Lottery Win Pt. 01

I never did the lottery or the football pools before them. I'm not a lucky person. If I was ever going to have a bit of money, it was going to be through hard work.

My missus is just the opposite. It would be unkind and untrue to describe her as a bit of an airhead. She isn't; she is cleverer than me. If your yardstick is academic qualification, you are a lot cleverer than me. Let's just say she has a more hopeful disposition than mine.

When we met, I was working as a plumber; that was back in Thatcher's Britain. I had to leave the town I was brought up in to find work. I cadged some money from my old man, went to live for a short period of my life in Hades (some call it London), and then moved to Brighton. Wages were better in London, but Brighton was so much nicer.

At the time I was living in my van, I owed money, and that had to be paid off before I could spend anything on myself. That was the way I was then, and I still am now. I try not to spend money I don't have.

Twice in London, I had to miss work, a gross sin in my book. I had to visit the tool shop and empty my bank account of its recent savings because some evil bastard had broken into my van and nicked everything. I was in the pub both times.

Brighton wages were nearly as good, and there was a very comely barmaid who I was very taken with. She pulled a lovely pint of beer in "The Lord Palmerston." After a few not-too-heavy-handed putdowns, I managed to pull the barmaid.

Her name is Seph. Short for Persephone I love her name, but she hates it. So it's Seph! Living in a van full of radiators, spanners, hammers, etc., it's easy to let your personal hygiene standards slip. Normally, I would boil up a pan of water. I had a tarpaulin I threw over the open back doors of the van so I could hide away and have a strip-down wash in the street.

It took me about minus 10 outside; at the time, there was around six inches of snow on the ground. Being a bit stinky didn't seem too bad, and stripping off in the street wasn't high on my list of priorities.

It was Poet's Day! Poet's Day for building workers is every Friday. P.O.E.T.S. day; piss off early tomorrow's Saturday. I was looking at getting pissed, trying and probably failing to chat Seph up again, maybe a game of pool, and back to my little house on wheels for a wank while cherishing a mind photograph of Seph's deep and beconing cleavage. You never have to look your best to masturbate. Tomorrow, I'll take my hangover to the local swimming pools. Reappearing like a new man, bright, shiny, and freshly scrubbed

I walked into the Palmerston and called over to Seph for a pint. She shook her head. Three of the guys were playing pool. So I asked if they wanted a game of pairs. Seph came over without a pint for me. You are not playing pool today. It's my birthday; I'm not working, and you are taking me out. Did I say I pulled her?

The Palmerston was a big pub. Above the bar, lounge, and snug, there was a big party room with a very good dance floor. Above that, through a locked door marked private, was a steep, creaky stair to an attic flat where Seph lived. She worked Fridays to Sundays for Arnold, the landlord, for a pittance, but she had a Brighton town centre flat. She had a till allowance as well, but I think I drank most of that; even then, she was looking after me!

"God, you stink like a badger," she said as she kissed me. "This key is my flat door. Go and have a bath and change your clothes." She looked at my feet with a varied, worried look and said, "And shoes". Dunlop Green Flash pumps didn't really count as shoes then; I don't suppose they do now either. If you smell remotely human when you come down, you can still be my beau tonight. If you still stink like a pig, I'm eating cake on my own."

"Where are we going?"

"You're taking me dancing to Sherry's." Sherry's was a ballroom in Brighton, now very sadly closed. "Mud are playing a rock and roll revival. Take me there and buy me a brandy and babycham or two, and you may get to play with the twins."

The twins were Seph's impressive boobs. Impressive is the right word; with her back to you, you can still see them. Seph is fetish cartoon proportions. I, along with all the non-gay men in Brighton, had at least one wank a week thinking of her. Personally, I felt I was insulting her if I didn't get seven a week. I used to have to crack my sleeping bag to get out of it in the mornings back then.

Arnold had christened them the twins. Arnold had suffered a knee in the nuts several times when he tried to grab a feel. Seph is lovely, but she does not mess around with liberty takers one bit. It didn't take a genius to figure out why a dirty old perv like Arnold had employed her.

It took a fair few before Arnold got the message: A persistent old bastard is Arnold. Then he realised there was a definite look but don't touch rule operating. Arnold shot me an envious look and said, "You are a fucking lucky bastard". He said.

