Something for Something

I look out of the window and see an anonymous but very salubrious suburban street. The houses are all well appointed, detached and set in mature gardens. In the driveways sleeping Mercedes, Audis and the occasional sports car sit hunched, bathed in the white glow of security lights.

The taxi discharges me outside an open pair of wrought iron gates leading to one such house. I hand the driver a twenty and he drops fifty pence into my hand without a word. He pulls slowly away leaving me alone, my only companion the distant sound of cars on the dual carriageway and somewhere far away, the wailing rise and fall of a police siren.

Standing beneath the streetlight in the tree-lined avenue I feel the bite of the spring night air acutely. My body, heated only by a slim-fitting leather jacket and the warmth from three shots of vodka begins a plaintive cry, telling me to get inside as soon as possible.

Walking up the driveway, my boots crunch into the ruddy coloured stone chips. As I walk, I thumb the card in my pocket that arrived in the mail this morning.

'Something for something. Do you agree?' It said.

I ponder the meaning.

Approaching the heavy, recessed front door I ring the bell.

The cold luminescence bathes me for fully three minutes before the door slowly, almost comically swings open.

'It's you.' Rumbles the tall, athletically built male, cranking the handles.

He is in his late twenties, sullen faced and impassive. Perhaps he was expecting Father Christmas?

I arrogantly turn and look over my shoulder feigning the belief that he must be addressing someone other than me.

'You'd better come in then.' He says with no discernable humour.

A voice tells me to turn round and walk away, that these people are obviously a bit odd, to say the least.

I swallow all concerns and step over the threshold into a very elegant, heptagonal reception room. It is decorated with someone's eclectic taste in period furniture as well as whimsical watercolour paintings and tall reeds set in heavy earthenware urns.

'Nice.' I say.

I'm pretty sure I hear Lurch tut under his breath.

'She'll be along shortly.' He grumbles, walking away.

I stand, uneasy, desperately trying to develop an appreciation of art for five more long minutes before a honeyed, confident female voice hails me.

'Hello, S.'

I turn and look at Maria. She does not look as I expected. For a start, she is dressed down, wearing a pair of loose fitting blue slacks that give little impression of the voluptuous figure that I recall lying beneath. She wears a conservative button-up shirt. A cream one. Her black tresses are tied back in a ponytail and she wears little makeup - a fact that reminds me I am looking at a woman who is somewhere in her forties.

I ponder that maybe the impressions gleaned from our first meeting were incorrect.

She raises an eyebrow as if reading me thoughts, a wry smile flickers across her lips.

'You were expecting someone else?' She asks.

This impresses me and I scrutinise her considered, knowing expression in an optimistic quest for further information.

'No.' I answer a fraction too late.

'But, you got my message, I see.' She points a well-manicured nail at pocket level.

The little square of white card juts out.

Before I stumble further she assists the discourse: 'the room directly in front of you at the top of the stairs is for your comfort. Someone will come and collect you shortly.'

'Okay.' I drag the word out, underscoring my growing unease as I make for the staircase to the north of the room.

'And, S.' the voice halts me in my tracks. 'Stay out of the other rooms.' She smiles in a vaguely lupine fashion without letting the mask of charm slip.

I stand alone in a small wood-panelled bedroom bearing a single bed dressed in clean white linen. Looking down at the strip of hard, black leather in my hand, I feel more than a little ridiculous. A single butterfly begins his infernal flapping in the pit of my stomach and the little voice inside me says: 'told you. You should have turned back.

I drop my jacket on the bed. Underneath I have chosen to wear a close fitting black t-shirt with a subtle logo and black combats. It is my philosophy that there is no point in spending hours a week in the gym only to keep it all to yourself.

Just to be sure of making the correct impression, I stretch my arms behind me then drop and crank out twenty-five push-ups. On returning to my feet, I feel a little of my ebbing machismo return.

Reluctantly I try the vile leather leash that has been left on the bed for me against my throat and examine myself in the mirror. I look like an ageing reject from a Marilyn Manson video. Disgusted with how easily bought I have doubtless been, I strap the thing on.

There comes a sudden, jarring knock at the door.

'Ready to come down?' Says Lurch curtly from the other side.

