Empty Nesters Ch. 03
This next part of my story is where things took an even stranger, darker twist. Sometimes even I doubt that what I witnessed really did happen, but if what I am about to relate seems incredible, I swear that what I write, now, is what I saw.
The morning after our Master's first nocturnal visit, I was up before Angela as usual, and off to work before she had risen. I usually work a six 'til two shift at the factory, her school job doesn't start until nine o'clock, finishing at around four. It took a lot of getting out of bed, and I was tired all day as a result of the previous night's events. I was planning on grabbing an hour's sleep before Angela got home.
Looking back, it seems odd that we were able to just proceed with our day to day lives, while our personal lives were undergoing such upheaval. I suppose it was part of the control he was exerting on our minds. We didn't think about it in any analytical way, but just accepted the situation we found ourselves in. At least, that's how it was for me, I guess it would have been the same for Angela.
After work I arrived back home just after two in the afternoon. When I went to unlock the door I was surprised to find it was already open. I went in, noting two bulging black plastic bin sacks just inside the door. Not hearing any movement within the house I called out,
"Angela. Are you in Ang?"
She appeared at the top of the stairs and called down "Yes, I'm here."
She came down. She was dressed in a loose fitting grey sweatshirt and jogging pants. Not her usual school wear. The top may have been baggy, but it did not entirely conceal the fact that her breasts were unfettered, jiggling pleasingly as she descended the stairs. I looked at her quizzically.
"Oh, I haven't been in to school today," she explained, seemingly in an offhand fashion, but in reality I could tell there was an edge to her voice.
"Oh, right," I nodded, waiting for further explanation. She shrugged.
"I just felt I needed some time off, so I phoned in sick. Told them I had a bad headache."
I'd never known her throw a sickie before. She treated her job with the utmost professionalism. In fact she was usually more likely to go in to school when she should have been poorly in bed. I glanced at the bags by the door.
"It's clothes that need getting rid of," she explained simply. We both knew what that meant. The bags contained the bras and nightwear that she was now forbidden to wear. I nodded.
"I might as well take them to the tip now," I said. I picked up my car keys and the two bags of clothing and returned to the car, throwing them into the boot. Actually, as far as I was concerned I was more than glad to see the back of them. I hated those pyjamas. I viewed them as a kind of suit of armour, designed to keep her body hidden from view, like a firewall between us both. And as for her habit of wearing a bra in bed, well, that had always seemed just perverse as far as I was concerned.
And so I took the offending garments to the tip and then drove home. On the way back I thought of the coming weekend. Tomorrow was Saturday. I wondered if the Master would require her again? Even as the thought entered my head, my phone vibrated on the car seat beside me, alerting me to an incoming text. I picked the phone up and saw immediately that it was a message from the Master. I pulled over to the side of the road so I could better read its contents. The message read:
"I will come again tonight. Keep this to yourself, I do not wish her to be expecting me. Text me when she goes to bed, then wait for instructions."
I drove the rest of the way home, wondering what was in store next.
The remainder of the afternoon and evening passed uneventfully. We had a curry for our evening meal, she had a glass of red wine, I had a beer. Afterwards she retreated to her work room and soon I could hear the sound of her electric sewing machine busily working away. I just sat and watched TV, drank another couple of beers, and waited with a growing mixture of trepidation and excitement.
Shortly after ten o'clock she came through, announcing that she was 'going up' and went off to bed. I waited until I heard the noises in the bathroom die away and all fell silent upstairs. Then I sent the text to inform the Master that she was in bed. Soon the phone vibrated with his return message.
"I will arrive at exactly one o'clock. Be waiting at the door for me. I do not wish her to be disturbed. I want her asleep when I arrive.
There was nothing further for me to do, but wait.
The time crawled by. I watched a film to pass the time, but my mind was not really on the TV. Eventually, at about ten minutes to one, I went to the front door to wait. I quietly opened the door a crack so I could peer through into the night. When I saw him approaching, stepping soundlessly along the path from the car park, I opened the door wide to let him enter. He was carrying a plain black hold-all which he placed on the floor.
