The Monogamists Ch. 04

[Recap: Henry and Anya have agreed to move in with Jen and become her lovers. While Jen begins to explore her submissive side, all three have to deal with the new reality of how they're treated by friends and colleagues, and how they treat each other]

PLUS ONE

Anya smoothed her hands across my chest.

"You look nice," she said. "You brush up well when you want to."

"I feel like a bit of a dick," I confessed, shrugging my shoulders into the dinner jacket.

Without being asked, Anya buttoned me up.

"Why? It's good to dress up sometimes."

"No. I mean about all of this."

I studied Anya's face, standing in front of me, her stunning figure hidden within a baggy sweatshirt and track pants, dark hair tousled into a loose bun. She seemed studiously non-committal.

"Hey, don't be," she said. "Stuff like this is gonna happen."

"It should be you all dressed up."

"Yeah. But it's not."

Again, a curious lack of expression on Anya's face.

The door to the bathroom opened and we both turned.

In the doorway, framed by the light behind her, Jen posed for us. She wore a black, silk ballgown with a modest neckline that just showed off the top of her cleavage. I could see that she didn't have a bra on underneath, her pert breasts sitting comfortably under the smooth fabric. The dress hugged her narrow waist before plunging down to her ankles, showing bare skin and then black patent leather stiletto heels.

She did a twirl for us, revealing that the dress was backless, the straps gathered into a clasp at the back of her neck but the dress plunging in a narrow v-shape all the way down to a fold of material sitting just above her bottom. I stared at her bottom, gathered and moulded by the tight silk into a perfect rounded heart shape. It had an effect on me immediately and I felt myself stirring.

"How do I look?" she asked, coyly.

"You'll do," I managed.

Jen pouted, "I'll just do?"

She swayed up to us, smiling demurely, her dirty-blonde hair gathered up into a loose French twist, her lips tinted with dark red lipstick.

"It's almost as if you were up for the award yourself," Anya observed.

"I thought I should make an effort."

"That's definitely what you've done. What do you think Henry?"

I smiled at them both. There was no way I wanted to get sandwiched in the middle of this.

"I see you picked the emergency sex dress," Anya continued.

"Emergency sex?" I stammered.

Anya's hand was moving now, caressing Jen's arm, brushing up her smooth skin to her shoulder, resting behind her neck. Jen's eyes were on me, as Anya seemed to be stroking the back of her neck. I saw the twin points of her nipples begin to show under the silk of her dress.

"Why's it called that?" I asked.

Anya smirked and I saw her fingers move.

The straps of Jen's dress tumbled down her shoulders and the black silk cascaded down her body like water, sloughing off her hips to pool around her feet. Jen stood there completely naked, nipples erect, save for a tiny g-string covering her crotch.

"She's ready for anything at a moment's notice."

Jen looked uncomfortable and hurriedly stooped to gather her dress back up, pulling it back into place, covering herself back up. She gave Anya a reproachful glance. Anya faced her with the same indifferent expression before turning her attention to me.

"Have fun tonight you two," she said, a little too brightly.

Jen kissed her and said, "See you when we get back."

"Sure," Anya replied, flashing a tiny smile and turning towards the living room.

I watched her disappear, dressed in her comfort clothes, and turned to Jen. I cocked an eyebrow. Jen's face darkened and she lowered her chin.

"We'd better go," she said.

---

Jen was quiet in the cab, fingers entwined tightly with mine, looking out at the shopfronts passing by. The driver was playing eighties music.

"She's pretty pissed off," I said.

"She's no right to be," Jen replied, not looking at me.

"She does."

Jen turned to me, her beautiful hazel eyes flashing angrily.

"It was plus one. It wasn't plus two. And Frances was never going to go, so I'm next in line to be invited."

She was fuming quietly.

"Anyway, I worked my bloody backside off for this implementation, so you know, I think I deserve to go to the awards night. More than Frances, who was useless, as usual."

Jen was obviously chewing on something in her head.

"And what's the option? Take Anya, basically out her as my lesbian girlfriend in front of the entire bloody...."

She broke off, looking back out at the streets again.

"Fuck," she hissed.

"I guess I'm more convenient."

Jen's head snapped back to me.

"Don't you fucking start too. It's not about convenience."

