Stealing Cassie Pt. 02: I am Theirs

Josh has the ball-muzzle. "Open our mouth, Slave."

I do as he says.

"Wider!"

My jaw strains as he stuffs it between my lips. It fills my mouth grotesquely. I'm on the verge wretching. He fastens it quickly, deftly, while all I want to do is swallow and swallow.

He walks me towards the far wall where there are manacles set in stonework.

"Remove her cuffs, Darling Girl."

She takes the key from Josh and comes over and frees my hands, manouvres me so my back is against the wall. The surface is uneven, whitewashed stonework. Her hand goes to my throat and pushes me back against the wall determinedly.

"Raise your arms, Slave," he calls to me.

One arm and then the other raised and secured. She walks over to the implement rack and returns with a riding-crop and without hesitation reaches out and strikes at my nipples, each in turn, right and then left. The keenness of the blow is stupefyingly painful. I want to scream, but no sound escapes my mouth, only a stifled groan grates my throat.

She stands back, watching me squirm — for that is what I now do, twist my body like some deranged exotic dancer in a bid to avoid the next blow I am sure will soon follow.

She is about to strike again when the sound of a ringtone distracts her.

"Shit!" He takes his phone from his back trouser pocket, turns to Becky, and says, "Sorry Babe; I'll have to take this. It'll be Hendrix about the Renshaw deal. It's at a crucial stage."

He takes out the phone, and without looking who the caller is, he answers.

Darkness settles over his face, "Ian, Mate."

I watch Josh's face, try to read what Ian is saying to him.

Josh says,"What here . . . at our gate?"

Becky's face drains of colour. The magic of the night is no more, a spell undone by a name: Ian. Rumplestiltskin has come to claim his princess.

I stare intently at Josh, willing him to understand me as I mime words, "Please, no. I can't face him tonight."

I turn to Becky with pleading eyes. Her demeanour became like when they came for me at my house, full of concern. "You won't have to, Cass." She begins to unfasten my manacles.

When she takes the ball-gag from my mouth, I spit and cough, let saliva dribble to the floor. I wipe my lips with my bare forearm.

Tonight has been a whirlwind, but now all I am now confused, deflated. Ian is outside in the night. His anger will be driving him into a frenzy. Oh god, If only he knew what I have just allowed them to do to me.

I do not move. I strain to hear Ian's voice over the phone . . . And when I can't, I imagine his rant. And on top of all everything else, my backside is raw as steak, my nipples sore as a bruised ego.

After a moment, Josh puts his hand over the phone and says to Becky, "He's down the drive, at the front gates. Wants to know where his wife is."

"Why does he think she's here?" Becky asks.

I remember our neighbour's face looking in at me as we sped away in Becky's Range Rover. "One of the neighbours saw us driving away. Stupid old busybody."

Becky looks into my eyes, trying to reassure me. She strokes my cheek, "You Can't see him tonight. You're in no state."

Josh is talking to Ian. "Now calm down, mate. Cassie is asleep. I'll tell her you came by when she wakes. I'll get her to call you. Okay?"

Josh takes the phone from his ear, says, "He's going off on one. Says he'll ram the gate with his motor if Cass doesn't see him." Josh puts the phone to his face again, says to Ian, "Just calm down, mate. I'm coming down now. Just hold onto that thought."

He turns off his phone and says to Becky, "He's talking like a lunatic, saying what he'll do if we don't let him see her."

I say, "You won't let him in, will you?"

Josh looks into my eyes, "I would never let anyone harm you, Cass, not cause you actual harm. You have to understand that's the truth." Then he turns to Becky, "I think I'd better go sort this muppet out — Once and for all. When I'm gone, take Cassie up to the house.

As Josh goes to the door, I call out, "Be careful. You don't know what he's like!"

"Josh can handle himself," Becky says.

When Josh has gone, Becky goes to a closet at the far end of the room and retrieves a magenta silk kimono and slips into it, then brings me another that is identical.

I put it on. "Thanks," I say, pulling the belt tight.

I look at her and try to understand what has just happened between us; her spanking me, her fingers inside me! What does it mean for her and me,­ for all of us? Are the people we used to be gone forever? And then there is Ian. I've walked out on Ian. I never intended that.

Becky is talking. "Come on, Cass. Let's go up to the house and have a nightcap."

