The Beginning of the End Ch. 01

"Thanks. I'm..." Talia searched for the words. "Curious about your relationship with my husband. Back in the day, I mean."

"Oh!" Sara pitched up into an adorable, lilted squeal. Of course, even her voice was cute. "There's nothing to worry about there."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to accuse you-"

"Don't worry, Phillip isn't my type at all." She punctuated the remark with a flat stare, adding "No offense." They had come to a stop, idling parked in an underground deck, Talia realized. Light from a passing SUV swept across Sara's glasses, and behind it her eyes belied none of her usual playfulness. They were a deep royal blue. Calculating. Intelligent, as they regarded her. As if Sara could see something within her that no one else could.

Talia bristled, her competitive instincts kicking in. What was she doing acting like some shy maiden? Sure, she was new to the world of kink. But it wasn't as if she was so sheltered that she had no clue people did things like this. There was nothing special at play here. Just her husband's perverse fantasy, and a woman more experienced than her.

Talia straightened her back, and crossed one leg over the other, tilting her head back to look down her nose at Sara. Emphasizing the height difference. "And what is your type?" Her words were quiet, but forceful enough to cut through the heavy atmosphere of the cabin.

After a prolonged silence, to Talia's surprise, Sara looked away. It was too dark to tell, but she thought she caught a tinge of red on the woman's cheeks. Sara cut the engine and the car stilled. "You'll see."

*****

Talia had been furious when Phillip told her the plan was to meet at a hotel. How could he have such a complete lack of concern for his wife's safety? She'd imagined some rundown dump. A corner motel used for shady deals, prostitution, and illicit rendezvous. One where anything could happen to her, and no one would notice or care, her safety left in the hands of a mysterious woman from her husband's past that barely knew.

Sara placed a hand on the small of her back and gave her a gentle nudge. Talia blinked, realizing she'd been standing in the doorway gaping. She allowed Sara to guide her, and together they made their way through the lobby. This was no corner motel.

No, Hotel Vertigo was the complete opposite. The lobby was an enormous winding chamber, lit by a row of globes, each suspended in a series of metal rings like a gyroscope. The rings slowly spun across their surface, casting ribbons of shadows that danced lazily across the floor. Recessed nooks with dark leather sofas lined the walls, and thick auburn curtains full like waterfalls from the ceiling, two stories above them. A balcony ran the circumference of the room, and Talia watched as a handful of smartly dressed guests disappeared behind a row of curtains that obscured the walkway from view.

"We're on twenty-six." Talia turned. Sara was holding a keycard between two fingers. "Just in case you leave and need to get back inside."

Talia took the card, tucking it into her purse, and thanked her.

"Don't mention it." Talia could feel Sara watching her and forced herself to stand straight. To project a confidence that she didn't feel. Unfortunately, the woman was perceptive.

"Nervous?" Sara asked.

"Of course I'm nervous. Who wouldn't be?"

The elevator doors parted, and the guests from before swept past them, several of them eying Sara as they went. None of them even glanced her way. It was like night and day, compared to going out with Phillip.

Sara stepped into the elevator, calling back as she did, "Don't worry, I think you're going to like Damian."

"Why is that?"

"The two of you are similar, I think."

They excited into a lavishly carpeted hallway, and began walking. "Is he..." Talia struggled to phrase the question in a way that didn't make her look weak. The best she managed was, "nice?" Ugh.

"No." Sara stopped in front of a door. Room two six four. "But he's not mean either." She pushed open the door.

Talia took a breath to steady herself and, clutching her purse like a lifeline, stepped into the room.

There was no one inside.

"He's out running an errand, he'll be back any minute though." Sara shook her phone to show that she'd been texting.

"You could have told me earlier." Talia dropped her purse into a nearby armchair. "I got all worked up for nothing."

"Oh?" Sara grinned.

"Not like that." She said, and began to explore the room.

So this is where she would defile her marriage. There were worse places, she supposed, if one was going to do such a thing. The room was a studio suite. One half was dedicated to an arrangement of armchairs, and a small sofa centered around a marble coffee table. The other was dominated by a king sized bed. Talia ran a hand along the duvet. It was luxuriously soft.

