautiful house, and my job where I walk into the operating theatre like a god and perform miracles on people's lives, someone to match my ego. But then I went skiing."

He smiled at me.

"Have you ever lost everything?" he asked.

"No."

"Have you ever had to watch its effects on the people around you? The pity? The little gap that becomes a gulf?"

I shook my head, witnessing something deep in his expression.

"Fee was there, every minute. She didn't hesitate. I had a cast-iron pre-nup, my family insisted on it. God, the pressure I received before I married her, indulged in my little gold-digging trophy wife. When I got out of hospital, I tore it up. She'd proved herself, and she still does."

"So why are we here?"

Barton laughed, his expression brightening.

"Because cunnilingus and toys only go so far," he replied, "Or getting me hard and riding me in my lap. I was lucky the break was above T10, so there's still an autonomic response. I can get it up, but I know it's not the same, I can't feel it, you see. She tells me it doesn't matter, but I know it does. I don't think it's fair for her to live the rest of her life without that one little thing."

"Which is?"

Barton smiled, replying, "Every once in a while I just want her to enjoy a good, hard fucking."

I didn't reply, but I did see. I looked across the room at the woman dressed like a schoolgirl, playing out a fantasy for her husband and also for herself, conscious of the way that one brief moment had changed their lives forever.

Barton brought out his phone, tapping the screen.

"Tell me, Alice, have you ever fucked to the Bolero? No?"

He called across the room to his wife as she positioned James on another couch.