I follow her outside, stand and watch her lock up their sex-den, and then trail behind as she guides me to the house, the narrow path picked out by torchlight.

In the kitchen, she pours us chilled, white wine. We go through to the lounge with our drinks, where we sit side by side on their giant couch. At first, we drink in silence, then she pulls up her legs onto the leather and turns to face me, tucking her feet beneath her.

She asks, "Want to talk?"

"About the den?"

"You were brave. Braver than I could ever be."

"I'm still getting my head around it all."

"It's just our game, Cassie. Roleplay. We have some friends who introduced us. They've taught us so much. You'd like Marshall and Verity."

I sit quietly, averting her gaze, staring into my glass. I think about how their attention made me feel, how the pain affected me. Deep Between my legs, my cunt, even now, twist at the memory of her hand.

"It was intense," I say, "but fun too."

"I knew you'd enjoy it. I said to Josh you would."

She puts down her glass on the side table and wriggles her way along the sofa and settles close to me. She begins to stroke my hair, hooks a wayward strand behind my ear.

"I've always loved you, Cass. It hurt me to see how you envied me. Because of Josh ­ Don't deny it. I knew you were jealous."

"No, really, I wasn't — well maybe a little ­ No! I was glad for you . . . Just that what you had with him, well it just made what I have with Ian seem so . . . pathetic."

I warned you about him all those years ago, didn't I?"

"I don't need reminding — can I have a top up?"

"Help yourself."

I go back into the kitchen, take the half-full bottle from the fridge and go with it to the worktop and pour myself another large glass.

She follows me through and stands behind me as I pour. She is behind me, puts her arms around me and slips both hands under my kimono, takes my small breasts in her palms. She rests cheek on my shoulder.

"We were always so close, Cass. What happened between us?"

"Life. That's what happened."

"Will you stay with us for a while?"

"If you can put up with me . . . But I'll have to go back and face Ian ­eventually, if only to put things straight, let him know where he stands. I owe him that, at least."

I extract her hands and turn around to look up into her enormous eyes, eyes always so heavily framed and extravagantly lashed. She doesn't need to do her eyes the way that she does. Without her makeup, she has the eager eyes of a younger girl, her freshness always a revelation when I see her face au natural. No, she does not need to do her eyes.

I go up on tiptoe, and her lips come to meet mine. I kiss her lips gently, allow my tongue to skim their circumference. What I endured at her hands earlier is a dream now. To kiss Becky like this is what I have always wanted. As her lips part and I taste the metal-tang of her breath, I think about what a contradiction she is.

The house phone rings. We continue to kiss.

The ringtone is persistent. She pulls away from me. "Shit, I'd better get it. It'll be Josh. My mobile is still in the car."

She picks up. "Hi."

I watch her face; has someone died?

She seems relieved. "Okay. I understand. Yeah, Cass is fine. No, she really is. Yes, I will. Love you."

"Problem?" I ask when she hangs up.

Josh. He's got to drive down to London."

"What, now?"

"Business."

"Does he need his stuff — clothes, laptop, papers?"

"He has a wardrobe at the London apartment. All his papers are online, that cloud thing. He says this is urgent, this big deal he's been working on for months in danger of falling through. But sends his love, says I should look after you."

"What about Ian?" I ask.

"Oh, him. Josh says it's all sorted. Now, where were we?"

"I'm dying for a pee," I tell her.

"Let's go up then. We can shower together."

Hand in hand we move through the downstairs of the enormous house. Upstairs, their en-suite is a large wet room. I take of my kimono, sit and pee. I watch her remove her robe. She gathers tubes of shower stuff, turns on the shower. A fog of steam rises from the gushing water.

When I have finished, I go to her and stand before her, take her breasts in my palms. "You have gorgeous tits, Becks," I say.

"So Josh is always telling me." She laughs.

Feeling them again ­ the only other female's breasts I have ever touched ­ brings back such poignant memories of our night magical night in Cornwall.

" So soft and smooth," I say dreamily,

I don't have to stoop to kiss one because she is much taller than me, am eye to eye with her nipples. Water cascades and becomes rivulets tracking over her flesh. Steam envelops us as I suck one tit and then the other, gently at first but they stir my desire for her. I nip her over and over, and she lets out tiny, girlish squeals of appreciation.

She can stand no more of my playful bites, takes me in hand and says, "Turn around," she says. "Let me do your back."

