Empty Nesters Ch. 02
We had no contact with Alan for days. Our lives went on as normal, more or less, and sometimes it seemed as if the events of the weekend had been a dream. Except that both of us found it hard to make eye contact, and we studiously avoided any actual physical contact. One time I woke up in the morning to find that we had drifted close together in our sleep, and my hand was touching her arm. As soon as I became aware of it I snatched my hand away as if it had been touching fire. I don't know what he had done to our minds, but whatever it was, it was effective.
In the daytime we both went off to our respective jobs, she as a teacher in a local school, me as a Production Manager in a factory. In the evening we cooked, ate and watched TV together, or she engaged in one of her crafting hobbies while I listened to music, or browsed YouTube. It had always been our habit to go to bed together at the same time, but now she began going to bed early, usually by ten o'clock, and was always asleep by the time I went up a couple of hours later. She seemed to be asleep, anyway.
On Thursday night, just after I had turned out the light and settled down to sleep, my phone burred softly on the table beside me, alerting me to an incoming text message. Cursing under my breath I sat up and picked up the phone to view the text. It was from Alan.
My heart started pounding and a sickly feeling came over me as I opened the text and read his message. It read, "I am outside your front door. Come immediately and let me in."
With no other thought than to obey I jumped out of bed and hurried downstairs in my boxer shorts. It did sort of occur to me to wonder how he knew which house was ours, since he'd only been in the car park previously, and our the house was out of sight from there, but it was only a fleeting thought. Taking a deep breath I unlocked and opened the front door.
Alan pushed past me without a by your leave. He was dressed quite smartly in a shirt and tie, with a dark jacket and trousers.
"Show me your living room," was all he said.
I gestured to the door ahead of him. It isn't a large house. He opened the door and went inside.
"Put a light on."
I flicked the wall switch to turn on the main ceiling light. He grimaced and looked around.
"Not that one." He pointed to a floor standing reading lamp in the corner. "That one."
I complied, switching the reading lamp on first, then switching off the ceiling light. The room was now much more dimly lit, with a warmer, less harsh light. He remained standing, turning to face me.
"Where is she?" He rasped.
I gestured to the ceiling. "In bed, asleep."
He nodded. "Go and wake her up. Bring her here straight away, no delay."
He dismissed me with an impatient flick of his hand, which sent me scurrying off upstairs. In the bedroom I quickly switched on the bedside lamp and called out softly, but urgently to her.
"Angela. Angela, wake up."
She stirred, but did not immediately open her eyes. I wanted to give her a gentle shake, but of course, contact was forbidden. I called again, my voice hissing next to her ear.
"Angela, wake up, wake up."
She opened her eyes, giving a small start at the sight of me, leaning closely over her.
"What is it?" She hissed. I swallowed.
"Your Master is here." I don't know why I used that term. We hadn't been instructed to refer to him in that way, but it just seemed apt. "Come on" I continued. "He is waiting for you downstairs."
She struggled to sit up and I made to help her, but we both pulled back before my hand made contact. She rubbed her eyes.
"I need a wee," she whispered, wide eyed with nervous anticipation.
"No, downstairs now, as you are."
As usual she was wearing the thick pyjamas she generally slept in, even in summer. These ones were black, with a white floral design. I knew she would be wearing a bra beneath. Leading the way I hurried back downstairs, she close behind me.
When we entered the living room we found him standing in the centre of the room, facing us. He ignored me, his attention only on her.
"Come here." The order was peremptory. She approached him and stood before him, her hands clasped anxiously together below her breasts. Impatiently he pulled her hands apart and shoved them aside, so her arms hung limply at her sides. Then he glanced at me.
"Sit over there," he hissed, gesturing at an armchair to the side. I scuttled across and sat down, facing them. He had already turned back to face Angela. He stood for a moment, contemplating her as she stood there meekly, with lowered eyes.
"What's this shit you've got on?" He tugged at her pyjama jacket.
"Get this off."
Without a pause she began to unbutton the garment, then slipped it off. He pulled it from her hands and threw it into the corner.
His fingers slid under the strap of the black bra she wore underneath.
"What the fuck is this?" He demanded angrily. She flinched at the venom in his voice.