'Come in.' Maria bids warmly.

I stand in the doorway to the dining room looking towards a long, grand table, hewn from undressed oak at which she sits. My eyes are drawn magnetically to a younger woman sitting to her left, primly regarding me with a look of almost complete indifference. My first thought is that she is very beautiful, in possession of a pale, luminous vulnerability that makes the hairs on my arms rise.

My second thought is that she looks like a right snooty cow.

None the less, her physical appeal cannot be denied, with long blonde hair held in tight ringlets, framing a pretty, heart-shaped face, the coolness of which is augmented with a deep blue-coloured eyeliner.

I finally drag my eyes away and onto Maria.

'This is more like it.' I muse inwardly.

She now wears her hair long and is immaculately made up in dusky reds and purples. She has changed into a red PVC bustier that, though trashy, juxtaposes her beautiful dark tresses to dramatic effect. The garment is daringly tight, constrictively so, and her ample, creamy bosom quivers, apparently at risk of tipping out of it' s constraints at any moment.

I am jerked from my leering appraisal.

'S, I'd like it if you got down under the table and crawled up to where we are sitting.' Getting straight to the point, she issues the silken order still smiling charmingly.

'You what?' I ask with the standard issue edge of aggression and indignation that I routinely use when confronted with something that implies another person's assumed domination over me.

She sighs. 'Drop the attitude. You know why you're here and you heard me only too well, so drop down like a good chap and crawl up here.'

The younger woman sniggers under her breath and says something to Maria that I do not catch.

'It seems Elissa, agrees.' She inclines her head towards the elegant creature at her side whose smug perfection is already starting to really get on my nerves.

'Well, Elissa can...' I silence myself, instinct impelling me to reconsider. Inwardly, the tidal hotness continues rising in my cheeks, as I consider another response.

In my heart, I know the rough outline of what is being offered by this woman. Maria knows men. Her interest in me seems to extend deep enough only to find out what I desire. Perhaps she will give it to me, but presumably, only if I am willing to be used as one of her marionettes.

'Come along.' She says, humouring me.

I cross the room slowly, eyeing them both and drop at the very edge of the table, unwilling to let them see me get down on my knees.

The tiled floor appears to be marble. The warmth that emanates from the tiles indicates some form of under floor heating system. It could not have been cheap.

The soft lighting in the room limits my vision beneath the broad expanse of the table. But I can see the rough grained woodwork extend towards two pairs of stocking-clad legs. My eyes are immediately drawn to Elissa's. From head to toe it is difficult to keep my gaze off her as she has clearly been chosen for her physical appearance rather than say, her ear for a tune or her knowledge of quantum physics.

The outfit she wears is black with ivory piping, closely fitted and in this low light serves only to accentuate some of the most appealing parts of her physique. From the doorway, I had admired her shoulders and her prim, elegant cleavage, held in check by a little halter. From my new vantage point beneath their table I can see a little black skirt that scantly covers her, no doubt, toothsome rump but the hem does not stretch low enough to conceal the tops of a patterned pair of hold-ups.

Turning my head towards Maria I see she has stayed with the red PVC motif, perhaps for my benefit, perhaps not. She wears a pair of calf-length boots, and her skirt, more than a little tight over her ample, curvy buttocks, would do little to conceal her dignity, were it not for the lack of lighting. I can make out that she is perched on the edge of the chair, lolling back with her legs parted slightly.

Above me there is whispered conversation between the two women. I discern little more than isolated words, mostly Maria's. It seems she is engaging her younger companion on subjects that do not include the presence of a man on all fours under the table. I make out a reference to her 'other home', to Barcelona and something about a restaurant, a name perhaps?

'What now?' I say, running low on patience.

My voice is loud enough to sound pissed off but serves mostly to make me feel even more ridiculous and exposed.

Maria does not respond. She merely adjusts herself a little in her chair and parts her thighs a little more.

I stare. The rubbery, lustrous material she wears makes little farting noises as she adjusts herself in the chair. The seconds tick by slowly as I crouch there feeling humiliated by my position yet aroused by the proximity and provocative dress of these women.

'Maria, what the hell is this? I...'