Both hands slick with creamy shower wash, she begins to slather my back, starting with my shoulders and working down.

"You have such a sweet little body," Becky says. "I'll try not to break you."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Her soapy fingers between my buttocks, the sides of her hand enfolded by my flesh. She applies more cream and starts to slather; lower now, insistently between the legs.

"I want you nice and clean so that I can eat you all up."

Her touch and the thought of what she said she would do to me later sends a shiver racing. My nipples tingle, hum.

We become lost in a fog of steam so total I can only just make her out. Her hands fumble for my hands to pass me the tube of shower cream. I squeeze a chilled creaminess into my palm. I sense her turning. I reach out blindly to find her.

I almost feel ashamed of wanting her so badly. The pleasure her skin under my palm when I apply soap is such a guilty one. I want to shout to the world that Becky Grant is my lover.

But I will never tell anyone.

My hand between heavy butt-flesh, a sumptuous convexity that enfolds half my hand. I stop rubbing for a moment and savour the dark warmth enveloping my hand. A pre-warmed glove on a winter morning. I feel her tense for me as I delve. Such a subtle, comforting squeeze.

Both of us are blondes; her hair is thick and full of unruly curls, water darkened now; mine baby fine, reduced to straggles that clinging to my skull.

From behind, I soap her pussy, fiercely rubbing and rubbing. She parts her legs for me. We stand under the just bearable jets of hot water while I finger-fuck her from behind, my palm pressing against her backside hard. The pudginess of her butt cheeks gives way to the heel of my hand as I push and rub.

My extracted fingers, greasy with her cum. The shower pounds my back, and I rub her clit. My other arm alternates between pinching each of her nipples. I feel her tensing, her breath a sprinter's finish. She shudders in my arms, cries out loud. And I think, you did it, Cassie. You made Becky cum.

"God, Babe. You have the touch."

We Kiss, and it becomes profound.

Later, she brings towels. I watch her dry herself and see her makeup abandoned her face. The flesh beneath is fresh and unspoilt by sunlight or weather. Just a hint of freckles on her nose.

When I see their bedroom, I have to push down my envy, shut the door of memory on the squalid little room I share with Ian.

**********************************************

The next morning Becky cooks us both breakfast, though I said I was not hungry, and that I did not usually eat until midday.

I nibbled toast and watched her cut bacon, lift and swallow. Was yesterday a dream? Seems so unreal sitting at their breakfast bar, the morning sun streaming through the Velux window above. I think about when they came and took me away from my home, Josh stealing me from Ian. The car and his large hands gripping my wrist.

"I can't stay here forever," I say, as another egg-dipped bacon slides off her fork and into her mouth. Oh, god! Those lips.

"Why not?" She says.

"Because . . . Because it's not right."

"Do Josh and I give a shit about wrong and right."

"It's such an imposition on you. On you both."

"Nonsense, us three are going to have so much fun. There are people you just have to meet."

"People?"

"Just friends. Friends with similar tastes."

"Are you and Josh swingers?" I ask. It's hard to believe Josh and Becks would be. The word conjures such seedy images, and they are so-not seedy.

"God, Cassie. What do you take us for? Our new friends have very refined tastes. You wouldn't believe the reality of their wealth." She cleans egg yoke from her plate with toast and pops it into her mouth, chews and swallows.

She continues "As a matter of fact, there's a big party out on the coast soon. Josh and I have invites; I'm sure Phillipa and Hendrix won't mind us bringing a guest, especially one as pretty as you. Yes, you're just Hendrix type."

I imagine the home of a billionaire high on some promontory looking out over the sea. I begin to imagine the possibilities if I were to get to know someone like that. And it suddenly hits me how alone in the world I now am, how I lack all assets, emotional and material. The house I shared with Ian mortgaged. No equity if we divorce.

A billionaire of my own! But any old billionaire would not do; he would have to be inordinately good looking too.

In my mind, I have drifted into a world of schemes. Suddenly I hear a name I recognise.

" . . . and of course, Jude Alexander will be there.

"­ the record company boss?"

"I just know you'll love him, Cass."

Jude Alexander: main attraction of "Sing For Me Britain," millionaire svengali, the most powerful man in music alive. I'd often wondered what happens to all the female contestants he takes back to his Villa on the Atlantic coast of Morocco, to how many he has made love. The thought of meeting Jude Alexander thrills me. When I was younger, I'd thought of taking singing lessons and entering the contest. These days Ian says I have a voice like a banshee.