Beside the bed was a set of thick curtains, the same burnished color as the ones in the lobby. She drew them apart and nearly gasped at the view. The sun had almost set, and lavender sky dripped between dark pillars of the buildings arrayed before her. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, then tucked it behind her ear.

She was really about to break her vows, and at the behest of her husband no less. She hadn't understood when he'd explained it to her, not really. Apparently this was a fantasy of his. One he'd never bothered to share with her in the six years they'd been together. She understood his embarrassment, that made perfect sense, but what was so appealing about betrayal?

A mortifying night of research hadn't offered much illumination. Video after video of women mocking their imaginary husbands as they pretended to enjoy themselves. All made for the enjoyment of men, of course, and there was no tenderness or finesse in the act. Just a series of grunting brutes and vapid, dolled up tramps that moved from kissing, to oral, to missionary, to all-fours before the man would inevitably finish on the woman's face, or worse: in her mouth. As if those were the natural stages of intimacy. Preordained, like acts in a play.

Talia supposed that's what she was here for, though. An act. One entirety for Phillip's benefit. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. Oh well, it would be over soon enough. Though she refused to let Damian finish on her face or in her mouth. The former would ruin her makeup, and the latter she didn't even allow Phillip to do.

Aside from that, though, she would do her best. She wasn't much of an actor, but neither were the women in those videos. Surely she could give a performance suitable enough for her husband's needs, and then she would be done with this forever.

Something struck her as odd though. If Phillip's claims were true, then Sara also enjoyed this sort of thing. Talia tried to picture Sara giving the same lackluster performance as the women in the videos, but the idea was laughable. Sara's every action felt deliberate. Like steps of a dance, rehearsed a thousand times until every movement was perfect.

She found herself curious what Sara's work was like, and was about to ask when a voice called from the doorway. Smooth, with just enough gravel to give it an edge. Goosebumps prickled along her arms as the words rolled over her.

"Sorry for the wait, ladies."

*****

Phillip paced the living room, too excited to do anything else. This was really happening. Or at least it was supposed to be happening. Once again, Sara was late. He knew he should be worried about his wife, but the only thing he could think about was the call. His hand was cramped from clutching his phone. His palms slick with sweat.

He threw himself down on the sofa, scattering the pile of laundry beside him. He'd promised to fold it tonight, but instead he stared at his phone, tapping his foot. Chores were the last thing on his mind

"Talia..." he muttered, allowing his hand to drift across his shorts, coming to rest on his tented bulge. She hadn't even called yet, and already he'd soaked through his boxers. A tiny darkened spot was forming where his precum was beginning to penetrate the shorts themselves.

The phone buzzed, sending a spike of burning cold shooting through him. He scrambled to bring the phone to his face, only to see that it was a text message. From Sara. He swiped it open.

Getting ready now. She's cute ;)

Before he could respond, it was followed by an image. A candid shot, he realized. Talia stood, statuesque, radiating refined beauty, midway through brushing aside an errant strip of blonde hair. She stood before a floor to ceiling window, gazing out at the sweeping view of the skyline. He'd expected somewhere less... expensive. He hoped Sara didn't expect him to cover the cost of the room.

As he studied the image of his wife, waiting to meet the man who would soon be fucking her, he realized he could see Sara's reflection in the glass. And behind her...

He zoomed in, spreading his fingers as far apart as he could. Until the image became pixelated and distorted, until he could just barely make out a shadowy silhouette towering over Sara, watching his wife. The quality was too low to make out any expression, so maybe it was his imagination, but he swore the shadow was smiling hungrily.

*****

Talia turned, and came face to face with the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. His hair was a glossy jet black, parted at the temple and swept back like a cresting wave. A few errant strands hung forward, tickling against his brow. He had a strong angular jaw, with a dusting of stubble, and prominent cheekbones. His eyes were a piercing sky blue that made Sara's look dull by comparison. They reminded her of a cat. Upturned at the edges, and razor sharp.

