The Summerhouse Ch. 06: Martin

"I want to discipline Martin. I've neglected him," Victoria told us. "He's not been bawling his eyes out for a week. So I want to inflict some real pain. You can go with Scott."

The cheeky Geordie beamed as I walked out of the room with him. He snatched the shopping list from my grasp and he playfully rubbed my nappy on the bottom as we walked to the pink vehicle. "I'll take that!"

It felt weird sitting on the padded cushion as I drove. It raised my driving position by an inch, but it was enough to feel weird as I drove.

The first stop on our trip was a public house in a neighbouring village. Scott directed to Victorian building, and we parked in their quiet car park. "Pint of Lemonade for you. A pint of cider for me," Scott read out, and I ordered at the bar.

My heart raced and my nerves jangled. I imagined that everyone in the pub knew that a crazed dominant woman had dressed me in an adult nappy. I downed the drink quickly as I was eager to leave, but Scott slowly sipped his amber nectar while teasing.

He bought us another. I stared at the second pint of liquid and he smirked at me. "I forgot to take a picture of the first."

"But ..."

"It says two," he told me as he held the shopping list in front of him. "So come on."

"I hate you."

"I hate you too!" Scott replied, as his lips closed around the pint of cider. My anxiousness reached new levels as I waited for him to finish his drink, and twenty minutes after we arrived at the vintage inn, we left.

I felt the pressure on my bladder as we entered the car. The road bumps leaving the village intensified the feeling.

The second stop was a fashion warehouse at an out-of-town retail park. My friend was coy about the task until we entered the shop and he selected a short yellow spandex dress. "Best try it on!"

"You must be joking!"

"This is what it says in the tasks."

"This is beyond ..." I shook my head and thought of my fiancée, before snatching the dress from him. The booth attendant did a double-take as she looked up from her phone screen to the two men walking towards her.

The plastic pants crackled as I walked. "One item," Scott announced, with complete confidence. She hummed, and Scott smiled at her. "My friend lost a bet at work. He has to go to the Christmas Party in a dress and we're just making sure that one fits."

The girl sighed audibly. "Well, it's not normal," she muttered. "It's unusual."

"Our factory certainly is!" Scott replied; his personable confidence shone. In the changing room, my nerves returned. I slipped my shoes, shorts and T-shirt off, but the lycra dress showed the large soft lump around my waist.

"It's on," I cried and grabbed a shot of me wearing the dress in the mirror. I looked ludicrous, but Scott called from the other side of the curtain.

"Come out."

"I can't."

"Oh, don't be so silly," Scott cried. "It's just a dress. Let's see if it fits."

"No, you don't understand. I can't."

"Jonny boy," Scott teased, and I put my head out of the curtain. "C'mon. Quicker we get this done, the better."

"My ... thing shows."

"That's the idea," Scott replied. "Come out, look in the mirror, let me take a photo and we'll pay and go."

I groaned, but he didn't leave me with much choice, as he flung open the flimsy red curtain. The attendant gasped as I stood in front of them both wearing a tight-fitting bright yellow party dress that showed the hem of the plastic pants.

Scott took a picture of me in the centre of the store, grinning as he captured my humiliation on camera. "Turn around, Jonny Boy. Let's see all of it."

With flushed cheeks, I pulled the curtain back. "I'm fine."

"You should wear that home. It'll be perfect."

"I don't think so."

"Victoria thinks so."

"For fuck's sake," I grumbled. Scott smiled as I flung open the curtain once more, holding my original clothes and strode to the front of the store with a painful urge to pee in my bladder.

The store assistant stared. I heard sniggering and giggles as I queued. I was self-conscious and embarrassed. Mortified that I stood wearing nothing but an adult nappy, bright pink plastic pants and a bright yellow dress in the middle of a public store.

"I desperately need to pee," I told Scott when I reached the car park. The black-haired footballer shook his head. "Go then."

"I can't."

Scott laughed. "There's two more things we need to pick up. He patted me on the rear. "You look so good in that dress. I'd fuck you."

"You'd fuck me in anything," I muttered. "Actually, you'd fuck anyone in anything."

"Aye, that's true," my friend replied and opened the door to my car with a chuckle.

"Where are we going?" He refused to tell me, and gave me directions out of the retail park and onto the bypass, until we came to a small retail park and parked outside the large supermarket.

"Why?"

"You need to get a tube of KY Jelly, condoms, one cucumber and a four pack of beer."

"Really?" I groaned. "But ..."

"Victoria's rules," he muttered. He looked apologetically at me. "You know what she is like."

I did. I could imagine the dominatrix chuckling to herself as she imagined the humiliating sight I made as I walked across the dark car park to the brightly lit store.

No-one cared or stared at me. Even as I tucked the tube of personal lubricant, packet of flavoured prophylactics or the phallic-shaped vegetable into my shopping basket, the other shoppers were wrapped in their own tasks.