Jen withdrew her hand from mine. We continued in silence.

"I'll make it up to her when we get back," Jen said, eventually. "I reckon I'm going to be making it up to her for a while."

---

We were placed on a round table that seated eight. The other six were all employees of Starling, the accounting software company that Jen had used for whatever the project was. I hadn't really followed the details. I looked out across the floor; there must have been nearly a hundred tables here. Small signs in the centre of each announced the major players in the landscape. It was definitely the who's who of this world, but I was having a hard time getting excited about spending the night among accountants and salespeople. It didn't help that Anya's sour attitude lingered in the background.

Anya would have hated this even more than me, I thought. Add to that the inevitable questions as to why Jen's plus one was her boss's executive assistant, would have made things a little awkward. Still, Jen could have come alone, or maybe dragged Amir along. He did a lot of the work, as far as I understood it. Why was I here? Was the reason that Jen wanted to bring her boyfriend because everyone else here had brought their husbands and wives? To appear the same as everyone else around the table? There was something that Jen wasn't telling me.

I took in the other people at our table. Next to me was the wife of the founder, a pretty early-forties woman with straight black hair down to her shoulders and pale grey eyes set in a soft face. I got the feeling she was somewhere on the spectrum, as she immediately ploughed deep into the topic of her work, DNA recombination, which sent me into the archives in my head to dredge up topics of conversation. I was currently in discussion about the benefits of using CRISPR for gene editing, thinking to myself ruefully that this was the pattern for my night: finding myself out of my depth in other people's conversations. I always had favourite road trips to fall back on, but I was saving that material for later on in the night, otherwise I'd be stuffed for subjects to talk about way before main course.

The founder was next, about the same age as his wife and seemingly a decent guy, studiously not talking shop. Opposite us was the technical lead for the project and her husband, and then the two nearest were the project director, a severe-looking mid-thirties woman who looked like she'd be pretty hard work to talk to, and then finally Damian, the handsome, mid-to-late-thirties engagement lead, sitting next to Jen.

Jen was holding court with her half of the table on the trials and tribulations of the last three months. I saw her working the audience and relished it, contrasting this vivacious, bubbly, confident, woman with the often quiet and submissive person I had seen in the privacy of our bedroom. But the thing that stood out was the way that when Damian laughed, Jen laughed. He patted her arm, delivering another witty aside. I guess that he was good at his job because he was good at personal connections; his easy manner with co-workers and clients would smooth the passage of the project. But it was the way that he was pretending that I didn't exist that chafed me, and I noticed that he had Jen's full attention too. I began to wonder if Jen's choice to bring me rather than Anya had less to do with not outing Anya in public and more about not outing herself.

I struggled through starters and main course. When the awards began it was actually a relief, giving me time to think, pulling the puzzle pieces together in my head. If Jen was really attracted to Damian, she should have brought Amir, wouldn't she? It would have given her a clean run, without her boyfriend in evidence. Was I just feeling left out and jealous? But, I couldn't deny there was something between them. An uncomfortable thought lingered in the back of my mind: if Jen had quite happily taken two lovers to fulfill her needs, why not three?

Their category was announced and Starling was named as a finalist. The founder and Damian rose from their chairs to make their way to the stage. As he got up, Damian's hand rested on Jen's shoulder. Jen didn't shrug it off, instead she smiled. Once the table's attention was focused on their people up on the stage, I bent close to Jen's ear.

"So, how long does this go for?" I asked.

"Ten thirty. Why?"

"I'm just about done."

Jen looked at me, uncertainly. She was about to say something when everyone else on the table burst into deafening applause. Apparently, Starling had won. My spirits sank. The conquering heroes made their way back to us, the founder holding some kind of glass trophy. Behind him, Damian was grinning like a cat. We all stood to receive them.

I watched Damian shoot pistol fingers at Jen, high-fiving everyone as he came back to his seat. I heard him thanking Jen profusely for her unsung part in the victory, suggesting drinks to celebrate, leaning close over the din to speak into her ear. As he did so, Jen turned her head slightly and looked at me. She was smiling; I wasn't. There was some unreadable expression in her eyes.