He wore a slate-gray three piece suit overtop a burgundy shirt, fitted to reveal a slim, athletic figure. A far cry from the burly musclehead Phillip was no doubt expecting. He had a garment bag slung over one forearm, and extended it toward Sara, who quickly moved to take it. As she did, he cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb across her lips, and Talia realized how tall he was. Taller than she was. That would take getting used to.

Her heart skipped a beat as Damian turned to face her while Sara took the bag to the bathroom. He asked, "Who wants a drink?"

"Old fashioned, please!" Sara called back.

Damian ignored the request, instead waiting patiently for her to answer.

Talia scanned the bar cart by the far wall. She'd missed it on her way in. "Um, can you make a sidecar?

"Of course, take a seat."

Talia did as she was asked, sitting against one arm of the sofa while Damian took off his jacket and hung it across the back of the second armchair. He removed his cufflinks, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and Talia realized she may have been too quick to dismiss his physique as simply 'slim.'

His forearms were vascular and lean. Muscles danced beneath their surface as he began to expertly mix drinks. He was a practiced hand, moving through each step with precise, measured movements. Talia studied his broad shoulders, allowing her eyes to slip down the creases of his shirt where they tucked into the vest. She caught herself wondering if his back was as muscled as his arms. She supposed she was going to find out. Her face burned at the thought.

He stepped past her to the minifidge, and bent over to reach inside, giving Talia a good view of his backside. No, she thought with gratitude, this man was nothing like she'd imagined. He emerged with an orange, and used a knife from the cart to carefully cut away a spiraled section of its peel. He dropped it into the glass and offered her the finished product, delicately holding the stem between thumb and forefinger. Her fingers brushed against his as she took it, and Talia mustered every ounce of will she had to force herself to ignore the touch.

Sara emerged from the bathroom, and went directly to him, without even glancing in her direction. She pressed herself against him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Something black dangled from one of her hands. He kissed her deeply, and she leaned into him.

Talia looked away and sipped her drink to avoid watching the open display of lust. The cocktail was the perfect blend of sweet candied cognac, and tangy Cointreau. Damian knew what he was doing. She looked back, intending to tell him just that, only to find that Sara was kneeling before him.

Damian leaned forward, reaching out with both hands. Between them he held the black object, which Talia now realized was a collar. Sara stared into his eyes with open adoration as he fastened it tightly around her throat. Sara was melting before this man, reverent and obedient. Nothing like the confident, swaggering woman she'd met in the bar.

"Sit." Damian commanded her, before returning to the cart for their drinks. Sara stood and moved to join Talia on the sofa until he called backward without looking, "Not there."

Sara froze for a moment, considering, then moved to the chair with Damian's jacket, and sat on the floor beside it. He returned, taking the chair itself, and lowered a glass toward Sara saying only, "Good girl."

She took the drink and leaned into his leg, looking proud. Damian took a sip from his own glass, and said, "Let's make sure we're all on the same page." They both looked at her, and Talia realized she was gripping her glass with both hands and blushing furiously. She did her best to loosen up as he continued.

"Before we start, I want to make sure that you actually want this."

She didn't, not really, but she was committed. "I do."

"That goes for your husband too. I've been with couples where the husband gets bitter, and it's a problem I'd rather not deal with."

"That won't be an issue," she assured him. It had better not. This whole thing was Phillip's idea.

"Good." Talia resisted the urge to squirm as he smiled. What was she, some kind of lovestruck schoolgirl? Damian was attractive, sure, but that didn't mean anything to her. "You can leave anytime you want, but as long as you're here I expect you to follow some rules. First, when I give you an order, you obey."

He was silent, waiting for her, so Talia nodded. Below him Sara began to smirk.

"Second, whenever you address me, I expect you to be polite. Address me as 'master', or 'sir' if that's preferable to you. Whichever you choose, you'll answer questions and orders accordingly, understood?"

"Yes." He raised an eyebrow. Sara wagged her fingers to get her attention and mouthed a word at her. Talia swallowed. 'Master' was a bit much, so she corrected herself with, "Yes sir."

"Good girl."

The words were patronizing and demeaning. Talia hated that they felt good. Something about the way he delivered the compliment made her feel warm. There was authority in everything he did, and she'd always been a teacher's pet. It was all just an act, she reminded herself, no need to overthink it.