"Oi stinky," she shouted across the busy pub. "If you can dance properly, I may just give you a hand job while you play with them. Go and have a bath, and be quick about it. No wanking, though; I'm not spending half an hour or more getting you off. You have to buy me dinner before we dance."

This was shaping up to be an expensive day out, but back then I would have happily blown a week's wages to get to play with her tits. I still would.

I didn't get to open the box that night. But I saw a side of Seph that hooked me, so I took the bait, hook, line, and sinker. If there was ever a defining point, that was it. I fell head over heels in love with her.

Opening the box as she put it took another three months of Brandy and Babychams dancing and lots of grovelling and munching the beaver. That night I was sent off to sleep on the couch; it was a put-you-up fold-out job. But before she sent me off, it was time for my reward for being her best dance partner ever. Apart from the night I really pissed her off, I never slept in the van again. That couch was as close as I got to sleeping with her for quite a while, though.

She flashed me a big, shit-eating grin. Stand up, she said, and I did; we were both stark naked. She sat on the bed with me, her thighs facing her. She took my nob and wrapped it in her tits. I didn't last five seconds. I blew my jiz all over her face, hair, and tits. She laughed like it was the funniest thing she had ever seen. To be fair to me, she had been rubbing them all over me all night.

"Have you no self-control at all?" She asked me, all giggly, like a schoolgirl.

I nearly collapsed. She made me put her bra back on and kiss them goodbye.

I can dance properly. We danced well together. We danced our way through an engagement party downstairs, up the church aisle, and to the wedding party again downstairs. And in and out of the maternity ward twice.

I worked hard, and we bought our first home, a flat, just out of town. Then, when Irene, our first daughter, arrived, we bought a two-bedroom house. When Lilly came into the world, we moved to a three-bedroom house in one of the South Downs villages. I worked hard, and then when the guy I worked for retired, I bought his order book. I took on an apprentice and a couple of guys, and we all made a good living.

Seph has always liked her puss eaten. It's not a problem; I love eating it. I love rimming her brownie, for that matter. Over the years, we have developed a bit of a feminist edge to our sex lives. I like that as well. We would have delved deeper, I'm sure, if not for the kids.

It's hard to be your woman's arse-licking, whipped body slave when your three-year-old wants Daddy to cuddle her, read her a bedtime story, and then read her another one after the headboard of our bed banging on her wall has woken her up at midnight. Then Daddy has to make sure the monster her sister told her about, who lives under her bed, can't get out to eat her bottom. Irene did have a sense of humour once; fuck only knows what happened to it. More recently, we just didn't have the time to spend with each other.

The key to moving up was Seph again. She took on my most hated job, doing my books. We were a team, and as a team, we worked well. Then one day, years after the events above, I met a guy who wanted me to plumb out and do the heating in a three-flat conversion.

That went well. Then a 5-flat development, then a 7-starter home job. Then he got me involved in supplying, fixing, and financing the plumbing and heating on a 35-home development. I borrowed the house set from some more guys. The bastard stitched me up. I should have seen it coming, but I didn't.

I managed to pay everyone who worked for me. My suppliers bankrupted me, and my pension and house were gone. All I had left was Seph and the girls; thank God she stood by me. My eldest girl was married, and she and her man were doing OK. My youngest. The one with the brains was away at university and was hopefully going places. We didn't let them know the half of it.

I was now 45 years old, so I bought a new tool bag and got a job. I'm a plumber; I worked hard again, and I had almost paid the banks off when, one Friday, Poet's Day, I got a message from Seph's phone. Meet me in the Palmerston Stinky.

When I walked into the pub, Arnold was sitting and talking to Seph. "Is he trying to grab your fun bags again, love?" I said as I sat down. "No, I'm trying to sell her a pub. I'm retiring, Vinny. You two would be good at this. "Too bad, Arnold," Seph said, "we are retiring as well."

"Yeh, in about 25 years, if I last that long. We have no money, Arnold; no good trying to flog us anything." Arnold went back to his bar.

"Do you want a drink, love?"

"No, not really." I was still very depressed at that time; Seph knew it.

"You will! I've got something to show you."

"Pint, please, Arny," I called over. I sat down with Seph; she had a grin on her face, like I'd just lost a bet and my face was going to be her seat for an hour. "I said as much."

"It's better than that," said Seph. "Well, it's for me, but your face is going to think it came from furniture land."