"Take it off now, you bitch," he snarled. "And don't let me catch you wearing one again."
Her hands shot to the bra straps, pulling them down her arms and over her elbows. Her breasts jumped as they were released from the cups, the nipples already swelling. Then she pulled the bra around until the clasp was at the front, unfastened it and stood there, with her arms clasped tightly across her belly, the black bra dangling limply from her hand.
He took a half step closer, yanked the bra from her grip and flung the offending garment after the pyjama jacket. Then he grabbed her wrists and jerked them roughly down to her sides. He stepped back again and viewed her semi-naked body, her head and eyes lowered to the ground, her long hair loose around her shoulders. He seemed satisfied.
He turned and looked at me, where I sat in the armchair, hands gripping the arms, an obvious bulge in my boxers. He gave a half smile, with no warmth in it, then turned again and sat in the centre of the three-seat settee. He looked back at my wife, giving a circling motion with his index finger, indicating that she should turn and face him again. She complied. He gestured at her pyjama bottoms.
"Take them off."
She hooked her thumbs in the waistband at either side and drew them down, over her ample hips and arse, letting them fall to the floor, before stepping out of them entirely.
"Throw them over there," he ordered, indicating the corner where the rest of her nightwear was now lying . She bent down, picked up the pyjama bottoms and threw them with the jacket and bra in an untidy heap, then resumed her position facing the settee, with her hands down by her side. Completely naked.
Alan sat for a few moments, studying her minutely with his piercing eyes. Her face flushed under his gaze and I could see her hands clenching and unclenching nervously, but she made no attempt to turn away or cover her nudity. He grunted.
"Put your hands behind your back."
"Whenever you are waiting for my instruction, or orders, this is the position you must adopt. Is that clear?"
She nodded and replied in a small voice, "Yes, Master."
"Good." He picked up a large cushion from beside him on the settee, then tossed it on the carpet in front of his knees.
"Kneel here," he said, pointing.
She took a couple of steps forward, then lowered her knees awkwardly onto the cushion, keeping her arms behind her back.
"Very good," he grunted, shuffling forward to sit on the edge of the settee. His hand reached out and began to stroke her belly and abdomen gently, the back of his fingers lightly brushing the sparse greying hairs of her bush. His other hand went to her head and began stroking her long hair.
"This is mess," he said, referring to her tangled bedraggled hair. "Where's your hairbrush?"
"In the bedroom, Master'" she replied.
He shot a glance in my direction and spoke roughly, "Fetch it."
I jumped to my feet and shot off upstairs. It took only a minute to find the hairbrush and return to the living room. When I got back he had her turned around on the cushion with her hands on the carpet, her fleshy arse pointing at him and her knees apart. He was idly fingering her cunt from behind with two fingers of his right hand, his left hand stroking the pale globes of her buttocks. My cock, already semi-erect, instantly hardened, jutting out from the flies of my boxer shorts. I hastily shoved it back inside, absolutely ashamed to let him see me aroused like this. He just laughed harshly, then told me to leave the brush on the settee beside him. With a jerk of his head he sent me back to my previous position, sitting in the armchair. My boxers stood up in my lap like a tent. Part of me wanted to wank myself off there and then, but instead I placed my hands on the arms of the chair and sat back to watch, silently.
After a short while I could see that she was beginning to respond to his manipulation. Her body began to move back and forth almost imperceptibly, her hanging breasts swaying to the rhythm and she began breathing harder, through the mouth. She wasn't exactly panting, but I could definitely hear the breath hissing between her parted lips at each movement of his probing fingers.
At that point he drew his hands away from her body and, with a sharp slap on the arse, he ordered her to kneel back up and turn to face him. She shot me a very quick glance as she turned and I could see the hot blood flushing her face and neck. He handed her the hairbrush and told her to brush her hair. As she complied, using both hands to brush and straighten her hair, her breasts moved and jiggled pleasingly to the motion of her raised arms. In over thirty years of marriage I don't believe I had ever seen her nipples so hard and prominent.
The Master sat back in his seat, enjoying the spectacle. As she went about her task, he began to speak in a quiet but authoritative voice.