I took a toilet break after dessert, more to gather my thoughts than anything else and work out a way to extricate us from this situation. Damian clearly wanted Jen, and I didn't understand why Jen hadn't rebuffed him. I returned to an empty table and booming music from a live band on stage. Hurriedly, I scanned the room but didn't see anyone I recognised; Jen was gone.

Pushing my way to the front of the room, I bumped into middle-aged men in dinner suits dancing to Abba and Saturday Night Fever. The dancefloor was packed, and I couldn't see more than a few steps in any direction. Jen had to be here, though: the implications of her being anywhere else were too difficult to contemplate.

I worked my way through the press of bodies, trying to be methodical. Just when I was beginning to give up hope, I saw blonde hair in a French twist and a long, plunging backless dress. Relieved, I headed in Jen's direction but then stopped abruptly. There was a hand on her waist. Damian was dancing with her, his fingers caressing the naked skin of her back. I ploughed towards them.

Jen's back was turned to me, but I could see Damian's face clearly, eyes locked on Jen. Those same eyes flicked up to see me approaching and with disbelief, I watched Damian slide his hand down towards Jen's bottom in full view of me.

"Jen!" I called, "I thought I'd lost you."

Jen whirled round, shocked, eyes wild. Damian began to grin at me over her shoulder, blatantly goading me. He wanted me to make a scene.

Instead, I took Jen by the hand and led her away, deeper into the dancefloor, where I brought my lips up to her ear.

"Is that why I'm here?" I asked, "To punch his lights out?"

"No."

"Then am I just here to watch as he makes his move on you? Are we playing some kind of fucking game?"

Jen shook her head emphatically, small movements that wouldn't draw attention in the throng of dancing bodies. She whispered in my ear over the din of the music.

"You know you own me," she said. "So, fucking own me."

Jen pulled back, searching my face. I looked into her gorgeous hazel eyes. Without another word, I placed my hand into the small of her back, feeling her soft skin exposed by the backless dress. We began to dance and my hand drifted lower, following her spine to where the v-cut of the fabric plunged to just above the cheeks of her bottom. I dipped my hand inside the fabric, spreading my fingers out across the smoothness of her skin, resting my index finger in the very top of the cleft between her cheeks, stroking the tiny fabric triangle of her g-string, and smiled at Jen.

"That's inappropriate," she said.

My smile faded and I stared into her hazel eyes.

"Are you sure?" I asked, coldly, "You didn't say that to Damian."

We danced the song out, then with my hand firmly on the soft, rounded curve of her bottom, I escorted her back to our table. Positioning myself to give me a view of the dancefloor over Jen's shoulder I pulled her close.

"Whatever the fuck is going on, it ends now. Tell me what I need to know. Why am I here?"

"To fucking protect me from Damian. And you're doing a really shit job."

Across the room, I could see Damian talking to some of his colleagues, but his eyes were on us. Given the distance, I couldn't be sure, but he seemed to be smiling as he watched us argue. I had to think quickly, but my options were limited. I could confront Damian, surrounded by his colleagues, but I would just come across as the drunk boyfriend, and it would also make Jen look bad in front of the people she was trying to impress. I could have just tried punching the guy's lights out, but I didn't think I'd have much of a chance there; Damian was taller and he would be ready for me. Plus, Jen would still be labelled as the one with the dick boyfriend. We could leave, but I sensed that that wouldn't be the end of the matter, that Damian would still pursue. Whatever I did, it had to be smarter, and it had to be permanent. Damian had to get the message that Jen was not interested in a way that he would actually take to heart.

"So," I said. "You're not into him?"

"What do you think?" she retorted, glaring at me. "He's been after me since the start of the project."

"You should have told me."

Jen screwed up her face. "I thought I could handle it. I don't always need you to hero up and save the day."

For some reason that made me more angry.

"Or you could have just brought Anya instead of me. That would have killed all this shit with Damian stone dead."

Jen's eyes flashed, but she bit her tongue. I took a deep, calming breath, and made a decision.

"In a moment, I'm going to storm out and you're going to sit down," I said. "If he comes over I want you to make an excuse to leave the table. Go to the back of the room, to where the curtains are hanging against the wall."

"Why?"

"There's an alcove behind the curtains where they stack the chairs. If he follows you, go there."

"What are you going to do to him?"

"Nothing. It's what I'm going to do to you."