Without speaking he motioned me to close the door behind him. I did so, as quietly as possible. There was a soft click as the lock engaged, then I turned to face him. He was dressed more casually this time, wearing a long, black coat, which he now removed and handed to me, revealing jeans and a fleece sweater beneath. I hung up his coat on a spare peg, followed by his sweater, which he also removed. He wore a black T shirt beneath. He picked up his hold-all.
"Take me to her," was all he said. I led the way upstairs, stepping as quietly as possible. A couple of the steps creaked a little, in spite of our stealth, but when we entered the bedroom she was still sound asleep, lying on her back, with the duvet pulled up to her throat. He motioned for me to turn on the bedside reading lamp, which I did as carefully as I could. A soft click of the switch, and the room was lit with a low, diffused light. She stirred a little, but didn't wake or shift position.
Indicating that I should stand near the door, the Master now placed the hold-all on the floor, approached the bed and bent over the sleeping form of my wife. Slowly, carefully, he took a hold of the top edge of the duvet and began to draw it down, revealing the pale flesh of her naked body, the new silver necklet glittering at her throat. She stirred as her breasts were revealed and I expected her to wake up, but he gentled her in a soothing voice and she settled back again. I got the feeling that he was playing with us. With his power he could easily have kept her asleep, I guessed, but he was allowing her just enough freedom to make the game more interesting.
Very soon he had pulled the duvet down and aside to completely reveal her nakedness. Lying on her back like this, her hands raised either side of her shoulders, elbows slightly out, he was seeing her at her best. The excess flesh of her belly was less pronounced in this position, and her breasts retained a reasonable shape and firmness. She had never had large breasts and that had never bothered me. Big tits are overrated in my opinion, give me nice shape and good nipples anytime. They had shrunk somewhat with middle-age, though, and lost some of their former shape, but as I looked across the semi-darkened room at her, I knew that I would have loved to have her lying there like that for my own pleasure.
His hand reached down and gently stroked her bush with the back of his fingers. He seemed to like doing that, I had already watched him stroke her in this way a couple of times before. In retrospect I think he may have been trying to decide whether to have her shaved, or not.
She stirred at his touch, murmuring something incomprehensible and shifting slightly. He kept his hand in contact with her mound and spoke with a commanding tone.
"Angela. Angela, wake up now."
Her eyes opened and as she took in the stocky figure, standing over her in the dim, light a panicky look came over her face and she made to sit up.
"Shh... Shh..., " he hushed her, calming her panic.
She subsided back onto her pillow, looking up at her Master's face warily. He removed his hand from her belly and stepped back from the bed, holding out his hands to her and ordering her up. She took his outstretched hands and swung her legs off the bed. She was helped to her feet.
He took a step back and looked her up and down, his black, piercing eyes gobbling up her nakedness. Suddenly, as the sleep cleared from her mind, she remembered his instructions from the previous night, and her arms shot behind her and she stood in obedience, with the backs of her hands against her buttocks. He nodded his satisfaction, pleased.
"Good girl," he murmured. He enjoyed speaking to her like a pet.
He looked around and his eyes fell on her hairbrush on the bedside dressing table. He handed it to her, indicating with a nod to her head that she should brush her tousled hair again. As she did so he stood in front of her, running both hands up and down along her flanks, circling her breasts and thumbing her nipples erect.
Shortly he held out his hand for the brush, saying, "That's enough. Now come here."
He replaced the hairbrush on the dressing table and drew her forward a couple of steps, turning her with his hands to face the bed, then helped her up, to kneel on the edge of the mattress. He placed his hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her forward, making her assume a kneeling position, with hands on the bed, both arms straight and her magnificent arse pointing back at him. Her tits swung nicely beneath her. He slapped her sharply on one buttock.
She obeyed, displaying all she had for him.
Turning to me he pointed to the hold-all on the floor beside me, indicating that I should place it on the bed for him. I picked it up, noting that it wasn't very heavy, and placed it next to Angela, within his reach, then returned to my position.