I needed to pee. My bladder cramped as I desperately tried to concentrate on my task, as I navigated the shopping aisles. My body shivered as I mastered the urge to release in the supermarket. I almost ran to the checkout with the last item, throwing the four cans of beer onto the conveyor belt along with the humiliating things.

The young woman sniggered. She had clearly seen such dares before, and she subtly shook her head while my fingers shook with my credit card over the card machine.

My mind believed that I was on a stage as an audience watched and jeered at the cross-dresser wearing a nappy bought condoms, lube and a cucumber. My heart pounded and my fingers quivered.

No-one said a word. No-one gave me a second look. The sight of an incontinent transvestite shopping in a UK supermarket did not attract the attention I assumed it would.

Two steps outside the supermarket, the dam broke. I couldn't stop myself as the pressure on my bladder swelled and piss jettisoned from my cock against the soft wall of the padded diaper.

I stopped and leant over the trolleys, breathing heavily as the wet warmth filled my crotch. But it was relief, not fear. Easement and relaxation rather than humiliation.

Scott giggled when my told him and he prodded my padded nappy. "Are we done now?"

"Not quiet," Scott replied, and I slipped the car into first gear. "Almost."

Three miles down the road, he directed me to pull into a layby on the busy bypass and parked at the back of the rest stop amongst the trees.

"Really?"

"Yes," Scott replied. The lights from the lorry stop, 100m away, shone brightly but the little corner amongst the wooded glade was pitch black. He took my keys from my hand and ordered me out of the car.

He fastened a blindfold and handcuffs around my eyes and wrists, and Scott led me into the woods. "Am I doing what I think?"

I heard Scott chuckle and felt his breath on the nape of my neck. "Little slut like you, loves this sort of stuff!" His hands pushed on my shoulders and my knees landed on the soft earth with a gentle thud. Scott's grip stopped me from falling further, as he had fastened my wrists behind my back.

"Open wide," Scott said and laughed when my lips parted into an "O" shape.

I heard the snapping of twigs around me; I could have been in the centre of a Wiccan sacrifice and had to trust Scott to keep me from harm. My head turned every time I felt something or someone advancing on me. Scott's hand had gone. I had no support. I felt nervous, unsure of what was around me.

And excited. Horny and excited. This was anonymous, filthy, disgusting sex, where I would not know who would use me. It could be the coach, the players, or even the newsagent at the end of the road who smiled at me as I bought my copy of The Guardian. It could be anyone and I might never know.

The first touch made me jump. Firm grasp of my shoulder to twist my body slightly, followed by a touch under my chin to raise my mouth.

I smelt grease. His fingers, laced with a motoring or engineering oil, manipulated my lips around his short, stubby prick. A pungent taste with a masculine odour. There was no doubt what the grunting man wanted.

A new experience; I had never given a blowjob on my knees in the woods blindfolded. I had never given any sexual pleasure when I hadn't seen the lucky recipient. I had always had an element of control, but suddenly I had none.

The mechanic said nothing to me. He just grunted as I used my neck muscles to slide my tongue and mouth across his bare uncircumcised cock. No connection, no warmth, just a febrile dick sucking by a bound submissive.

A short grunt, and the engineer held the back of my head with his greasy hands and a few squirts of his cum hit the top of my mouth.

Moments later, another replaced him. Longer, thinner, and cleaner. He smelt of a complex aftershave, laced with sophistication, but aggressively ploughed my mouth until my palette hurt.

Another replaced him. Scott had taken me to become a vending machine for blowjobs, but without the gift of sight, I could had to rely on my other senses. Two wrapped their pricks in condoms, and the chemical latex taste was a hundred times worse than the dirtiest dick. Perhaps I was a kinky sub who enjoyed nasty, or perhaps the natural scent was a natural aphrodisiac for me.

I tasted eight loads that night before Scott took me back to my car. He chuckled as he saw the cum stains over the dress and I massaged my aching jaw. "Victoria said you looked like a fucking slut," he announced and held up my phone. "Was live streaming it to her. She loved it." I sighed at his cheeky expression. "Did you?"

"I felt like a cheap whore!" I moaned.

"Yeah, I knew you'd like it!" He replied with a chuckle. "Oh, wave at Julian, he fed you some of his legendary ball juice!" He pointed at a well-dressed man jumping from the cab of a lorry driver. "He's very versatile!"

I didn't know what to say, as my car pulled away from the cruising spot, and we said nothing as I drove around the mile from the bypass to Victoria's abode. The pressure in my bladder was nothing to the shame I felt.

I didn't want to have enjoyed it. I didn't want to have found giving blowjobs to anonymous men, while wearing a wet adult nappy and a short summer dress to be a turn-on, but it was. The complete humiliation was an intense experience, and I wanted to process it.