Read this and keep a straight face. Seph handed me a letter from the bank. "Is it bad or very bad, love?"

"Just read it."

The letter outlined how the 13.4 million pound check from Camalot had now been placed into our joint account, and we could draw on it as of now.

"Fuck me, is it real?"

"Yes, it is. I want us to retire. I want to buy a house near the sea. I want to go dancing again. I want to wear clothes that make your eyes fill with lust again. I really want to smother you under my big bum again, and most of all, I want to get your cock locked up as soon as I can."

"I'm speechless, love. I don't know what to say". To be honest, far from turning cartwheels, I was scared. I was scared someone was going to take it away from us.

"I've started already. I ordered some toys on my secret credit card; it was a secret from our creditors, not me. I went to that salon in the streets and booked to have my armpits and muff hair removed. They did a test, and I'm suitable for the system they use. I want you to have your pubic area done too."

Seph was excited, and I was catching on.

"I'm taking over our sex lives; don't you fucking dare complain; I know you want me to. I'm going to buy you a chastity belt, or probably two. Don't complain about that either; we both want one for you.

Arnold has let me have the flat for the day. I told him it was our anniversary. I've got another little surprise for you. Follow me up in twenty minutes, and do not drink that beer.

I can't pretend I wasn't excited about Seph's two ultimatums, though two chastity belts did seem a bit excessive. After all, I've only got one dick. I was in turmoil, though. I had just about gotten used to the idea that I was going to be working until I dropped. The guy I was working for wasn't a bad guy, but I was going to call him tomorrow and tell him I was letting him down. In a straight competition between fucking about with my head in someone else's toilet and my arm up a shit pipe or being a sex slave to the only woman I have ever loved, there was only one winner.

I gave Seph the twenty minutes she wanted and went upstairs. I knocked on the same door she gave me the key to all those years ago. I didn't quite get the welcome I was expecting. Come in, darling, she said. Despite the two kids and quite a bit of worry, Scrimp and Save, working herself, and the worry with that, my missus still gives me the horn when she dresses up for me.

She was dressed for it--mile-high stilettoes and black seamed stockings. More suspenders than all the Tiller girls combined, a shiny black corset, and the absolute killer for me: soft leather shoulder-length gloves.

She wasn't happy, though. "I don't know what to do, darling." She cried, "I just don't know what to do or what to say that doesn't sound stupid."

She looked properly miserable.

"This was supposed to be fun. I sure as fuck don't want to hurt you. Look, I bought this, and she held up a strapon. I look like a fucking idiot wearing it. Look at the size of it. You'd probably bleed to death if I got this halfway up your bum. What the fuck was I thinking about?"

"Tell me how do I go about flaying the skin off the back of the man I love." I took her hand and led her to bed. We'd fucked on this bed hundreds of times. Sometimes way back when it seemed like hundreds of times a week. I fucked her; she got on her hands and knees, and I did her doggy style; she got on top and managed to get another load out of me.

Then she knew what to do. She gave me that same super-sexy, shit-eating grin I first saw in this bedroom years ago. She pinched her fanny lips together and shuffled up my body. Then she dropped her loaded fanny on my mouth and said, "Your filth, you clean me up." It was something I always wanted to do, but she would never let me before. I licked every drop I could from her, and I made her cum again while I was doing it.

The girl knew every one of my weaknesses. "I've got an idea! Get up, arms behind your back, and feet together. I tried not to laugh when the rope came out. "I know, I know, everything but the kitchen sink. I need to try things. I've wasted some money, love. I bought a fuckin shambok. I'm going to trash that right away. I thought I would as soon as it arrived. It's a horrible, vicious bastard thing."

I bought a 5-foot-long purple carriage whip. I'm keeping that, maybe just as a prop in our new dungeon; it's a beautiful thing, but I have to try it at least once on your bum." She was talking as she was roping my arms together. "Oh, fuck, I like that," she said, admiring her handiwork. "Ohh, fuck me! You look so vulnerable." She sat in the same place on the bed as she did years ago. She manoeuvred me into position after she tied my knees and ankles. How did you learn how to do this? I asked.

"YouTube, now shut up; no more talking for you. She pushed me away and got up again, and this time a ball came out of the bag. I will knee you in the nuts if you don't open up for this, she said, offering the ball gag to my mouth, and that could seriously impair your fun.