He unzipped the main compartment, took out a tube of gel and proceeded to remove the top, squirting a pea-sized blob of the viscous fluid onto the end of his middle finger. He placed the tube down, looked at her arse and extended the glistening fingertip towards her anus.
As the tip of his finger contacted the puckered ring she jerked forward, away from the unwelcome touch, bringing her knees and thighs tight together, involuntarily. He reacted swiftly and angrily, with a hard slap of the hands across each buttock.
"Get back here, bitch," he rasped. I heard her swallow hard, then she obeyed, shuffling back to the edge of the bed, spreading her legs apart, once more, the cheeks of arse reddening nicely.
He picked up the gel tube and reapplied the gel to his finger, with a show of impatience, then once more he touched the ring of her arsehole. This time she wasn't taken by surprise at the cold contact, and stoically endured his touch, though I knew she would be feeling hugely uncomfortable and humiliated. He made a circling motion with his finger, then applied pressure, grinning to himself as the tip of his finger penetrated the sphincter, sliding in to the second knuckle. She gasped audibly at the unwelcome intrusion, but held still for him.
"God, she's tight," he shot at me. "Have you fucked this at all?"
"No, never," I replied simply. The urge had been there, at times, but I always knew that she would never agree to anal sex.
"What sheltered lives you've led" he sniggered. "Well, that's going to change tonight!"
He gave me a strange look.
"What you'll see tonight, very few people have ever seen," he said, enigmatically.
Then he abruptly withdrew his finger and with another smarting slap, ordered her to her feet. She shuffled back, feet searching for the floor, then stood, turning around to face him, her hands at her arse. He opened the hold-all once more and peered inside, taking out a long, narrow, pink object, with a chrome plated buckle at one end. I saw that it was a dog collar.
He proceeded to fasten the collar snugly around her throat, turning her to do up the buckle. Inserting two fingers beneath the strap he made sure that it wasn't unnecessarily tight, then turned her back around.
He was right. Seeing her standing meekly there, naked, apart from a silver chain and a pink dog collar, hair hanging down her back and hands at her buttocks, I realised that we had led very sheltered lives. My cock was straining in my pants once more.
Next, he drew out of the bag a bundle of soft cloth, which he shook out to reveal a hooded, leopard-print onesie. He handed it to her and ordered her to put it on. As she was about to comply he changed his mind.
"No, wait," he said. "Piss first."
He spoke sharply to me.
"Take her to the bathroom, watch her piss and wipe her cunt for her. Then bring her back."
The bathroom was next to the bedroom. She followed me obediently, head lowered. I wished that I was allowed to to touch her, so that I could put an arm around her, or take her hand, but of course, that was against his rules. No touching, unless he ordered it.
The toilet seat was already down. She turned and sat, knees apart, and voided her bladder, noisily, red-faced. Some things you never get used to. When she had done, I tore off a couple of squares of toilet tissue and patted her cunt dry. Inevitably there was a slight, accidental contact between my hand and the insides of her thighs. It was like a small static shock between us. I longed to touch her. I think that ban on touching was the hardest thing to bear of all that happened to us.
I followed behind as we returned to the bedroom. He was standing waiting for us, holding the onesie, which he now held out for her to put on. When she had done so, drawing it up her legs and over her arms, he zipped up the front, covering her breasts and belly, leaving a couple of inches of the zip unfastened, so the dog collar was accessible. The hood hung down at the back. Then he returned to the hold-all and produced a long, red rope lead, with a big clip at the end, the kind used to control horses. The clip was soon fastened to the D-ring at the front of her collar.
Lastly he produced a pair of simple sandals, just a thin sole with a broad strap across the toes, which she also donned. That was it. She was ready.
He handed me the end of the red horse lead, ordering me to take her downstairs, which I did, carefully, knowing that it would be easy for her to trip with her hands behind her back and wearing unfamiliar footwear. At the foot of the stairs I looked back to see he was following us down. In his hand he carried a length of rope.
I turned and began to lead her towards the living room, but he stopped me and indicated the front door.
"This way." My eyebrows raised involuntarily. We were going outside? Apparently so.
Pausing only to retrieve and don his sweater, he opened the door and stepped out. I followed, tugging at the lead as she hesitated on the doorstep, then closed the door behind us.
