The Summerhouse Ch. 16: Stephen

The female copper averted her eyes. Martin's skimpy shorts revealed more than was appropriate, and my T-shirt with an "I love cock" logo emblazoned across the front was equally risque.

Scott was naked, but with his effortless charm and cheeky grin, he seemed to lack any inhibitions. He nursed his bloodied arm with a damp cloth and looked at the blushing police officers. "Aye, I reckon you'll be wanting a statement." He spoke in his broadest Geordie accent and flashed his all-embracing smile.

"We'll be round later to collect a witness statement. When you all have dressed." She replied without smiling and turned to face her colleague, who had man-handled the trucker into the back seat of the squadron car.

The events of the previous five minutes were dramatic.

As Scott, Martin and I had burst into the house, the angry man stood in the middle of the large, expansive lounge, brandishing a large hammer. Martin's religious neighbour lay bloodied on the luxurious carpet, silent. Derek, Virginia's husband, roared angrily and swung the weapon with his bulging right arm. "Where's Virginia?" He yelled at the prostrate homeowner.

"Put that down," Martin shouted. "She's not here."

"Fuck off, or I'll fuck you up too."

"I've got Virginia," the nippy winger yelled from behind me. "She's with me."

I gulped as the murderous brute took two steps towards us, holding the weapon in his right arm.

Martin backed away, speaking calmly to pacify him to no avail as Virginia's ex launched himself towards Scott.

Scott was fast. His footballing game is about a swiftness of thought and a lightness of feet. His nimbleness provided him with chances on the pitch, and it was key to slipping away from the door frame and into the room.

"We've been banging for two years, mate. Every week. Does she make you scream? Oh God, the complaints we've had." He taunted the lorry driver. Scott wanted to taunt him, rile him, and anger him and smirked as he gestured to Derek.

He wanted to make this dangerous thug mad.

And he succeeded.

With a table between them, Scott continued. He pointed to his "big balls" and "pleasure stick" and grinned. The man pulled his hand back to launch his weapon, when I felt Martin's body brush past me. Instinctively, I followed, and we grabbed hold of the hammer, yanking it from his grasp.

He turned, threw his arm out and caught Martin in his midriff with a powerful smack of his right hand. Derek never saw Scott's motion as we grappled with him. The solid Oak table smashed over the attacker's head and the Geordie's fist jammed into the side of the brute's face as he staggered towards the ground.

Scott and I had to hold him down, as Martin tied his hands using the telephone cord.

Upon which, two coppers barged into the house to see two men on the floor covered in blood, with two half-naked guys wrestling with one of them and a bare-ass Geordie cry, "Hi, it's not what it looks like. Please arrest him." The situation took a little explaining.

Unsurprisingly, the actions of Virginia's ex dulled the lustre of sex in the house, and I slept cuddled up to Clare that night. Victoria even granted Martin rare bedroom privileges for his heroism. The following morning, he even had access to Victoria's pussy for some rarer vanilla sex.

Our hosts, who had never got on with their neighbour, had a sense of guilt about the incident, so Clare and Martin went to see the man in hospital. "He's moving," Clare said over tea. "He is going to live in his second home in New York state for a while. Says it's safer. It's a gated community."

"New York safer than Cheshire. Now that is funny!" I joked, and Martin shook his head.

"You know we took those pictures of his office. There were a couple of rows of interesting books. Lolita and more. Turns out he never allowed his wife to go in there, and he wasn't keen on me discussing his tastes in erotic fiction with her present. So we had a nice quiet discussion man-to-man while Clare and his missus talked in the canteen," Martin explained. "I also told him with his Wi-Fi codes, I could see every website he visited."

"You haven't done that. You need to set up a DNS server, and... it just doesn't work like that," I argued.

"Of course I haven't. But he went very white when he thought I had seen what he had been visiting and I said that unless that he moves away and doesn't come back, I would ascertain that it was my civic duty to share what I know with the local coppers. And the parish community. And the village newsletter."

"Oh..."

"And the parish vicar, but I don't think he'll care. That sleazy twat will probably want the dodgy books. So our horrid neighbour isn't just moving out, his is selling up," Martin added.

"His wife didn't say that to me," Clare snapped.

"His wife didn't know. He hadn't told her." Victoria scowled at her husband as he spoke her best friend. "Apparently, there are some marriages where the woman isn't in complete control. I know, it's absolute madness." I knew Martin would suffer for his cheap shot at my fiancée, and later that evening Victoria unleashed hell on the unbroken flesh of her husband for daring to show "disrespect" to her friend.

