Just Deserts

Friday night, our favourite restaurant, and my husband was finally home. He dismissed the sweet trolley, ordering black coffees instead. When the waiter left, he pulled an envelope from his breast pocket and placed it on the table in front of me.

"I believe there's enough cream here to more than compensate for missing dessert."

I looked at him, then at the envelope, then back at him.

"Tell me you're not creaming yourself Holly!"

My stomach clenched. Simon's face was stern, his tone indignant. Something was dreadfully wrong. I opened the envelope. Photos, several different naked men, but I was in all the shots. My heart thumped as blood rushed to my head. I felt sick to my stomach.

"It...It's not what..." I stammered.

Simon held his hand up to silence me as the waiter returned. Neither of us spoke until he left.

"Holly, I hired a private detective. The evidence is irrefutable. You've disappointed me. I thought I gave you everything you wanted."

"Please, Simon," I said quietly, mortified that I'd been found out. Desperate that the other diners, people who knew us, wouldn't hear what was being said.

"It's not what it looks like. You're away on business so much. I miss you. These mean nothing," I pleaded, placing the photos face down on the table, shoving them away.

"Clearly they mean something," he snarled. "They prove you are an alley cat, constantly in heat."

He sat back in his chair and composed himself.

"Quite simply, you have two choices. I can divorce you or you can go to the Finishing School."

"What?"

He'd caught me off guard. I didn't know what the Finishing School was but I knew I didn't want a divorce. There was only one option. If I wanted to keep my marriage then I would have to attend this school.

Eight weeks later, a sentinel, my personal tutor, delivered me home, re-formed and enlightened, in accordance with my husband's instructions. Relieved to see Simon's Jaguar in the driveway, I rang the bell and waited. He opened the door and took my hand, drawing me inside the stately house. My heart skipped and my lust flared at the sight of him. Tall, strong, powerful, I craved his forgiveness and his touch. Weak with relief, I smiled. I was home. I was safe.

"You look well Holly," he said formally, as he bent to brush his lips across mine, then stood back to examine me.

"Let me take your coat."

His deep voice set me trembling, my nerves jagged with anticipation. I held my breath. His elegant hands reached for my shoulders, caressing them, stroking my arms, resting briefly either side of my waist, but he didn't pull me close. Then his hands moved to my breasts, circling my nipples. Instantly they stood erect, protruding through the silk sheath dress. When he pinched them, hard, gripping my nipple rings and pushing them into the delicate flesh of my areola, I cried out. I tried not to wince or utter a sound but I couldn't help it. All the while he stared impassively at my face.

"Are you horny Holly?".

"Yes," I mumbled, lowering my eyes.

"Yes what?" demanded Simon.

"Yes... Simon."

"Come, come Holly," he chided, "what were you taught?"

At the Finishing School, a secret institution, I learned to freely submit myself so I may be used in any way my masters see fit. All men are my masters but Simon is my supreme Master.

"Yes Master," I whispered.

"Louder Holly, be specific."

"Yes Master, I am very horny."

"Of course you are," he mocked, tilting my chin, staring straight at me. "You're nothing but a fuck slut, isn't that so?"

"Yes Master."

Simon nodded his satisfaction. I was jubilant. He had claimed me. I was still his.

"We're going out to dinner tonight, with a business colleague of mine," he said. "I've left out what I want you to wear.

At the School they stripped me bare - my body, my mind and my soul, exposing my carnal nature. The outfit was appropriate, given my disposition. A red and black basque with suspenders, silk stockings, a black, body hugging dress made of a flexible but expensive material and red patent high heels. There were no panties of course. My masters must have access to any of my fuck holes at all times. I applied my make-up, outlining my eyes with dark kohl, applying thick, long lashes and creating fat, luscious lips with a pencil and bright scarlet lipstick. I rouged my cheeks, my nipples and my clit.

The full-length mirror reflected a high class hooker. Is that what I was to Simon now, nothing more than a slut? Perhaps divorce might have been the better option. And yet, I looked stunning. Finally I could be what I was deep inside. Simon set me free. Not only is he the man I adore but he knows me so well; he released my inner self.

Gone was the studied appearance of a wealthy wife. Instead was a siren, with voluptuous breasts and a petite waist. My body was sculptured by perverse diet, whale-bone corsets and fiendish sexual antics. Only my short stature remained unchanged but the stiletto heels and very short hem line elongated my shapely legs.

Downstairs, in the library, Simon beckoned to me. I approached with bated breath. Wordlessly he reached down and slid his hand under my dress. He stroked the inside of my thigh until he reached my crotch, my skin tingling as he caressed my naked pussy. My clit grew more swollen, opening my sex lips further, making my fuck juices ooze out. All the while, Simon's eyes never moved from my face. I sighed with pleasure as he slowly trailed along my bikini-waxed bush, silently willing him to plunder me with his fingers. Instead he took hold of my clit ring and tugged it, viciously. I cried out in shock and pain, bewildered by his actions.

"Just checking," he said maliciously.