"From now on you will never wear a bra again. Neither shall you wear pyjamas in bed. You will sleep naked at all times. Tomorrow you will take all your bras and nightwear and put them in the rubbish. I will allow you to keep two nighties which you will only wear on occasions when you may be ill. Even then, I expect you to only wear them if you feel it is absolutely necessary. Can I trust you to do that?"
She nodded meekly. "Yes, Master."
"Good girl. Next. Apart from bras, you may continue to wear whatever clothes you like, unless I order you to dress in a specific fashion. However, when I come here, I don't expect to find you wearing any clothes at all. Whenever you are told that I am coming, or if I arrive on your doorstep unannounced, you will immediately strip wherever you stand. Do you have any questions so far?"
He held out his hand to take the hairbrush from her, tossing it aside on the settee.
"No, Master," she replied. "Except, may I please go to the toilet?" This last was spoken with much embarrassment and trepidation.
He grinned. "Need to take a piss, do you?"
"Fetch her something to piss in, Stevie Boy," he shot at me.
I rushed past her to the kitchen, trying to think of some suitable receptacle. I selected a large saucepan from the cupboard and carried it back to the living room.. Her face blanched as she saw me return with it. The Master laughed.
"Put it there," he said, pointing to spot on the floor. I placed it down, then retreated to my armchair.
"Go on, then," he continued. "You want a piss, take a piss."
With obvious reluctance she shuffled across to the pan on her hands and knees and squatted over it.
"Keep those knees wide open, and mind you don't piss on the carpet or you'll get a thrashing." He gestured to his belt.
Her eyes widened with alarm at that threat. She looked down and concentrated on the task at hand. From where I sat I saw those few tentative first dribbles splash into the empty pan between her thighs and willed her to keep her aim true. Luckily every drop went into the pan and the stream gradually became stronger, tinkling merrily into the steel receptacle, splashing as the pan filled. The sight of my wife, stark naked, squatting over a pan with her knees wide open, while two men sat and watched intently as she emptied her bladder, made me realise just how much our lives had changed in the past few days.
At last the stream of urine lessened and the splashing music died away. She looked up at him.
"May I have a tissue please, Master?" She wished to wipe herself. I made to rise, to get her one, but he stopped me with a hand gesture. Then he stood up and crossed to her, squatting down on his haunches in front of her. Slowly, very deliberately, he put his hand between her thighs and wiped his middle finger across the lips of her cunt. I could see the wetness on his finger as he raised his hand to his face and, locking her eyes with his own unblinking gaze, he licked the piss off his finger. He smacked his lips, laughed and stroked her hair.
"Good girl" he told her again. She shuddered. He raised her to her feet and held her closely to him, his arms wrapped tightly around her body. Then he looked around at me.
"It's too cold in here. Put that fire on." He nodded to the gas fire. I hurried to obey and the coolness of the room soon lessened. He looked at me again.
"Get rid of that," He rasped, indicating the half-full saucepan on the floor. I carried it carefully to the downstairs toilet and flushed the contents away, then left the pan in the kitchen to be washed later. Back in the living room I found them both in their previous positions, he on the settee, she kneeling upright on the cushion facing him, now with the gas fire warming her back. He jerked his head at me as I entered, sending me back to my armchair.
"Alright," he said as I settled down, fixing her with his eyes. "From now on, whenever you are in my presence, you will only go to the toilet when I order you to. If you are desperate to take a shit or piss, you may ask my permission, but otherwise wait for my orders. Now, I don't want to come here to a cold house again." He looked at me. "Make sure the temperature is comfortable for her at all times, day and night, summer and winter. Remember she may have to be naked at any time and I don't want her getting too cold. Keep the central heating on at all times." He looked at his watch.
"I must be going soon," he said, half to himself. "Come," he beckoned her. "Suck my cock."
She started, almost as if she'd been slapped in the face. That was something I had never been able to persuade her to do. I'm pretty sure she had never had a cock in her mouth in her life. She shifted uncomfortably, uncertainly. He sat upright with a stern look on his face.
"Are you going to disobey me?" he rasped.
"I - I'm sorry Master," she whispered. "I don't know how to."
He almost roared with laughter. "My, my Stevie-lad," he shot at me. "Whatever have you been doing all these years. You've neglected your poor wife's education!"