"Third, I expect you to dress to please me. Since this is your first time, I took the liberty of bringing you something, it's hanging in the bathroom."

Talia shuddered to think what sort of revealing outfit he had in mind. "What's wrong with my current outfit?"

"Nothing at all, you look lovely." Her stomach fluttered. His eyes were boring through her, but she refused to look away first. "But I had something a little more sultry in mind for tonight. Sara guessed at your measurements, but she's good at that sort of thing. It should fit nicely."

No room for argument. "Yes... sir," she grumbled. This was ridiculous.

"Lastly, if you fail to obey an order, or if you forget your manners, you'll be punished."

Talia narrowed her eyes. Phillip had better be grateful that she was willing to put up with this, "And what does that entail?" Before he could say anything she hastily tacked on a venomous, "sir."

He shrugged, and the air of authority fell away, replaced by a polite, friendly smile. "That's entirely up to you."

"So are the other rules, by the way," Sara added. She'd already finished her drink and rested her head on Damian's knee. Talia half expected him to punish her for speaking out of turn, but instead he nodded, and began to stroke her head, like a pet. Sara smiled contentedly. What was wrong with these people?

"So... I don't have to do any of it?"

"Not if you don't want to. Or if any of it is too much for you." She didn't miss the challenge in his voice. "Although games are more fun with rules, aren't they?"

"If it's all optional then what's the point?"

"Submission," he said. As if that made any sense at all. Seeing her confusion, he clarified, "If you're being forced to do something, that's just coercion. Anyone can use threats of force to make someone do something against their will. It's crude, and pathetic." The disgust on his face made his sincerity clear. But his features brightened as slowly lifted his leg, robbing Sara of her pillow. He brought the toe of his polished shoe up under her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"I want you to enjoy yourself. To do all of this willingly and follow the rules, not because you have to, but because you want to. We can start small, spanking maybe?" He pulled his foot away, then placed the heel on the back of Sara's neck. He pushed her down slowly, until her cheek was pressed into the floor, forcing her to bend over and arch her back. Her jeans stretched taut, slipping down to reveal the black band of her panties.

He raised a hand, and Sara, realizing what was about to happen, bit her lip just before it came down with a loud thwack against her rear. She inhaled sharply, then moaned quietly into the carpet. Sara really did enjoy this. Did he think that he could warp her the same way?

"Why not give it a try? You can stop anytime you like, but I promise that when I'm done with you," Damian's eyes burned with an icy ferocity, "telling me 'no' won't even cross your mind."

Talia stood. Sara opened her mouth, no doubt to plead for her to stay, but a quick tap from Damian's heel had her biting it closed. He said nothing, only watched as she set her glass down on the cart, and strutted toward the bathroom door.

"You're on," she looked back over her shoulder, "Sir."

She never could back down from a challenge.

*****

The ringtone was the loudest sound Phillip had ever heard. It echoed through the apartment. Through his body. He cleared his throat, and quickly checked his appearance. He projected a sense of confidence that he didn't at all feel, and answered the call. Sara's face filled the screen.

She was crouched in front of the phone, which was mounted on a tripod, judging from the height. She was cupping her cheek in one hand, fingers fanned across the left side of her face. She gave him a toothy smile and a peace sign with her free hand.

"Heyo!"

"Um, hey Sara."

"Ready to watch your wife get fucked?" His cock gave an involuntary twitch.

He was thankful Sara couldn't see the mess that was his lower half. He'd unbuttoned his shorts and spent the past half hour rubbing himself over his boxers, afraid that if he gave in and touched himself properly he wouldn't be able to hold back. As a result, his underwear was a soggy mess, and his dick ached for attention.

In response to her question, he gave Sara a thumbs up, which caused her to giggle.

"No. I wanna hear you say it. Otherwise I'll end the call."

Ugh, why was she toying with him? Where was Talia? "Please don't-"

"No no. No talking back. Say 'Please let me watch your boyfriend fuck my wife, Sara'," she interrupted.

Fuck it. He was desperate. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get the words out, a deep voice on the other line said, "Stop teasing him. And set the camera up properly."