When he offered me a straight scotch, I knocked it back. The spitefulness in his voice frightened me. My clit throbbed from his brutal assault and yet I craved him even more. Unprepared for his vindictiveness and panicky about what might lay ahead, the scotch helped settle my nerves.

In the car, Simon told me to pull my dress up around my waist, spread my legs and play with myself. He wanted to hear me climax while he was driving

At first the leather seat felt cold against my bare bottom, but as I started to play with my clit, teasing it with my fingertips, my suppressed lust mounted. Warmth flowed through my body, tightening in my belly, hardening my nipples and making me sopping wet. I reeked of sex.

"Pull down your top," ordered Simon, "I want to see your tits."

I tugged the flexible fabric of my neckline down so that it rested beneath the fullness of my breasts. The basque revealed most of my fleshy bosom, including my newly pierced nipples. Even with the neckline in place I appeared to be spilling out of the dress.

As my climax mounted, I moaned involuntarily. Instinctively I thrust my hips forward, my fingers slipping back and forth, rubbing my nub, making me crazy to be penetrated. Lost in sexual oblivion and on the cusp of coming, Simon's left hand reached across and began fondling my breasts. His fingertips kneaded my soft, pliant flesh. He toyed with a nipple ring, rolling it between his finger and thumb, sending waves of exquisite pleasure coursing through me. Suddenly he twisted it, dispelling all euphoria, subjugating my impending climax. Excruciating pain overwhelmed me. I cried out in anguish and then whimpered in frustration as my climax receded, dulling to a harsh, pulsating throb.

"We're almost there," he said calmly, as if nothing had transpired. "Tidy yourself."

Obediently I pulled my dress back into place, covering my body as best I could. Appalled at having displayed my ravenous sexuality, I was crushed that my husband no longer seemed to fancy me. Pulling the sun visor down, I checked my make-up as the car drew up outside a plush city hotel and a valet waited to park it.

Teetering behind Simon through the brightly lit lobby and into the luxurious bar, I willed myself to ignore the whisperings from the people there. I knew how I looked to the outside world, a flagrant whore. I had chosen this rather than lose the man I loved. For him no sacrifice was too great and yet, my heart thumped against my chest as he directed me towards a man we both knew who was standing at the bar.

"Charles, good to see you," said Simon, shaking hands with the man. "And of course you know my wife Holly."

Charles looked at me with surprise and then blatant lust. He's a turgid man, unkempt despite his tailor's best efforts. He has an irritating nasal voice, a lecherous disposition, and I loath him.

"Holly, I wouldn't have recognised you," he said. "You've certainly changed your look."

"For the better, don't you think?" smirked Simon, "she always was a tart and now she looks like one."

In fairness to Charles, he had the decency to look abashed at my husband's crude remark, while my face flamed with embarrassment.

"Tut, tut, Simon," he blustered, "that's a bit rich, even for you."

"But it's true. You've always thought so, which is why I wanted you to be the first to see my newly reincarnated wife. She's a right slapper and I should know."

Simon laughed at his own joke and Charles, not wanting to appear the dimwit that he is, chuckled along with him.

While Simon ordered three scotch on the rocks, Charles went in search of a bar stool for me. I rarely drink spirits, preferring wine, but I no longer have a choice. We moved to the furthest corner of the bar. When Charles returned, Simon placed the stool facing the wall. He indicated that Charles should stand in front of me and then he hoisted me up onto the high seat. The hem of my dress rode up, displaying the tops of my gartered lace stockings and an inch of tantalising naked flesh. Instinctively my hand lurched to pull it down. Simon grabbed my wrist and placed it by my side. Then he moved behind me and reaching round, crassly pulled my thighs apart, spreading my legs, his fingers stroking my exposed skin.

I felt a rush of fuck juices from my pussy. From the way Charles lewdly gawked at me, I knew he could smell my horny musk and see my hardened nipples.

"Nice?" murmured Simon.

"Oh yes," I gasped, leaning my head back against his chest. Aroused by his touch, my wantonness quickly resurfaced.

"Yes what?" demanded Simon once again.

"Yes Master," I whispered, tilting my head towards him and away from Charles's stare.

"Louder."

"Yes Master," I replied, loud enough so Charles and the nearby barman could hear.

I lowered my eyes and my head, reminded of my place, yielding to my Master's authority.

"I say you two," wheezed Charles, placing his finger under the knot in his tie and loosening it, opening the top button of his shirt. "Are you indulging in some kind of sex game here?"

"Oh Holly loves to play, don't you sweetheart?"

Simon lifted my chin so Charles could see my face when I answered.

"Yes Master," I said, heartened by my husband's proprietary touch and pleased with the effect I was having on Charles.

Simon wasn't trying to humiliate me. He was simply allowing me to be the fuck slut that secretly I have always been. Now, free from society's shackles, I am complete in a way that is beyond definition or description.

As a reward for my outspoken loyalty, Simon raised his hands and began to gently stroke my nipples through the sheer fabric of my dress. They tightened, protruding like ripen cherries under his skilled touch.

Charles's breath was ragged as he turned towards the bar, as much to hide his stiffening penis as to call the barman's attention. When the barman came to our end of the counter, his eyes flickered towards my husband's hands massaging my breasts, and then looked away with poised professionalism.

