High Life: Alice Makes a Change

She pointed at me and spoke into the microphone. "New bid on the left. Two thousand one hundred."

Her attention swivelled to the back of the room and she announced, "Two two."

One of the original bidders kicked back in and the total passed three thousand and seemed to stall. All I knew is that I wanted him out of there. I raised my hand again and this time James saw me do it. His smile faltered.

"Back over here at three one," she announced, scanning the rest of the room. Looking to the mystery bidder at the back, she nodded.

"Three five at the back," she called.

The front table bid again.

"Up to four."

The two bidders began to increase in increments of five hundred. It was well beyond my means; I had no choice but to watch helplessly as Jodie gleefully auctioned my husband off to strangers.

"Five five. Any more?" she called. The room was silent.

Jodie pointed towards the back of the room. She bent close to the microphone and paused dramatically.

"Sold," she grinned.

The room turned towards the winner and I could finally identify her. She was statuesque, a little younger than Jodie, graciously accepting the attention in a sheer, red satin dress, long blonde hair shimmering in the light. I was, I thought, battle hardened against the bimbos and fans, but this woman was something else entirely. I will freely admit to liking the fact that I turn heads whenever I step into a room, but she was the next level above me. And she'd just bought my husband.

My stomach cramped. I wished that I'd never started this.

---

On the way home, James played it down. He was driving so I sat on the passenger side, seething quietly.

"It's harmless," he said.

"I'm not so bloody sure," I replied, "How the hell did she convince you to take your shirt off? What were you thinking?"

"Hey Ally, calm down. I was going along with it just for show. We were there to raise money, remember?"

I didn't reply.

"Look," he continued, "We raised a ton and you know what? It felt pretty good."

We turned into our street and James manoeuvred the car into the driveway in front of our house. I looked at the windows. It was all dark; the boys were at my mother's for the night.

"That last part though, it was just creepy," I said at last.

"To you," James replied. "To everyone else, it was good fun. And hey, all I have to do is just turn up to whoever it was and mow her lawns for a couple of hours. Maybe she has some friends around to show off that she has a famous footballer doing the gardening."

I fixed a look at him, trying to control my tone, as I said, "And what if it's more than lawns?"

James laughed, but I wasn't buying it.

"You mean I might have to wash her car as well?" he chuckled. "She bid nearly six grand, if she wants me to wash her car with my shirt off then for that amount of money," he wagged his finger in emphasis, "...and going to such a good cause, then I think she's entitled to it."

I opened the car door and stepped outside into the cool night.

James came around the car and held out his hand to me. Reluctantly, I took it, teetering up the path to our door in my heels, feeling the cold air swish between my bare legs. At the door, he stopped and pulled me close.

"If she tries anything, I'm not going to be sticking around," he said, suddenly charming. "You're the one for me, Ally. Always have been."

I screwed up my face, trying to resist. He kissed me tenderly on the lips.

"I have an idea," he said. "Let's pretend."

I looked at him dubiously, sensing that once again the game was shifting.

"Pretend what?" I asked.

"I saw you bidding for my services. Let's pretend that you won."

He smiled and I felt his hand drift down my spine to settle on my bottom.

"Let's pretend that you walked up to that old girl, dropped seven grand right there on the table and told her to fuck off, and you took me back to your place instead."

He kissed me again, and I felt a growing warmth between my legs.

"You got me home and reminded me that since you bought me for the night, I'm contractually obliged to offer you whatever services you require."

He kissed me a third time, and this time my mouth opened to admit his tongue. My hand slid down the front of his pants and I found that he was already stiff.

James nodded to the door and said, "It appears we have arrived. I'm at your service." He smiled and something in me awoke.

"One minute," I said, and slipped into the house.

I closed the door, leaving James outside. I don't know if it was the wine, the unease from earlier, or the look in those beautiful grey eyes, but something had turned in me. I dashed upstairs, unzipping my dress as I went. In the bedroom, I began opening drawers while wriggling out of my clothing. I had a matching set of bra and panties in black lace, but that wasn't nearly good enough anymore.