He stood up and unfastened his trouser zip, taking out his semi-rigid penis and holding it in the ring of his thumb and index finger, his hand cupping his balls. Wiry hair sprouted from his flies. His cock was big and thick, but not unnaturally so. He stood in front of her, raising her chin with his other hand, so she was kneeling looking up at his face.
"Don't worry, Angela," he said. "I'm sure you're a quick learner."
His hand slid around the back of her head. Taking a bunch of hair in his fist, he forced her face towards his groin, lowering the head of his cock at the same time.
"Open your mouth." She swallowed hard, and obeyed.
"Now, take the head of my cock in your mouth and suckle on it, like a baby, sucking it's mother's tit. Go on."
She took a deep breath and leaned forward. As her lips came close his dick visibly swelled and hardened. I noticed that it had a prominent upward curve. Her eyes fixed on the purple, bulging, glistening head, quivering before her face. The veins of his shaft stood out like buttresses. It was a cock made for domination. She gulped nervously, then tentatively opened her lips and leaned again, her soft mouth closing on the head of his cock.
He looked down at her and said, "That's a good girl. Keep your eyes on my face while you pleasure me."
Immediately her eyes swivelled up to his face and their eyes locked.
"Now keep suckling on it."
I could see the movement of her lips and cheeks as she sucked and released his cock. I would like to say that I was outraged at what was happening before my very eyes, but in truth, I was enjoying it enormously. To see her kneeling on the cushion, arms behind her, with the back of her hands against her plump buttocks, sucking on the cock of a strange man who held her hair bunched in a vice-like grip behind her head was a more thrilling experience for me than all the actual sex I'd had with her for the past ten years. And the way she was looking at him, searching his face for approval made me realise that she was enjoying the experience, too. How much that was down to his mind control, and how much to the relaxation of her inhibitions I would never know.
After a short while, guided by the hand grasping her hair, her head began to move back and forth, her mouth sliding up and down the shaft of that big, stiff cock. She choked a little and he allowed her to pause briefly until she began again. His hand released the bunch of hair, which tumbled down behind her bare back and her head bobbed away under it's own steam.
He looked down at her face and gave her a smile of genuine affection and encouragement. He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. Her eyes, looking up to meet his almost twinkled. If you can smile with a mouth full of throbbing, erect cock, then I swear she was smiling back at him.
Soon he lifted her chin with a gentle hand and said softly, "That's enough, Girl. Now turn around."
Her mouth disengaged from his penis, leaving long strings of saliva and pre-cum dangling down her chin. She turn around around on the cushion, so her back face him. He placed a hand between her shoulder blades and pushed her forward.
"Hands on the floor, knees wide apart."
She obeyed, leaning over and placing her hands on the carpet, spreading her knees wide apart on either side of the cushion and raising her chubby arse invitingly. She looked across at me and I could see she was breathing heavily in anticipation.
The Master shuffled forward onto his own knees, slipping off his jacket which he lay neatly on the settee and unfastened his belt and the top button of his trousers. He slid the trousers and underpants to the floor, his proud cock jutting wildly before him. He grasped her by the hips with both hands and pulled her back to meet his advancing cock. He found her quivering cunt at first try. She was so dripping wet that the whole length of that throbbing shaft slid easily in. She gasped and a low moan escaped her lips as she took all that he had.
He was not gentle with her. He pounded her for all she was worth, sometimes driving deep, sometimes just teasing her lips with the swollen head. Mostly he kept his hands firmly on her fleshy hips, but every now and then they slid forward to cup her dangling breasts, clutching them hard, with those erect nipples jutting out between his fingers. At one time he took his hands away completely and, leaning back, he gave her two hard smacks on each buttock.
All the while she was getting more and more carried away. Her breathing became harder and harder until she was gasping and panting and moaning like a porn star. His thrusting, too, now became faster and more urgent. I could tell he was about to come. He gave her arse one last slap and clutched her tits again, gasping hoarsely, "Now come for me, you bitch!"
He gave a final few wild, deep thrusts, then threw back his head and exploded inside her. At the same time she cried out, almost as if in pain, and her arms collapsed, her unsupported shoulders dropping to the floor, her cheek against the carpet.