There comes the merest whisper of a sound close in front of me then my words are instantly stifled as something warm and wet splashes my face.

The sensation is followed in short order by a trickling sound, something splattering down onto the hard marble floor.

Confusion hijacks my senses momentarily.

Above me the murmuring voices continue. No word or phrase that I can discern acknowledges my plight.

I wipe my hand across my face and am repelled momentarily before I identify the scent that rapidly fills my nostrils, jarring something inside me.

I regain control of my senses and look up at my host, just as another, sudden ejaculation of urine spurts out of the indistinct recesses between her thighs. This time it's the main event, squirting over my shoulder, wetting the back of my t-shirt, splattering down onto the warm marble.

The gusher dies back into a fragrant salty fountain into which, acting purely on impulse, I thrust my face. I gasp sharply, an involuntary thrill coursing through my body as her piss begins to trickle down my forearms, pooling around my hands.

My eyes are getting used to the dark now and I see more clearly Maria squirm in her chair and grind her hips. As the connection to this glorious, dirty fountain recedes from reach I am ready for more. I place a hand on each of her thighs seek permission to part her legs further.

Permission is grudgingly granted and this time when she comes, I am in perfect position to receive several decadent, bitter mouthfuls of her essence. I drink it down as if it was a glass of water to a man lost in the desert.

As quickly as this orgy of sensation began it ends leaving me panting on all fours, my cock rammed rock hard against the inside of my trousers and I wait like a Dog anticipating a treat from the dinner table, willing something else to happen.

But nothing does. I run my eyes thirstily, hopefully over Elissa's shapely pins, just in case.

Nothing.

'I think you should come out now, S.' Maria says abruptly, bursting the pornographic bubble in which I languish.

Suddenly, I feel about an inch high.

Drenched and assuming the stature of a naughty schoolboy caught with his hands in the biscuit barrel, I stiffly get to my feet and survey my surroundings anew.

Maria, has risen to her feet and slipped what little there is of her skirt down over her bum. Elissa has also risen to her feet and for the first time I survey the full picture of how slender and willowy she is. I am also surprised to note that she wears a tacky S&M collar just like mine. What is most striking about her however, is the way she stares at the drenched man standing before her. I offer a little smile, pathetically hopeful of somehow impressing her, but the disgusted look on her face indicates that she suspected what was going on under the table but didn't want to believe it. Now she wants nothing to do with me.

'Hi.' I say.

'Uhh...' She tries.

'That's enough talking for now, Cuties.' Maria states firmly.

There is no hint that a discussion on this might follow.

A sudden flicker of movement to my right terminates with a sickening click.

My eyes flick back to Maria but I already know what I'm going to see.

I am now wearing a length of aluminium chain as a leash.

'You really are a dirty dog.' She informs me, completely straight faced.

Click.

With equal abruptness I suddenly find that Elissa and I are now on a level playing field as she too finds herself shackled.

We look at each other, suddenly realising the probable list of common factors that have brought us here: a social networking website, a seemingly chance encounter, propositions sounding too good to be true and finally the cryptic invitation in the post. We have been ensnared by the implication that we are somehow special.

A long, long way away, I hear my ego squeal.

Despite our psychic camaraderie, for what I have just done under the table, Elissa still looks at me like something she has stood in on the high street after the pub closes on a Friday night.

Stuck-up bitch!

Before I can analyse further, we are jerked forwards on our leads and through the double door at the head of the dining room.

'This is another nice part of the house.' Maria informs her two charges.

We make token noises of approval.

Another bedroom. This one is a double, kitted out by an art deco enthusiast with blacks, golds and ornate motifs everywhere.

To the north of the room a doorway leads to an en suite bathroom, similarly adorned.

Elissa raises a hand tentatively.

'Yes Cutie?' Maria responds kindly.

'I want to use the bathroom.'

'Of course.' She unclips the leash and points through the doorway. 'Be my guest.'

I watch her enter the en suite. As she turns back to where we stand there is a look of vague relief on her face.

I sense that perhaps she is considering jumping out of the window, if one is available.

She feels around the doorway, does a double take and then her relief oxidises to confusion. In a few seconds more, mounting horror is the motif.