The status quo, restored.

Martin's neighbour returned home, but he said nothing to Martin and myself when we were in the driveway cleaning cars in just our thongs. Clare had three dates that week; I helped her prepare for every single one. I spent an evening with Scott and Virginia in the summerhouse, sharing a couple of bottles of wine and two large takeaway pizzas.

The Police charged Virginia's husband, and the courts remanded him in custody, but she was still anxious about how her ex had traced her. "I suspect your phone is reporting your location to Google. If he had access to your account, then he would see your location history. Either that or it's a tracking app," I idly replied. "You left your device in the summerhouse one night, didn't you and you were in the hot-tub when he attacked the neighbour. Change your password and reset your device. I'll help you if you want."

"You're not seeing my phone. There are too many incriminating photographs," she said firmly and sipped her wine.

"There can't be anything too bad. And if Scott's on there, I've seen him and had him lots. Although he's demanded a lot less sex from me since you moved in!"

"When he is with me, he's mine," she said firmly. "I don't care about what he does outside of our house, and you can have the pleasure of his cock when he's at the summerhouse."

"Well if ever you need a night off, please outsource your sluttery!" I suggested and she giggled.

Later that week, friends invited Martin and Victoria to an exclusive sex party in London's Mayfair at a five-star hotel. I could tell Martin was ambivalent about going, but Victoria had fond recollections of dominating "Sir Evan" and had told her hesitant husband that she would not tolerate his reticence. The promise of "Lady Ann's strapon" was enough to turn his unwillingness into excitement.

With Victoria and Martin away from Thursday until Monday, and the football team's game cancelled because of a waterlogged pitch in Macclesfield, Clare and I were alone. I had planned for some couple time, and planned a trip to Chester Zoo, but my constant exchange of charged WhatsApp messages with Bobby presented another option.

He wasn't working on Saturday, and neither was his girlfriend. Scott didn't have a football match. I suggested we meet up in the pub and then use the hot-tub on the decking of Victoria Brathwaite's grandiose house.

Clare had selected a short black dress with mesh panels down the side and across her bosom, that was delightfully sinful and sexy, and yet very inappropriate for the village pub. "Isn't that a bit..." I asked, and my beau beamed at me.

"Of course. But that sexy waiter is on tonight. I've had dates with all five bar staff except him and I want the set."

"Perhaps he's gay. Or has a girlfriend."

"You have a fiancée and it's not stopping me. And Annabella is married, and she still went on a date with me. Says she's straight but half-a-bottle of wine and she licked cunt like it was the best thing since a chocolate fountain." She adjusted herself in her dress and straightened the wide mesh panel, which revealed that she was without underwear. "I have a bet on with Victoria. If I can collect the full set of waiters naked and fucked before she returns, she has to muck out the horses bare-assed, with an audience. And you know how randy the stable boys get! The sexy waiter lives with his mum on Tatton Close, and he's not working tomorrow. So I am going to nab his attention and invite him over for an afternoon of sordid entertainment and hot-tub fucking."

"You never stop."

She kissed me on the lips and wrapped her hands around my flanks to cup my buttocks and squeeze them gently. "That's why you love me," she whispered in my ear. "The slutty dominant vixen is your sort of woman, isn't it?"

"Of course," I replied, and Clare slapped me on the backside.

"Now, go get ready!" I wore smart trousers and a shirt, and escorted my hyper-sexualised fiancée to the local pub-cum-restaurant. It was only a five-minute walk, and several heads turned and eyes lingered when my partner strode into the plush eatery.

Bobby's beau, Heather, was not what I expected; the childcare worker was short and had dressed in a black dress with vampire or gothic influences. The lace arms and velvet body, combined with her dark makeup, presented an image that was a far cry from Clare's welcoming and embracing sluttiness.

Bobby smiled as he sat down. "Find it OK?" I needlessly asked.

"Yeah. We got lost coming off the bypass, but the road signs took us back."

"Clare, Jon," my friend introduced. "This is my girlfriend, Heather."

Clare embraced her warmly, and Heather's eyes lingered on my fiancee's dress, and she barely hid her incredulous expression. "How do you two know each other?" Heather asked. "I forgot to ask."

"Sorry, I met Jon as he is a friend of Piotr who moved back to Poland. We met at a social function earlier in the year." I nodded at his deception.