In the back of the underwear drawer, I finally found what I was looking for. I'd gone shopping for our wedding anniversary a couple of years back. I wanted to make a statement, and what I was now holding was certainly that. I slipped on the sheer stockings, smoothing them up my legs and pushed my feet into a pair of the highest heels I owned. Still naked, I checked the view from the front and the sides in the full-length mirror and was pleased with myself. The material provided a sheen to my toned legs, and with the added elevation of the high heels trimming my calves, I had to admit my legs looked pretty good.

Next came the dark red bustier. I wrapped it around my torso, threading the hooks through the eyes at the back to hold it in place, massaging my breasts into the lacy cups so that they pushed my girls up into a beautiful v-shaped cleavage. Next came the tiny g-string panties, barely enough to cover my crotch. I played with the straps, making sure they sat nicely on my hips. I did a spin, seeing the way my bottom bounced as I stepped in a circle in my high heels. Finally, I threaded the suspender straps underneath and clipped them to the tops of my stockings. That was the tip for young players: the suspender straps go under the g-string, so he could strip my panties off me without having to unfasten anything else. I dashed into the en-suite and reapplied my lipstick and mussed my hair. Fabulous. Just one more thing: I fished into my purse and pulled out a folded wad of notes. I slid the money deep into my cleavage. This was going to be good.

I clacked down the stairs carefully in the stilettos, conscious of the extra height they gave me, and then stood in front of the door, composing my thoughts. I knew what I wanted to do, and the thought of the little fantasy brewing in my imagination ignited a little bolt of excitement within my crotch. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

James was standing exactly as I'd left him. I saw his eyes widen at the sight of the woman in the doorway.

"You're late," I said, coolly, looking him up and down.

"I, uh. I thought I was on time," James replied, frowning.

"I arranged with your wife to have you here at eleven. It's now quarter past."

James looked at me for a moment, appraising me, adjusting to the new flow of play.

"I'm sorry, I had, uh, traffic."

We stood there for a moment, me with one hand on the door in my sexiest lingerie, him with his hands by his sides, uncertain of what to do next.

"You'd better come in. I'm getting chilly, exposed to the neighbours like this."

James lurched into motion and I closed the door behind him. The neighbours could have seen us. I hadn't thought of that until I'd said it, but it just seemed to add to the thrill that was building up in my tummy.

"What would you like me to do?" James asked, coming to a halt in the darkened hallway.

"Well, the auction wasn't very specific as to what I was buying. What do you think seven grand entitles me to?"

James came close to me. Even in the ankle-snapping heels I still had to look up at him.

"You have something specific in mind," he replied, letting his eyes travel down my body.

"What would your wife say?"

"She'd be livid at the thought of some wealthy housewife deciding she could just buy her husband."

"What do you say?"

"I'm not for sale."

"Not even for a good cause?"

I put a hand on his chest, feeling the smooth skin underneath, and the firm muscle. He was playing too, but my crotch was adamant: I needed him inside me.

"I do have housework you could do."

"Such as?"

"That depends. Do you like cleaning?"

"That depends."

I smiled up at him, meeting those grey eyes. I drew the money out of my bustier and peeled off a fifty. I replaced the remainder carefully, seeing his eyes on my body as I tucked the rest of the money back into my cleavage. Then he looked back into my eyes. His face was unreadable.

"I can pay," I said, "For skilled cleaning. You don't need to tell your wife."

I slipped the fifty into his trouser pocket, pushing it all the way down until I could feel something solid between his legs, through the fabric. I ran a nail along it.

"Shall we?"

Without waiting for an answer, I teetered back to the stairs in my heels, making sure he was watching the way the high heels made my bottom wiggle with each stride. I climbed three steps and sat down, spreading my legs, and waited. James didn't move: he just stood in the hallway where I'd left him. He was staring at me in a way that he hadn't for many years. I felt my stomach contract.

"I've paid for a service," I reminded him, "And your wife is expecting you to be at home, tucked up in bed with her by midnight. The meter's running."

This broke the deadlock, setting James in motion. He crossed the distance in three strides and was suddenly on his knees in front of me. His powerful hands wrapped around my ankles, pulling my legs further apart. I could feel the urgency in his movements, the futility of resisting his strength.

James ran his hands up my stockings, stroking my legs, his eyes fixed on the tiny strip of material covering my crotch. I followed his gaze as his hands settled on my inner thighs, applying pressure to keep me spread. I felt open and vulnerable.