Before she engaged me, she asked, "Do you know what the date is, darling? You can answer me.

"It's the 30th of September, love," I mumbled around the gag.

She was back in the bag with the toys in it.

"Do you know what date it is tomorrow? l

"Yes, it's the first of October," I tried to say, a bit puzzled by the question.

"Wrong boy! It's the first of Locktober! At that point, the gag went in. Seconds later, she pulled out a stainless steel cock tube.

I'd talked about playing with chastity before, but Seph had always used the kids as a reason not to. Now that Lilly was off at university, that reason had gone with her.

I was bone hard, and Seph took up her position again. "Before I give you your very last treat for a month--a month at the very least--I need to explain my new rules. I'm going to give you your favourite thing in the whole world, a titty wank.

I know you worship my boobs, but how long it stays in there depends entirely on how long you can stay in control." I can keep myself in control for as long as she needs it when I'm fucking her, but a titty wank messes with my head. If I last five minutes, it will be my personal best by a long way.

"As soon as you give me the good stuff, you are going into this tube. If I have to mince the fucker to get it in, I will. It's going under lock and key, my key. If you winge, piss, and moan, it will be locked up for longer. No more wanking to porn on your computer for you, stinky. You don't get to touch it anymore; it's mine now. Do you understand?

Yes, Mistress Seph.

You have to behave yourself now, though. If you come on your mistress's face this time, you are fucked. If you come in my hair, bear in mind that I just paid a small fortune to have it done just the way I like it. You're fucked until Christmas. Do you understand?

Yes, Mistress Seph. Despite the fact I had cum three times this afternoon, my dick was so hard it hurt.

When your best mate makes an appearance again, it depends on your performance with your tongue. Now, and all through your lockdown, I am serious about this baby.

Your general behaviour and appearance will be taken into consideration. If in a few months I'm married to a fat scruffy slob, he will be a fat scruffy sexually unfulfilled slob. Your two stone heavier than when I married you--that is, two stone of fat gutsweetheart--it isn't sexy even on the man I love. I need you around for a long, long time, stinky man. I need my pussy attendant.

Think hard, boy; it isn't locktober for mistresses, especially your mistress. I expect you to make me cum every day, and I didn't say once a day; I want lots a day. Your only job now is making sure I'm satisfied. Do you understand?

Yes, Mistress Seph.

Seph had bearly wrapped my cock in her tits when I exploded. My knees buckled, I saw stars, and I squealed like a girl. When I regained a little composure, Seph had lost it; she was laughing her tits off.

"Oh my good God, you really are fucked now, fuck sake, man. You really have no self-control at all."She was blinking cum out of her eye; it was stuck to her cheek, her forehead all over her hands, and globs of it in her hair. I'm going to need a calculator to figure out how long Little Vinny is going to be in prison.

Seph had the chastity stripped down to its component parts. This thing had an ergonomic first ring. Fuck knows how she has sized it up for me; I wasn't aware we had recently been playing in a way for her to accurately measure me. I think I would have remembered if we had. That went over my very flaccid cock. Then she had to push a bit to get each of what felt like very empty balls through one at a time. The second one took quite a bit of persuading.

"Oh, dear baby, if it's this hard to get on when you're empty, it's going to be a bastard to get it off when your plumbs are full to bursting. Its a very good job you are good with your tongue, or I may have to look elsewhere!"

Cuckolding was something I fantasised about; I'd told her that I'd also said many more times I didn't think I could cope with reality.

Years ago, I had a reverse Prince Albert piercing done when I was on a stag weekend in Amsterdam. She did her nut with me at the time and insisted I take it out.

Then she got interested a couple of weeks later, and I had to go to a piercer to open the hole as it had healed. Seph got very interested then. She asked him how much to open it out for a heavier ring. She paid for that. It's got a screw-in ring. The English piercer put a dab of thread lock on, so it's as permanent as these things can be now.

She went back to him without my knowledge a few months later and had her nipples done. There are just 12 SWG ball closure rings in hers, though. then the one I love, she had a vertical clit piercing. When she sits on my face, if I can get hold of it in my teeth, I can hold her there and lick until she is beside herself. That changes the dynamic. For a few minutes, I'm in charge, and I make her squeal like a little piggy. Despite her protestations, she makes her promises with blowjobs and titty-wanks, and she never backs out of them. That tells me Sefie loves these brief power exchanges.