Clare knew the truth. Clare knew I had met the warehouse worker as we had blown two dozen men together at a gay sauna one day; an establishment which Bobby had frequented for years. Bobby kept his cocksucking lust and sexuality a secret from his partner. This was not the first time he'd lied to her about his activities, and it would not be the last. I excused myself to go to the toilet and dropped Scott a message to remind him that Heather was not aware of Bobby's bisexuality. After a few drinks, Scott was incredibly indiscreet.

The nippy winger and his new partner arrived a few minutes later. Virginia had selected a brightly coloured - yellow, green, blue, pink and purple - jumpsuit that was just as eye-catching as either of Heather's or Clare's choice of garments.

Virginia loved to be the centre of attention. "Listen, this is our treat," Clare said as the waiter handed menus to us. "I have a nice little bonus from work, so we'll get the meal." She looked at me. "But if my other half wants to take a bite out of their vintage whisky collection, he can pay for that himself!"

Heather opened up a lot more after her third glass of Pinot Grigio. The food was excellent, and the six of us polished off four bottles of wine. Clare kept refilling half-full glasses, and the imbibed drink loosened tongues.

Clare toyed with the waiter. The young man dropped a spoon onto Clare's lap, and she followed him to the bar to "get a cloth to wipe off any residue." His eyes never left her thighs, and she subtly slipped him her phone number on a business card. "I want you tomorrow afternoon to play in our hot-tub." He stuttered at her brazen words. "You are coming. In so many ways." She demanded and patted him on his bum. "And don't bring your trunks."

"You're too old for him," I whispered to her, and she shook her head. "He's only nineteen or twenty."

"And I'm only twenty-four!"

"He's too scared," I muttered; Clare's phone vibrated, and she smiled at the message.

"Ah, so sweet. He asked if I was serious. I've told him not to be late. That'll be a win for Clare, and Victoria prancing naked ankle-deep in horse shit."

We staggered back to Martin's house in the slight drizzle and took the insulated lid from the large hot-tub on the covered decking. Steam drifted from the heated water, and Bobby was the first to strip and jump into the bubbling liquid.

"C'mon," he called. Heather looked at him and then Scott. "It's only a few friends," he added while I opened the drinks cabinet to make cocktails.

Clare's dress was a puddle on the wet decking, and my fiancée smoothly gripped the zip at the top of Heather's dress. "I'll help you out of it." Before Heather could object, her garment peeled from her body and Clare knelt down in front of Bobby's girl. "Hey, look at this lovely tattoo."

Inked upon Heather's left thigh was a flying unicorn that stretched to the top of her muscle. She blushed. "Ai, it's the national animal of Scotland so I had a wee tat."

"It's so colourful," Clare remarked and lifted Heather's knickers from her body. "I thought it might go through there."

"Oh, no!" Heather cried. "I couldn't."

"Yes, you could," Clare enthused and tugged her white cotton panties to her knees. Heather squealed, but Clare pretended to not notice. "See, imagine a flock of them in the distance coming across your mons and upper thigh. Then this one in flight look it is at the head of a group. What do you think, Virginia?"

Clare's finger traced the top of Heather's slit and slid down her inner thigh as Scott's girlfriend stared at Heather's groin. "I see, yes. That would be nice. But wouldn't you want something on your right leg too?"

If Clare had planned to use the tattoo as a way of stripping Bobby's fiancee naked, then it had worked. Heather discarded the dress and underwear on the decking, and she slipped into the hot-tub to bury her body under the bubbling water.

The cocktails flowed. Heather's unease with nudity disappeared and the six of us drank and chatted rudely. Within an hour, Heather knew I was a cuckold, and that Scott, Virginia, Clare and I were bisexual. Her eyes widened when Clare described her week, with all her sexual partners and adventures.

Bobby, who sat next to me, had a firm erection that I fondled under the water. "You don't buy all your shopping from one supermarket," she said airily. "You can get your insurance from the electric company or your gas from the Pru. So why should Jon's meet all my needs? He's a great fiancée and will make a great husband, but sexually, I need more than he gives. He's not really small down there, but a girthier cock stretches nicely. Average doesn't cut it. Mostly, I need variety and sometimes I need a bit of cunt."

"Yeah," Virginia added. "Women know what women like. They are more in tune with what turns us on. Scott's great in the sack, but in bed girls are much, much better. Victoria is just amazing. Men can make you see stars, women can introduce new galaxies to you."