James dipped down, planting soft kisses on my thighs, working his way up towards the growing moistness in my groin. He kissed the edge of the fabric, then up to my stomach. I groaned in frustration, needing his lips on my labia, feeling my dampness begin to soak the fabric. Instead, his kisses trailed down to the inner thigh of my other leg until he reached my stocking top.

"I see," he murmured in a low, husky voice, "Your panties do need cleaning."

He bent forward and planted a kiss directly on the fabric, nuzzling my slick folds through the material. The contact sent a shiver through me, and I groaned again.

"It's a shame you have to pay for services. Doesn't your husband take care of this?"

That brought a smile to my face, not that James could see. He was getting into this.

"He spends all his time away on business. I only really see him on weekends."

James pursed his lips, drawing the sodden fabric of my g-string into his mouth. He began to suck, tasting my juices on the cloth.

"You must get lonely."

"You have no idea. I'm a neglected trophy wife with no-one to satisfy me but myself."

The words came out before I could stop them. James pressed his tongue against my panties and I began to enjoy the friction of him rubbing the lacy material against my clit hood. I felt my clit respond, sending little shocks deep into my core.

"Show me."

I blinked, suddenly snapped out of the fantasy.

"What?"

"Show me how you have to pleasure yourself."

His fingers hooked into the straps on my g-string and he began to tug. I raised my bottom to allow his strong hands to pull the sodden material down my legs. James allowed me to close my legs, and lifted them one at a time to disentangle my panties from my high heels. He drew himself upright, dropped my underwear onto the step, and stopped.

"Aren't you going to show me?"

I hesitated. I'd never pleasured myself in front of my husband before; the idea filled me with shame. Under his smouldering gaze, though, I felt something else: humiliated but also electrified. My fingers drifted down to my labia and I began to stroke, as instructed. My pussy reacted, sopping wet now, as I masturbated under the quiet scrutiny of my husband.

"He's a damn fool," James said, "Any man with a wife as hot as you shouldn't let her out of his sight."

His big hands settled on my knees, gripping the fabric of my stockings tightly. With inexorable pressure, he forced me to spread my legs again until I was wide open to him, my fingers working the dampness of my slit. Caught between the fantasy and the lust in his eyes, I could already feel a climax building.

James bowed his head down to my crotch again, but this time I felt his tongue slip between my pussy lips, lapping my juices. In response, I concentrated on my own pleasure, rubbing fingertips over my swollen nub. The feeling of his tongue inside me, wriggling deeper into my vagina as my fingers caressed my clit, generated new waves of pleasure in my groin. I realised I was making noises in my throat as I concentrated on what his tongue was doing to me. My hips shifted of their own accord, pushing against his tongue, meeting him midway as he slipped into the depths of me.

His lips locked onto my labia and I felt him begin to suck. My fingers began to move faster, building up to my release. Suddenly, I was invaded by a finger slipping deep into my cavity, stroking the inside of my vagina. I felt it progress, felt it rotate inside me, knew where it was going to touch next.

"Please...," I moaned, as my fingers became frantic.

In answer, the finger curled, brushing the tip along the inside wall of my vagina, stroking that most sensitive spot inside me, his finger beckoning deep inside my moistness. My body answered.

The climax came all at once and I didn't fight it. Instead, I let it seize me, felt my vagina contract around the finger as my hips rose up from the step to press myself against James' face. I cried out, shuddering from the aftershocks of the most intense orgasm I'd had in a long while.

James leaned back, but his finger remained buried in me, still beckoning, forcing more from me, orchestrating my climax skilfully. Then abruptly he withdrew, seizing my wrist and pulling my fingers away from where they were still massaging my clit.

"That's enough," he said, "That's all that fifty buys you."

I looked up at him, gasping, feeling my vagina pulsing with the memory of his finger, needing more.

"What?" I gasped.

"If you want the premium service, it's extra."

He wagged his finger in front of my face, glistening with my moisture. I could see he meant it. No way, I thought.

"How about we discuss this like adults?" I suggested.

I leaned forward, struggling to regain control of my breathing, and wrapped my fingers around his wrist. I pulled that finger towards my face and looked him directly in the eye. I leaned forwards and opened my lips, sliding his finger into my mouth. I began to suck, tasting my own juices, my lips pursed around his outstretched digit. Maintaining eye contact, I pulled my lips off the end of his finger with a pop.