After breakfast, I phone Ian. But he isn't picking up. I want to arrange a meeting, talk everything over. I.m going to to be oh-so civilised, ask him about collecting the rest of my things.

I tried again after lunch. Still no answer.

Later in the afternoon Becky and I swim naked in their pool. Afterwards, we recline on loungers at the poolside and sip Pimms.

I asked: "You heard from Josh?"

Strange how I had been so besotted with him, only to have him go off-stage and now it is his Becky who is at the forefront of my thoughts.

"He should be back late this evening. Are you missing him?"

"Becks . . ." I ask tentatively, "Did you really not mind that he kissed me in his car?"

"Why should I mind? I've always known he fancies you. He told me he was going to have you even before he began giving you lifts. It wasn't an accident, Cass, that day he pulled up and offered you one. It was way out of his way to come past your works and pick you up, you know."

"So why did he?

"It was after I told him about our time in the sleeping bag together."

I'm so pleased she can talk about that night, even now after all these years. "I thought you must have hated what we did. You never spoke about it?"

I can see her thinking hard, "The day after — oh I don't know. I was just embarrassed. We were both so young."

"You've obviously got over your embarrassment now," I say.

"Josh helped me see how beautiful two girls together can be. My night with you is one of my favourite memories." Her hand reaches out to mine, squeezes.

********************************

In the evening, I am alone in the room they are letting me use, large and exquisitely furnished. It's so hot today that I'm wearing just plain white vest and panties while sat propped up on the bed by a mountain of pillows, watching my soap now showing on the wall-mounted plasma television.

But the plot line I have so religiously followed doesn't interest me now. All I can think of is last night with Becky in their giant bed. Her breasts all to myself, so sensational to stroke and taste. I couldn't leave them alone, couldn't get enough of their softness, their sheer, beautiful presence. And she touched me between the legs all the time, was determined to see how many orgasms I could take. I was just as determined to let her count them, one and then another.

My face against her cunt. The taste of her, the way her she bled her lust for me ­ the sweetness of what she gave.

Afterwards: her limbs softly packaging me up among her flesh; our faces cheek to cheek; her soft breath mingling with mine; me telling her I loved her.

I wriggle out of my vest and panties and draw the backs of my knuckles down across my chest until they are over my nipples and let my nails scrape a circle. My nipples stiffen, yet are pliant. I squeeze myself, remembering Darling Girl's chastisements, how she slipped her finger inside me, and then how Josh came over to us, how he also inspected my cunt with two fingers.

I slide two of my finger into myself, savour the warm, silkiness that is the inner me. The sensation of my cradling cunt around my fingers makes me gasp, the walls of my vagina embracing my fingers like a lover. I tense my muscle to feel the grasp. It is so lush and warm down there. I begin to slowly finger-fuck myself.

Through the open window, I hear the crunching of gravel as a car arrives and comes to a halt, the slamming of its driver's door. Then there are footsteps, and the front door bangs closed, leaving the silence of a summer countryside twilight.

I know they've padlocked the gates, so the new arrival has to be Josh come home. I want to run down to him and throw my arms around him. But I make myself stay on the bed, think of him fucking me, imagining his cock deep inside me. At the pitch of my orgasm, I can't help myself; I call his name. Josh! Josh, Of, fuck, Josh!

When my breathing abates, my limbs leaden, I stand and pull on my panties, shorts and top. I check myself in the mirror. I am about to go to see Josh when there is knock at the door of my room.

Please let it be him.

I open the door, and he's standing there. I move towards him to greet him with a kiss. He has that smile, the one from the day he first opened the car door for me all those days ago.

And then I don't know what happens: he grabs me twists me around, restrains me from behind in a bear hug that squeezes all the breath from my lungs

Then Becky's voice: "Don't you dare struggle, slave."

Something coarse goes over my head. Then blackness.

******************************************

He hauls me over his shoulder. I am nothing to him, no weight at all. He lifts like I might lift my rucksack when I'm out hiking. He carries me along the landing, down the stairs, talks to Becky as we go. A voice dulled by sacking, but I still understand words.

"This little slut needs a lesson in gratitude. We've given her a home, fed her. And what thanks do we get? She needs to learn some manners. Fucking ungrateful little slut," Daddy says.