Heather, who at the start of the night would have run at such chatter, nodded and drank more of the bright red drink. "Ah'm not sure I would find the time or energy with finding men or women every week!" She joked in her Scottish accent. "Sounds exhausting."

"Only with the right men," Clare joked, and the three drunken women giggled raucously. "Some guys leave you knackered!"

An hour in the hot-tub, and we moved inside to the house. Clare had, I think deliberately, left the clothes we had been wearing on a deckchair not underneath the covered decking, and the rain had soaked all of them. I got towels from the cupboard and Clare insisted on taking Heather to Victoria's dungeon.

Her eyes widened as she stumbled into the underground lair of the vicious dominatrix. Her towel had come loose, but the Glaswegian nursery nurse hadn't noticed or didn't care as her gaze took in the vast array of sexual paraphernalia and furniture. "What's that?" She asked and Clare grinned as she turned on the fucking machine.

"It's for when naughty boys or girls need a good seeing to! This can do 300 thrusts per minute." Heather gulped, and Clare picked up a crop. "It's really nice to give them a bit of a smack while they are undergoing their rodgering."

"This is... incredible. And insane."

"Yeah," Clare said with a grin. "Do you want a go?"

"Oh, no!"

"I can demo it on Jon or Bobby. Or Virginia. She adores the fucking machine."

Heather squeaked. "No, it's OK. Is that a hammock?"

"No, a sex swing. Here, let me show you!" Heather's face of wondrous excitement turned to a concerned look. "I'll be gentle!"

"No, I... um... couldn't."

"I said it was full of every sort of sex object and you didn't really believe me, did you?"

"No," Heather admitted and wrapped herself tightly in her white towel once more. "I thought these places only existed in dodgy films."

"Well, they have filmed a few porn scenes down here. Victoria told me that a local director asked her if they could shoot some pornos he was making."

"Wow!"

We settled in the lounge, in front of a crackling fire, and I passed round a set of cards. "No good playing strip poker," Clare moaned and sat naked on the sofa on top of her towel, with her knees apart. Virginia sat naked and cross-legged on the floor, with her head resting against Scott's bare knees.

"Do you play strip poker often?"

"Not really. It's tame. Fuck Poker is much better." She giggled as she shuffled the cards. "I have an idea. We could play Spanking Poker. We have three couples, so we could handcuff the boys can together. The girls play and the winner spanks or canes the loser's partner." Her eyes glistened as she spoke.

"Yeah, OK," Virginia replied before Scott could say a thing. "I'd love to see Scott get a good spanking. He deserves it!" The cocky footballer gripped her shoulder, and she writhed under his touch.

Heather mewed and glared at her partner, who nodded as well. "It's been awhile since Heather got dominant in the bedroom," Bobby said.

"Bobby!" She cried. "You can't say..."

"What?" He interrupted. "You know I love you taking the lead. But you don't do it much." Heather blushed. Clare opened a cupboard beside the sofa and pulled out a box. In which were several handcuffs, and she pointed to a stout rail that ran over the fireplace. It looked like it was part of the decoration of the 150-year-old property, but the bronze effect metal had been securely fastened to the wall. There was no way I was going to escape, even if I wanted to.

"Your fiancée is taking liberties at me," Scott hissed at me as Clare fastened his hands to the wall.

Clare smacked him on the rump, and she whispered in his ear. "Behave, Scott. Or I will get my strapon out while you are immobile. We can see if the top can bottom."

Bobby beamed with a wide grin, and his sexual excitement was obvious. Heather won the first hand, and Clare passed the shy Glaswegian a short, stout paddle.

Scott yelled in pain as she smashed the weapon into his exposed backside. "That really hurts," he cried.

"Yeah, that's the bloody point, love!" Virginia teased. "I think three times per loss."

"There will be punishment for this," Scott warned her, and his partner blew a cheeky raspberry at him.

She loved to tease and taunt. She lost the next two hands and both Clare and Heather had further assaults on Scott's butt, which had turned pink from the paddling.

"If you want to play poker," he shouted. "And don't know how, can we please change places?"

"It's the cards," Virginia squealed. "I had all red cards but apparently that ain't a thing."

"No, it bloody ain't," Scott hissed and Virginia shot me a grin as I looked over my shoulder. She won the next hand with a two pair and picked up the paddle from Heather. The camgirl stood behind Bobby and then leaned over and smashed the wooden weapon into Scott's left buttock.