It was now the first week of June, at the start of the hottest, driest summer Britain had seen since records began. Even so, the night air was cool and I was glad I was wearing a sweater over my T shirt. I worried that she might be too cold in the thin onesie, but I didn't voice my concern.
Our house is next to the last in a terrace of six. Beyond the last house the surfaced path gave way to a rough, unpaved narrow track, leading to a stile and into the fields beyond. We live at the edge of a small village, on the long, gentle dip slope of a green hillside. Fields of cereal crops and sheep pasture, delineated by hedges and drystone walls formed a picturesque patchwork leading up to the summit of the hill, which was ringed by the eroded ramparts of an Iron Age hillfort. People had lived in this area for a long time.
I expected him to turn towards the car park, but instead he led us to the rough track and over the stile. As we followed, it occurred to me that he knew where he was going. He must have been here before, perhaps he had reconnoitred the area, while we were out at work.
As we climbed over the stile, he turned to give Angela a helping hand, which she took gratefully. We stood in a long, narrow field of grass, which was often grazed by sheep, occasionally cattle, but it had been a while since I last saw any livestock in there. The grass would have been longer, had the weather not been so dry.
"Take off the sandals," he said, pointing at her feet. "Just leave them here."
She did so, slipping the sandals off and placing them beside the stile. Her bare feet stood on cool grass. Turning away from the stile, he led us across the field away from the houses. It was a bright night. A full moon in a cloudless sky illuminated the landscape with the bluish light of the heavens.
I was still leading her along with the horse lead attached to her collar, but I dropped back to walk alongside her, so the lead hung slack between us. She was stepping carefully, gingerly almost, the tussocky grass making walking difficult for her, unaccustomed as she was to walking barefoot in the fields. Having to keep her hands behind her back made her unsteady on her feet and a couple of times she stumbled slightly, as her feet stepped on a hard stone, or thistle.
Beyond this field the hillside fell away more sharply, dropping down to a back road out of the village. A plantation woodland had grown up on the steep slopes here, concealing the remains of several long abandoned lead mines that had once been the main source of employment for men in the village. Now the miners were gone, the disused shafts where they had laboured closed off for safety by iron grilles and all signs of their activities were disappearing in dense undergrowth.
In the field we now crossed I knew there was a single mineshaft, some way distant from those in the woods. It may have been a ventilation shaft for the tunnels which plunged half a mile or so into the hillside. It, too, had been capped by two long concrete slabs to stop livestock and unwary people falling in. There was an inch wide gap between the slabs and once I had dropped a stone through, out of curiosity. It had rattled as it dropped, for a long time, before going silent.
A broken down field wall ran beside this shaft and Blackthorn and Hawthorn shrubs had seeded themselves sporadically along it. Between the shaft and the wall, shaded by tall blackthorns, was a long, low limestone slab, covered in green moss. Whether it was connected with the mining activities, or had been cleared from the fields centuries ago, I don't know, but I always felt it had something of an altar feel about it. I had many times sat there enjoying the sun, watching birds among the branches above. It was towards this area that the Master was leading us, walking slightly ahead, still with the coil of rope in his hand.
He made straight for the stone slab. Arriving there he sat down, not on the slab, but on a part of the broken down wall and waited for us to catch up. I led her to him and she stood facing him, both of us waiting for instruction.
He stood, holding out his hand for the lead. I passed it to him, then stood back. He stroked Angela's hair, almost tenderly, then unclipped the lead from her collar and unzipped the onesie to the crotch.
"Take it off, " he ordered.
Although she must have been already feeling chilled, she obeyed without question, shrugging the garment off her shoulders and slipping it down to her feet. She stepped out of it, then resumed her 'hands behind the back' position. He bent and picked it up, tossing it to me without a glance.
Then, with both hands on her shoulders, he guided her backwards until she stood with her calves against the limestone block.
She sat down on the edge.
Taking her weight with her hands she lowered herself down, until her back was in contact with the moss-covered surface, her arms straight at her sides. Her feet still rested on the ground.