The Supplementary Wife

My workshop was fairly small and narrow. In the middle of the room I had a rectangular table I'd rescued from somewhere. I'd intended it to be a workspace but it merely collected stuff I needed to have to hand. My workspace was a counter along the wall opposite the door, beneath the skylight. There were three beams supporting the roof and I'd built a false ceiling covering two of them, but I'd left the third bare, both to leave the skylight unobstructed and to provide a handy point to hoist anything I might want lifted so I could work on the underside. I never had, but now the beam was finally going to get used for something.

I bent Marietta forward, pressing her down against an empty space on my counter, and then I reached into the bottom draw of the meal filing cabinet I used for storage. I pulled out the chain with the cuffs attached to each end and, now turned to watch me, Marietta gasped when she saw it. And it was a long way from a gasp of horror, though there was apprehension in it. My loving slut was very interested in proceedings, I was certain.

I threw the chain over the exposed beam, wrapping it around once so it was unlikely to slip. The chain was quite slender -- one for controlling the larger kind of hound rather than something brutal for securing psychopaths to the walls of medieval dungeons -- and I'd bought a six foot length, reasoning that I could always get more as and when needed. More by luck than judgment it looked perfect as the cuffs hung down from the ends of the chain.

I pulled Marietta back up and into me in a smooth movement that had a little of the Douglas Fairbanks about it if I say so myself. Her body was against mine, and I held her pressed there with my hand in the middle of her back, enjoying the warmth of her through my t-shirt. I leant down and kissed her deeply and she responded in kind, more confirmation that I was on the right track.

After our tender moment I was firm again, spinning her to face the chain and lifting up her arms. Once more she gasped and there was a quality in her tone that went straight to my hardening cock. I wasted no time in cuffing first her left wrist, and then her right, and her breathing was heavy in my ear as I did so. Then I ran my hands over her back (she loved that) in another more tender moment. I had decided to mix soft and firm, tender and rough -- in effect, to be my own good cop/bad cop.

Marietta was making soft gasps as I caressed her, so now it was time to get rougher, before she relaxed too much. Reaching for her shorts I popped open the button and tugged down the zip, and taking her halter neck too, which was around her waist by this time, I yanked them down to her ankles, none too gently, and at this she moaned aloud. As I knelt behind her to pull her right foot up I smelt her sex, the shorts of course far too tight to allow anything so prosaic as panties to be worn beneath them.

Lifting her foot from her clog I pulled the shorts and top off, then put her foot back in her shoe and I began to run my hands firmly up the backs of her legs (leaving her clothes wrapped around her other ankle), until I reached her arse. Still kneeling, I spread her cheeks, digging my fingers into her soft flesh as I exposed her cunt. Her aroma was earthy and strong, and she was obviously deeply turned on, and I moved forward and pressed my tongue against her, tasting her as she let out a loud, "oh Rob!"

I licked her savagely, spreading her cheeks further apart with some violence and burying myself in her cunt. She alternated between gasps and soft moans, her pitch rising, enjoying her surrender as tremors in her legs made it clear she could easily come from this treatment. 'Not so fast, young lady!' was my response to that, and I stood and spanked her once, hard, and her moan was nearly a yell as a pink glow spread spread across her arse.

In a trice I'd pulled off my t-shirts and shorts and boxers, and I couldn't believe how hard I was without her touching me once, I looked down at my cock, and it seemed like it was just a fraction bigger than the familiar 'a little bit bigger than average' I was used to. I looked at Marietta, standing with legs a little apart, her arse pink and presented, and her slit wet, her back bowed a little and her arms suspended, and it occurred to me that I hadn't seen her looking so hot in a while. I reached for myself, and my breath was sharp as I put my fingers around my cock and stroked myself for a few seconds, closing my eyes to the pleasure then opening them again -- I had work to do, immediately.