I picked up my jacket with a flourish and stormed off before Jen could say anything. I was genuinely angry, firstly with Damian, who seemed to believe that Jen was his prize for the night, but also with Jen for not being honest. I guess she had believed that turning up with her boyfriend would have been enough. Clearly it wasn't: Damian was a fucking predator and now that the project was finished, there was nothing holding him back from his conquest.

As I reached the back of the room, I looked over my shoulder. Damian was already at the table, standing over Jen. He looked over to where I was. I saw him nod at me. Fuming, I located the gap in the curtains, and checking that I wasn't being observed, I slipped quietly into the alcove.

The area behind the curtain was a couple of metres deep, and about ten metres wide, empty aside from some equipment boxes stacked in the corner. It was also quite dark, the only source of light filtering weakly through the curtains. I leaned against the back wall and waited.

The minutes passed by, but Jen didn't appear. I thought of calling her on the phone, but resisted the urge. A nagging doubt began to grow: what if she wasn't coming? What if Damian had taken her back to the dancefloor? I played the conversation back in my head and came to the conclusion that Jen could have thought she was being asked to lure Damian into a private area so I could kick the shit out of him, or more likely end up with the shit kicked out of me. It wouldn't be beyond reason for Jen to assume that the safest thing was to go along with Damian and try shaking him off later.

Just as I was about to step back through the curtains, they rippled, and a figure slipped into the alcove.

"Hey," Jen said, "Henry?"

"I'm here."

"I can't see you."

I stepped out of the shadows.

"I was beginning to doubt you were coming," I said, stepping up to Jen and pulling her further into the room. Her face was in shadow, I couldn't read her expression.

"Do you trust me?" I whispered.

Jen nodded, and I kissed her. The curtain twitched again.

I broke off the kiss to fix eyes on Damian. He was clearly surprised to find me behind the curtain, but it was difficult to gauge his expression with his face in shadow. That was probably for the best; given what I was about to do, maybe not seeing him watching us would be easier.

I slipped my hand behind Jen's neck and ran my fingers over the clasp. Jen stiffened, and for a moment I questioned whether this was going too far. Then something surfaced in me, from out of the darkness, something familiar. I undid the clasp and let Jen's dress fall. She kissed me again, with passion. Being exposed in front of a stranger had turned her on, I realised with some astonishment: she was getting into this. My hand drifted from her neck, down her spine, to settle over the little black triangle of her g-string, nestled in the cleft of her bottom. I pulled her close to me, and Jen's bare arms circled my waist as she pressed her naked body against mine, feeling the hardness of my growing erection against her crotch.

My free hand traced down her breasts to her waist, dipping further until they touched the fabric of her g-string. My fingers paused, feeling the outline of her pussy lips through the material. Jen ground herself against my hand, giving me permission to go further, even though Damian was watching us. I slipped my hand under the fabric, stroking her pubic hair and then finding the moist heat of her slit. I began to trace tiny circles, massaging her hood, feeling the swelling of her little nub beneath. Jen gasped, and her hands travelled down to my bottom, gripping me firmly and pulling herself more forcefully into my body as my fingers continued to work on her.

Jen broke off the kiss. Backlit, all I could see of her face was the curve of her cheek, dimpled in a smile. I felt her begin to slide down my body and I suddenly gripped her tight. That was going too far. Jen kissed me again and I found myself having to support her full body weight. I relented and she dropped to her knees in front of me.

I became aware of the dark shape standing before me, against the curtains, unmoving, as I felt Jen's hands at work on my zipper. Jen was about to put me on display, returning the favour. I felt her soft hand snake into my trousers and take hold of my manhood, working it free. I watched the blonde head draw close to my crotch and felt just the tiniest sensation of moisture on the tip of my cock, sending shivers of pleasure through me. Damian became an afterthought as I paid attention now to the way Jen's tongue worked its way over my cock, her tongue tip exploring the ridge behind my engorged head, taking her time.

Her hand coiled around the base of my shaft and she began to take me into her mouth, sucking gently, slowly, giving me exquisite pleasure. My hand cupped the back of her head, but I didn't move. Jen was in charge now; this was all her show. All I could do was watch the blonde head moving back and forth in the darkness, her face and my cock hidden in shadow, but feeling every delicious movement of her lips and tongue as she licked and sucked my manhood.