'There's... there's no door here.' She hisses, her voice a combination of annoyance and disdain that perversely amuses me after her titillation at my crawling on my hands and knees and her subsequent withering expressions.

'I know.' Maria seems taken aback by her surprise. 'But we're not animals! S and I will wait here for you. Don't worry, I'm sure no one has any interest in watching you do your business.'

Elissa disappears into the light of the bathroom with an incredulous look on her face. Maria leads me out of the way so, even assuming I would want to, I could not spy on the girl. She turns her back to the door.

'Do you like her?' She asks.

'Like?' My brain is scrambled and shocked, half aroused, partly fearing for my life.

'Yes, like. As in: sex, fucking, things like that.' She snaps.

'I don't...'

'For God's sake S, you like girls asses. So, do you want to fuck that girl in the ass? It's a simple enough question.'

'I can't imagine many who wouldn't.' I blurt out limply.

'How much do you want it?' The silken, controlling voice drops to little more than a whisper.

'Well...' Discomfort envelops me, and a range of diverse, irreconcilable emotions cloud my frontal lobes.

'Oh come on, S. I know that much about you. I know enough to know what you like... and what you don't.'

I squirm.

'Don't you remember? You told me.' She finishes and looks satisfied with herself.

'Hey, Maria!' Elissa's voice emanates from the bathroom sounding indignant but for the time being, still under control.

Maria leads me to the door where my opposite number has just flushed the toilet. Indeed, for the past few minutes I have been desperately trying to ignore any auditory evidence that might burst the bubble of prim, sexy appeal that surrounds her.

Elissa turns to face us and I recognise the enraged bravado that kicks in when one's comfort zone is but a distant memory. Our eyes lock momentarily.

'This isn't very funny!' She rants, standing awkwardly.

'Oh?' Maria seems to be enjoying herself.

'There's no toilet paper in here!'

I begin to see the sinister shape of where things are heading.

'Well, I'm sure S is a gentleman. Perhaps he could help?'

At this stage, that kind of loaded statement doesn't particularly surprise me.

'Please tell me, this is some kind of a joke?' She places a hand on her hip in a somewhat self-conscious gesture as we lock eyes once again, our unfolding horror telepathically shared.'

'Elissa, I'd like you to slide your skirt back up... then bend over the toilet.' Maria ignores her question completely.

I watch her indignant mouth form the shape of a popular expletive and I am certain she intends to halt this charade exactly where it is. She stands there for a protracted while, physically shaking with anger, before something within her regains control. I see her temper recede and the coolness I saw earlier return.

'Go on.' Maria intones smoothly. 'We both know you are going to do what I want first. Then you get to do what you want to.'

Computations are going on inside the woman's mind; factors are being weighed up. The room is silent, save for the distant whisper of the air conditioner.

'Fine.' She hisses and slowly slides the skimpy garment up until it forms no more than a band around her slim waist.

As daintily as possible, under the circumstances, she places a knee on the shiny black seat. Then another.

I watch, horrified yet compelled.

She tips forwards slowly, stalling for time, pushing her bottom out only when Maria chides her to do so.

Surveying Elissa's plight, I tell Maria categorically: 'I am definitely not into this.'

'Oh, I know that, S. But sometimes in order to get the carrot, you have to get fucked by the stick.' She appears pleased with her customisation of analogy.

I am bound by a heavy, dumb silence.

'Now, I'd like you to go over there and lick her ass.

I think we had both seen this outcome some minutes previously.

'No way.' My answer is resolute.

Maria sighs deeply as if she has been forced into the pronouncement she is about to give: 'I'm assuming you don't want this charming young woman to be fucked by the stick for any longer than is absolutely necessary, before she receives her carrot?' Her enjoyment of the situation is palpable.

My senses feel numb. In a situation brought about by desire and self-gratification, none of the options open to either Elissa or myself feel acceptable, laudable or even fundamentally decent.

Something deep inside suggests that to pursue the course that I have, rightly or wrongly selected is preferable to digging my heels in at this point.

Haltingly, fearing a further slide into the pits of humiliation and degradation I approach my task.

I kneel slowly and place my hands on Elissa's bum. Her skin is as silky smooth and taught as I had expected; warm and trembling beneath my touch.