I stepped close to her, putting my hand on her hip as I held my cock steady with my other hand, and I both thrust and pulled her back onto me, She moaned aloud again as I impaled her, swift and deep and uncompromising. It felt glorious. And then I fucked her, hard, every thrust the length of my shaft as I got faster and faster, gasping with the effort and with the pleasure, cresting almost from the off but not quite coming for what felt like an age -- in short, a magnificent fuck. As to her pleasure I both cared and didn't care; her moans and cries were clearly showing how much she was loving it, and on one level I was pleased, but it also wasn't really about her -- I was taking her selfishly, and if I had come immediately that would have satisfied me. That I didn't was good for us both, but it wasn't my primary concern.

I don't know how long it took but she began to lean forward, and I could see that her arms must be aching as her energy waned. So I pulled out of her, my cock glistening, and reached up, undoing her cuffs from the chain. I wasn't done with her, of course, I turned her back to my worktop and bent her over it without delay, lifting up her right leg and putting her right knee on the work surface too. I was behind her again and I thrust, hard, back into her, continuing as if there had been no interruption. I gripped her around the waist and held her firm, taking her over and over, and then I started to spank her with my right hand while I still gripped her with my left. She was incoherent now, trembling and shaking, and I think she was in that space between cresting and coming. For me, though, it was time, and my orgasm seemed to come up from the floor, bursting from me as I bent back and spurted and spurted and spurted, growling, almost howling as I did so.

Without a word, and not quite in full control, I pulled my cock out of her. She stayed where she was, shaking, and I don't know if she quite felt able to move yet. That wasn't my business though, right then, and I had yet to finish what I had started. This I did by simply gathering my clothes, t-shirt, shorts and boxers, and without bothering to put them on, strode (on empty legs) out of my workshop in only my trainers, back into the house, leaving her bent over, ruined, my cum oozing from her, the cuffs still around her wrists as she gulped down heavy breaths.

It was nearly an hour before I saw her again, and I had a nagging worry that was slowly growing even as I heard her run the bath and climb in, swooshing the water around as she (I hoped) luxuriated. It was only when I heard her coming down the stairs that I turned my full attention to the documentary on the Spanish- American War of 1898 I had been 'watching'. I was slightly surprised, then, when she curled up next to me on the sofa, and watched the rest of the documentary with evident interest though I knew it to be utterly uninteresting for her, only football being lower in her estimation.

When it was finished I announced I was going to bed, and she came with me, docile but not slavish, and without any discussion of earlier events we climbed into bed. And we slept, though she went first, her head on my chest, and I had to ease her off me as a wave of fatigue spread through me like mogadon, just in time as I sank into a deep sleep. It was barely half-past ten.

* * *

It was another two days before we spoke about that evening in my workshop -- our schedules became suddenly hectic leaving us barely time for 'good morning and 'good night'. When some calm had finally returned I decided to cook, and was my usual feverish self as I darted around the kitchen (I am a messy cook, but decent, though I have no science and little art). Marietta slipped into the kitchen and pulled herself up to sit on a free patch of worktop out of the way where she could watch

Usually it rankled when she watched me cook, as she would accompany the process with tuts of disapproval for my 'methods'. Which may have been justified on one level (particularly for the one left to wash up afterwards), but on another level -- well, she ate the food with every sign of enjoyment, and I do dislike a back seat driver. But this time she just watched quietly, and my spidey-senses told me she wanted to talk. I let her be, allowing her to begin in her own time.

"Darling...." she began and then stopped, and I stirred, stirred, stirred and then the crisis point was past and I turned the heat down to a simmer.

"You want to talk about the other night?" I asked, wiping my hands on a towel, "our escapade?"

"Ooh, it qualifies as an escapade."

"Well, what would you call it?" I asked, and she flashed me a cheeky grin in return.

"A lot of fun. But, umm..." and reticence had never looked so delightful as it did on her as she studied her swaying foot.

"What came over me?" I asked as I took one of our larger knives to a cauliflower. I proceeded to cut off some good-sized florets before continuing, "well, I thought you needed it."

She didn't say anything, and I could see she was thinking back. But then she composed herself and brought her attention back to the moment.

"Well, I was surprised," she began, but I interrupted.

"I hope I didn't do something bad..." and the concern on my face was genuine, Because this was the most important question -- I could have overstepped the mark and if I had I was completely in the wrong, the game never to be repeated.