"I'm sure we can come to an agreement. How much extra?"

My groin was aching for him now, and I could see that he knew it. I needed to make him crack.

"How much do you have?"

My hands went to my bustier, dipping inside the cups, caressing my breasts. My fingers traced over my swollen nipples, sending little sparks into my core. I lifted them out of the fabric, putting myself on display for my man, extracting the folded money stashed there. I reached out to his belt and pulled him close to me.

"Let's see," I said.

I peeled off another fifty and poked it into his pocket, pushing it all the way inside. I could feel his rock-hard member under the fabric.

"That should be enough to get a look."

I undid his belt and popped open his pants, revealing his black underwear and the rigid package within. I stroked a nail along the bulge and peeled down the waistband, exposing the tip of his engorged manhood. Smiling slyly, I slid the waistband down further to free his entire length. He was poised straight up for me, his tip swollen and maroon-coloured, engorged with blood. My hand reached out to touch the tight, shiny purple skin of his head.

James grabbed my wrist.

"That was a look."

Frustrated, I tried to push against him, my fingers wriggling to stroke his manhood, but he was too strong.

"Fine," I grunted, my eyes transfixed on his cock.

I peeled off another fifty and tucked it into his pocket. James released my wrist. I began to caress the rigid shaft, my fingertips tracing the veins and ridges of my husband's cock. It felt different, somehow, being forced to pay to touch my husband. I began to imagine I was the woman at the auction in the red dress, having to pay to touch him, my frustration and my arousal building.

James was breathing harder now, obviously enjoying my caresses. I removed my hand and thumbed through the remaining notes, showing him.

"I need you inside me. Is this enough?"

"You want me to fuck you too?"

"Very much."

"How?"

I leaned back on the stairs, legs spread wide, inviting him in. He was kneeling before me, cock throbbing, sporting the most solid erection I had seen in a long time. He placed his hands either side of my naked body and leaned forward until our lips were almost touching, the lust burning on his face

"No," he breathed.

I was stunned. "What? Why?" I stammered, blindsided. "It's, um. It's all the money I have."

His hand wrapped around the money in my fingers, pulling it from me and stuffing it into his pocket and he leered at me, lips so close I could feel him breathing.

"I reserve this for my wife. Face to face. You don't get this, I'm afraid. Because you're just a customer aren't you?"

The game was changing. "Uh, yeah," I mumbled.

"Say it."

I bit my lip, lost in the intensity of those grey eyes.

"I'm just a customer."

"You need to pay to have sex, don't you?"

His words triggered something deep inside me, imagining the humiliation of being the abandoned trophy wife, forced to buy my orgasms. I was at his mercy.

"I need to pay for sex," I murmured, "My husband doesn't touch me. It's been so long since I felt any pleasure and I need it so badly."

James stared at me.

"Please," I begged, "It's all the money I have."

He leaned back and for a moment I thought he was going to walk away and leave me like that: desperately horny, spread wide and naked on the stairs.

"Turn around," he growled.

His cock was engorged, an angry purple, pointing directly at me. Automatically, I turned around, kneeling on the step with my bottom high in the air, waiting.

"That's better," he said, and I felt his hands settle on my hips, tracing the curves of my body. I remained motionless, waiting for him. I looked over my shoulder.

"No," he grunted, "Eyes front."

I obeyed, fixing my gaze on the step in front of me. I'd been up and down these stairs for years but now here I was, kneeling nervously, staring at them as I waited for a man to enter me. His hands left my body and I heard the sound of clothing falling to the floor. I imagined him standing behind me naked, cock pointing straight out, looking lustfully at his kneeling wife. I so desperately wanted to turn around to see him, but I knew I couldn't. I wasn't his wife, I was his customer and I hadn't paid enough for the full set of privileges.

His hands settled on my hips again, gripping me this time. I felt the lightest feather-touch across my labia, though I could feel both his hands on my hips. I felt it again, gently tracing up and down my slit. I pushed backwards to get a better feel of him, but he pulled away instantly. One hand left my hip and I suddenly felt a stinging slap of pain on a buttock, stunning me into immobility. I'd never been smacked before. What were we doing?