Too Exciting Ch. 04

Oh, Nick. I am pretty sure that she could have given a masterclass. Well, actually in a way she did, I suppose.

Soon I lifted her to her feet and she looked over to the bed, expecting that we would head there. For a few heartbeats I made no move. Then I gave another instruction.

"Put your hands on the mirror, Faith."

To do so she had to lean forwards, bending over to leave her charming arse sticking out and giving me a clear view of my masked form behind her.

I took hold of her hair to pull her head up to look into the mirror, making sure that she could see my cock lined up with her pussy from behind. I gently teased her entrance with it and her need was plain on her face. The pleading look gave me a physical thrill. I had absolute power over her and I was not in the least bothered by it. In fact I was revelling in it. Not that it could be seen behind the mask.

I was not gentle. For the first time in my lovemaking I was not even a little gentle. I thrust hard into her and she cried out. I held myself deep inside her, glorying in the involuntary clenching of her pussy around my cock, and while still holding her braid in one hand reached around her with the other to find her clit. That I touched gently. Cruelly and deliberately gentle.

With her hands occupied in supporting her body Faith could do nothing but accept whatever I chose to do. And what I chose to do was remorselessly and steadily and just that bit too slowly, to thrust into her in long hard strokes, while teasing her clit. Soon she was giving involuntary gasps in rhythm with my movements, and her eyes had become unfocused, or perhaps were focused on her inner need.

I knew that all I needed to do for Faith to have the climax she so desperately wanted was to increase my pace by just a little and to rub her clit just a little more firmly and predictably. So I didn't. Not for some time.

I let Faith's need build, her legs weak and shaking, her back covered in sweat, meaningless groans and animal-like noises coming from her mouth. I did not take pity on her. Only when I felt that I could not keep going any longer without coming did I go faster and drive her headlong into the orgasm that had been building for so long. Her cry seemed to echo throughout the house, drowning out my growl as I also came, emptying something more than just my seed into her.

Now I carefully removed the mask and with its removal my ability to care returned. I gently lifted her trembling body upright, supporting most of her weight even though I felt weak myself, and held her to me, gently stroking down her back.

Her shuddering slowly subsided and I led Faith to the bed and lay down beside her, raised on one elbow, gently caressing her face, while she looked into my eyes with an inscrutable expression on her face. Without the mask I was already returning to a world of scruples and uncertainties and was wondering a little if I should not apologise.

"Cuckold". She said it suddenly, lingering over the word, as though saying it for the first time, as perhaps she was, and wondering at the cruel harsh sound of it. The word sent a shiver of excitement through me, and even my flaccid cock seemed to respond to it.

"You've cuckolded Andrew, my husband". Not an accusation, just a plain statement, again stressing the word 'cuckolded', seeming to savour it, enunciating each syllable.

"That's what he will always be now; a cuckold. For ever".

At that moment I had the oddest feeling that she was reciting a soliloquy, in a play, meant for an unseen audience. For the first time I wondered about Andrew, whether he was still in the house, and if he was what he was doing. If he had stayed he must have heard the sounds of our – not lovemaking – our fucking.

Had he heard the wanton animal sounds from Faith, maybe even wondering if I was hurting her, before the bitter realisation of what it meant? Or had he left to wander the streets so as not to be in the same house? How would he react? Would he pretend it had never happened? Or blame Faith?

Would their marriage survive this? I realised that I was only curious about it, I did not really 'care' and unusually for me, civilised Nick, I was not even going to pretend that I did, not to her or to myself.

Without her having to tell me, Faith communicated to me that she wanted me gone, my purpose having been served, and I didn't have a problem with that. After perfunctory good-byes and an almost chaste kiss I made my way downstairs in the nearly dark house, lit by just a few subdued lamps, not seeing or hearing any sign of Andrew, for which I was glad, and let myself out.

Later I divided my life into 'Before Mask' and 'After Mask', and not just when it came to sex, although that was a major part of it. All I needed to do was to wear that mask. Not for real as I had not taken it with me. But where it mattered; in my head. Then I was able to give orders, and it worked, they were obeyed – so many women really want someone to tell them what to do – in the bedroom at least, and wearing that mask I could be the dominant man they fantasised about. And it had its effect even in other areas, although I could see the connection – in dancing for example. I had never been able to dance – just because I was somehow too self-conscious, feeling absurd. But After Mask, just like that, I could, as long as I wore the mask. Not that I became John Travolta overnight.

OK. Right, that mask, it has to go. Otherwise I am going to find this more difficult than I imagined.

And the Speichererdbeben moment? It was a poster for a play, by Moliere, that I passed while walking along Shaftsbury Avenue with my bag of just purchased books today; and what caught my attention was the picture of the lead actress, Faith Darling. It was Faith. There was no doubting it.

As soon as I got home I looked her up on the Internet. She had been an actress since her teens. There was a recent picture of her with her husband Andrew Barnett, the successful financier; her looking sleek and glamorous on his arm and Andrew appearing well-groomed and content with life.

So, the second-hand bookshop? Madrigals? The downcast eyes? Had the nominations for the Oscars closed yet?

Thinking I was the one doing the taking, I had been had. I knew who the lead actress was, but who was the director, the scriptwriter, and why?