"No, no!" she said hurriedly, "it was... oh come on, you know I loved it. But you could have asked!"

"It was spontaneous," I grinned, sheepishly.

"Oh really? The cuffs, the chain?"

"Ok, I've had them for a while, I admit," and I hoped that would be one of the last white lies I told in the whole business, "and I've wanted to do something... like that... for a bit. You know, I've though about it..."

"I've thought about it, too," she said, and now her tone was sensuous as she slid off the counter and stood in front of me.

"So you'd like me to do it again?"

"Oh yes," she breathed, and we held eye contact for a moment, the lust suddenly so thick you could cut it with a knife, "but I didn't think it was your thing."

And of course it was right then that I had to break contact and attend to the food, turning up one pan and turning off another and bustling as she watched me with a grin and a shake of her head (yeah well, she told me it tasted fantastic later on, so she could stick it up her superior butt, couldn't she?).

"There need to be ground rules," she said, reaching up to a rack to fetch down a bottle of wine, and I was very tempted to grab her as she stretched, "and safe words and that kind of thing. And I don't want to do just anything."

"Neither do I," and that was the honest truth, "but I think I need to be the boss."

"You do, though I hope you don't expect me to call you master."

"It would make me laugh," I said, and it was true. I'd known her too long for that.

And then we changed the subject and I served the food and we ate as we watched a serial she enjoyed (and I hated, but tolerated for her as I retreated into my thoughts). It was only after we finished, and she had come back from taking the plates to the kitchen (we were both lazy and thus washing up was a morning task) that we came back to the subject.

"What if one of us is in the mood but the other isn't?" I asked. It's a novice question, I know, in all sexual relations, but here I needed to test the limits.

"No means no, you know that."

"Yeah, of course. But perhaps I can insist a little bit, if we are playing a game."

"So you've thought about that kind of game," and she snuggled, putting her hand on my stomach with the definite promise that it could go lower, "well, I guess I can protest a little. And my safe word means 'really, no!', ok?"

"Of course. I don't intend on assaulting you. Without your consent, that is. But how about this -- I have the freedom to order you to do stuff, when I feel like it, and you, obviously, can say no, but then maybe I can insist, at which point you'd have to use your safe word if you really weren't into it. But, I promise only to insist if I'm pretty certain you really are in the mood, and you'll only use your safe word if you really aren't. And then we'll talk about it."

It was a messy compromise, as most compromises are, but it gave me the little bit of leeway I needed to conduct my grand scheme. I hoped I would only need to insist on one occasion, very soon, and after that it would be her doing the asking, probably (and I intended to make sure she asked nicely). But for now, I was getting horny with all this talk, so I surprised her for the second time in a week, scooping her up and carrying her upstairs where we made love, but without any kink.

* * *

I've wondered, since the events I describe here, whether Marietta actually wanted me to discover her goings on. After all, there are lots of different ways she could have arranged things rather than using an account I had access to. And why, if she knew there was a compromising email at the top of her inbox, did she direct me to her email right at that moment? I don't believe she had forgotten it was there -- she is a very long way from being stupid or forgetful (she is better organised and focused than I am and, quite simply, more intelligent). And even more interestingly, if Marietta 'helped' me to discover her extra-curricular activities she had to know that I would also discover Lilly's involvement, and would she have done that without first discussing it with her best friend? Wheels within wheels...

I had to see Lilly the following Sunday as she had some problems with her kitchen sink. In truth she was more than capable of doing her own running repairs, but it was part of our care package, at least for now. And in a more general sense it also meant she got some weekend company when she hadn't got anything planned. On this specific day, however, I was the one with the plans...

She buzzed me into her building and left her apartment door ajar for me, and after I'd come in I found her making me coffee in the kitchen and I stole a glance at her, not as a bosom friend, but as a piece of fuckmeat. I studied her as she stood in a faded denim knee-length skirt and plain white t-shirt, her back to me as she made the coffee, a touch taller that Marietta, slimmer too, with her auburn curls tumbling down her back -- she always complained she couldn't do anything with her hair, but I thought it beautiful, and I know Jack did, too. I had seen her naked a couple of times in the club, and I knew her tits were quite small but her arse was shapely, her mound trimmed and her legs were killers. And she had a soft spray of freckles over her darkish shoulders and down her upper arms.