And I desperately wanted it to be a punishment. I needed to file the evening as angry dominance from Victoria who had sought retribution by forcing me to do disgusting, dreadful, nasty acts of humiliation. It was the lady of the house showing her control. It was something I had endured.

Only, I knew that was untrue. It was not something I wanted to repeat or acknowledge, but deep down, I knew that my sexuality had expanded that evening. I had been a slut, a whore and a filthy creature, and I had savoured the experience.

"That looks a very full nappy," Victoria crowed, and chuckled. "And the little slut has cum stains all over his dress." She pointed at my fiancée in a sheer negligee. "So does she! Our guests are right whores!" I know I blushed, and she patted the large changing mat on the floor. "OK, let's get you changed, and into a romper suit for beddy-byes. And try not to have a dirty night."

"Can I just go get a shower?" I asked, and she shook her head. "Please."

"Of course not. Unless we have that discussion about you offering a grovelling apology and admit you were wrong?" Victoria spat and I nodded.

"OK. I humbly apologise. I was wrong and I understand. I will not offer you payment for your hospitality again."

"Cucks pay in dignity and respect. If they don't believe that, I love to strip them of all of it." Clare sniggered as our host glared at me. "I want you to promise me that you will never talk about paying for your accommodation. We want you and Clare to stay and that's enough. OK?"

I looked at my fiancée. "Yes, I promise. Please can I have a shower and get cleaned up now?"

Victoria addressed Clare. "Do you think he's had enough and learnt his lesson?"

Clare nodded and squeezed my hand. "Yeah. We know you make the law 'round here and that you don't want payment. We won't bring it up again."

Victoria smiled at her friend. "It's really, really good to have you here. Both of you. We love having guests and people in the lifestyle staying with us, and it's so much better when it's our special friends. We can afford it. We have a tidy investment income. To be honest, running this house is a pittance. We're lucky. Let us share that with you. Especially you, Clare. I'm so excited that you've come up to stay with us. I'm so going to enjoy having you here. Both of you. And I only really enjoy breaking my husband's resolve. He deserves it and when he screams, it really makes my day." She smiled at me. "Go get your shower. And by the way, you can wear that dress tomorrow. See what the footballers think. It suits you!"

The following day, things were back to usual. Victoria had made her point, and both Martin and I were back in the summerhouse entertaining the victorious football team.

Clare and I had "couple nights" every Tuesday and Sunday. We went out with Victoria and Martin on most Thursdays - often alternating between the pub quiz and the comedy night, with occasional trips to the sex club. My relationship was a strong as ever. I had an untroubled, unsophisticated, and uncomplicated existence.

Martin and I met up regularly with Scott and his partner too. Iain was a skinny, dark-haired 24-year-old who had a colourful past. His cheeky, fun persona was infectious, but masked a slurry of insecurities. He opened up about his life after a few drinks.

The bottom had previously worked as a cam-model, an extra in scenes at a BDSM porn studio and the revelation of his kinkiness, exhibitionism and homosexuality had caused a rift within his family. His deeply religious employer gave the man his P45, and the sacking by the all-girls school caused him to thump the head-teacher. In court, Iain received a two-month spell in prison, which he called "a heavenly nightmare!"

I warmed to Iain, just as I had warmed to Scott. I enjoyed his company, and he had no hesitation in walking across the fields with his boyfriend to join us in the vast room of the summerhouse for a few beers in the weekday evenings. As Martin and I were naked, he would be too, and he proudly displayed his glabrous body and undersized cock with his rampant exhibitionist streak. It was so natural to him.

Clare savoured he powerful dominant hotwife role. On several occasions, she tied me to a chair in her bedroom to witness her date bring her to orgasm and deposit his seed deep within my fiancée. Other times, we engaged in '69' as her lover roughly speared his meaty cock into my partner.

Some evenings, my fiancée and Martin's wife had lesbian play, and the two powerful women brought each other to orgasm in front of their restrained partners. Frustrating and torturous, but incredibly erotic.

I was used to her having multiple lovers, and accepting it, but she had found her happy place as Victoria's wing-woman once more. She taunted and flaunted her additional sexuality in front me, and made me part of her games. She wasn't just having additional lovers, she was making my humiliation part of her sex life.

Apart from our designated couple nights, when there was no BDSM and no cuckoldry. We were a normal couple then. We cuddled up together to watch films, eat popcorn, play games and go on dates. Even when one of her playmates recognised us in a bar and came over to us, she left him in no uncertain terms that his presence was neither required nor wanted on that evening. She set very strict red lines and maintaining our relationship was the reddest of those boundaries.

For both of us.

Even when alpha male footballers were lining up to be balls-deep in my backside, as Clare was riding wave after wave of undulating orgasmic bliss at the end of the Coach's cock, it was all about Clare, me and our sexuality.

We had never been more compatible.

She gave me everything I wanted.