I wiped the lust off my face as she turned to me, smiling and thanking me for coming over for such a trifle and asking me how my week had been (well, Lilly, I might just tell you the truth of that in due course). The problem with the sink turned out not to be a trifle; well, it was an easy job but filthy, and when I asked she told me it must have been more than three years since Jack cleaned out the pipes under the sink. No wonder the water wasn't draining properly.

"I might need a shower after this," I said, and I started to undo the buttons on my shirt, not wanting to kitchen sewage on it, and I continued with a cheeky grin, "you might need to soap my back."

"Ok," Lilly said simply, but for just an instant our eyes met. I keep my body in reasonable shape just through my lifestyle, but I can't say I work out of anything like that (does riding a bike count? No? Ok, yeah, I don't work out), and I'm hardly Mr Buff and Toned. Regardless, this was a hint in her expression that seeing naked male flesh had nudged her mind in the direction of sex. I hung my shirt over the back of a chair and smiled, breaking that momentary connection. But it had been there, if only for that single second, and I had it stored up ready to use.

I hate doing this particular job but I preferred to get it finished sooner rather than later, and to Lilly's credit she decided not to retreat when I dismantled the plastic pipes and dumped them in her bucket, using my best zen to overcome the stench. I could see her out of the corner of my eye, and perhaps she was far enough away, over by the kitchen door, not to be affected by the smell. What I did sense was that she was slyly looking at me as I worked. And that made the most difficult part of my plan a lot easier -- she was thinking sexually, the first step in getting her to act sexually.

I could hardly fault Lilly for not then following me to her bathroom where I sluiced the pipes through and then deposited the black gunk down her toilet. All that was left was putting the pipework back in place. And getting Lilly's clothes off, though whilst she might have sex increasingly on her mind, I needed a refresher. So I closed my eyes for a moment, imagining porn images of her servicing several men... yep, that hit the spot. I picked up the bucket and went back to the kitchen.

"Something occurred to me," I said, sliding out from under her sink once the pipes were in place.

"Oh yeah?" she was fetching a cake from the fridge (home-made strawberry cheesecake I discovered when I finally got to have some).

"Yes. Do you miss going to the swinger club?"

'No," she said slowly, putting down the cake on her kitchen table. I hadn't gone to the club with Marietta either since Jack's death because we just couldn't imagine it without his little acerbic, yet warm-hearted comments on our fellow attendees, "I could hardly go without him."

"I understand, but you could still miss it."

"I suppose," she said, seemingly thinking about it (and I suspect now that she was on edge, waiting for what came next) and then brightening, "it was a lot of fun now and again."

"Whose idea was it in the beginning, yours or Jack's?" I had propped myself up on my elbows, still shirtless, and I think the fact I was natural about showing her my body was intriguing her.

"Oh, now," she said with a warm smile, "some things are secrets."

I nodded, but privately I knew that it had been, if not her direct idea, her desire that led them there. I wondered if poor, old Jack even knew that she had set him up to suggest it, as I suspected she had. Not that he would have worried about it very much; very philosophical and accepting, was Jack, and happy when Lilly was happy.

"It's funny how you and me never did the dirty when we were all playing."

"Well, you never asked," Lilly said after a pause, her back to me, but with a cadence to her voice that suggested she had been expecting this turn in our conversation, and wasn't disappointed.

"And neither did you! But what if I had?" I stood up and she turned to face me, the interest as plain on her face as I hope it was on mine.

"Are you asking now?" Aha! This dance.

"What if I am?" I said, my voice heavy.

In response she reached for the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it off over her head and keeping eye contact with me. It was, I think, hotter than anything else any woman has ever put in my memory bank, even the time Marietta decided to undress in the forest and demand I do her there and then. Lilly wasn't wearing a bra under her t-shirt, and the sight of her, her brownish nipples, large in proportion to her tits, hardening as she stared at me with her lips parted a little... well, all I could think of was sticking my cock hard into her.