"Three scotch", said Charles "and make them doubles."

When the barman returned with our drinks, Simon said "Todd," checking his name tag, "could you see if our table is ready, for Prendergast?"

"Somewhere discreet sir?" he asked with a knowing wink.

"What time do you finish, Todd?"

"I'm here 'til closing sir, whenever all the residents have been served."

"We'll see you later then."

"You've booked a room?" asked Charles when Todd had left.

"Yes."

Simon had also booked a booth at the back of the dimly lit Portabella Room. When I sat down, Simon ushered Charles in beside me. He's a stout man and I was tightly packed against the wall. Charles was elated at being able to rub against me on the pretence of the confined space.

"That's right," said Simon to Charles. "Relax, make yourself comfortable."

"As long as Holly doesn't feel too restricted," replied Simon coyly.

"Oh I think you'll find she's loosening up nicely."

After dinner, Charles excused himself, to make a phone call. As soon as he left,

Simon moved to sit beside me.

"Naughty girl," he said, "poor Charles had to go and wank himself. You're driving him demented with lust. And who could blame him? You look ravishing."

Charles slipped his hand up my dress, prizing my legs apart, thrusting two of his fingers into my sopping pussy.

I moaned in ecstasy, opening my legs wider, frantic for more.

"Soon my little fuck slut," he whispered, withdrawing his hand and lifting his fingers to my mouth to watch me suck them.

"Please Master," I begged, "please fuck me."

I was aching with pent up sexual frustration. In the Finishing School I was fucked mercilessly, day and night. I was used to having my orgasms thwarted. I was taught my sexual release was of no consequence. Only my master's wishes, desires, and needs mattered. However, Simon playing with me was more erotic than anything I had ever experienced. He wrapped his arms around me and stroked my long hair. I breathed in his masculinity, my body craving him desperately, my desire to be fucked by him agonizing.

Look, I have a present for you."

Simon reached into his pocket and took out a fullet, a small silver devise the size of a compact tampon, electronically engineered to modulate the urges of sex slaves. He rolled it between his finger and thumb so I could see. I gasped and then shuddered as my pussy clenched with anticipation. He lowered his hand again and pushed the fullet into my vagina. It glided in. Taking the remote control from his pocket, he hit a button. The fullet moved to the back wall of my uterus, where it lodged and began emitting low-level pulsations. The familiar sensations swirled inside me, lulling my cravings. I gazed devotedly at my Master.

Simon insisted Charles join us in our suite for a night cap. In the elevator, the pulsations intensified as Simon increased the velocity of the fullet. Before stepping out onto our floor, he grabbed my waist and pulled me back onto his hard erection, grinding it up and down between the slit of my bum, teasing my ass-hole.

"Show me what you learned at school," he whispered. "Seduce Charles."

As I strutted down the corridor in front of the men, the fullet expanded, stretching the walls of my pussy, filling me with wanton lust. My Master had commanded me. If I succeeded and he was pleased, then he would fuck me.

Inside the suite, a bottle of champagne awaited us. Simon moved to open it. I stood in the middle of the room and posed. Charles sat nervously in a leather high-backed chair, glancing between the two of us. The atmosphere was electric.

Simon handed me a flute, one to Charles, and then sat in a chair beside him. It was show time. I deliberately tipped my glass down my cleavage, champagne soaking the front my dress, all the while eyeing my prey.

"Oh, how clumsy of me," I mewed. "Forgive me gentlemen, but I must take this off."

Crossing my arms, I reached down and slowly pulled the wet dress over my head, revealing my sexy lingerie.

Charles gasped. His eyes filled with desire and then cunning. He made to stand up, but Simon gently restrained him, as Charles had hoped he would.

"You're among friends", said Simon. "Surely you want to admire my wife's assets? She's a slut you know? She's dying to be fucked."

Charles's penis was straining against his trousers again. I strutted over to his chair, widened my legs and straddled him. Seductively I removed his tie and opened his shirt buttons. Then I leaned in, rubbing my tits against his chest, thrusting my hips so I could feel his hardening cock against my clit, riding him through the fabric of his trousers.

"Fuck me," I moaned in his ear, riding him harder, releasing my thwarted climax.

"Yes. Oh yes. Aaaahhhh..."

Charles shuddered as he ejaculated into his pants. He sagged against me for a few moments, stunned and gasping for breath. Stepping off him, I looked at my Master, seeking his approval. Simon smiled then nodded his head towards the bedroom. I left the two men alone.

When I heard the door close, I returned to the sitting room without the fullet inside me. It had expelled itself.

"Was that to your satisfaction Master?"

"Indeed. I do believe that contract is guaranteed now. I'll confirm it next week. I always knew you were an asset."

His words cut me deep. I adored him and yet to him, I was just an asset.

"Sweetheart, no need to look at me like that," he said, "but you've a lot to make up for."

I hung my head in shame.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. You know I love you."

"And I love you. All I ever wanted was to give you everything you desired. But I'm old, and you want young bucks."

"No, I swear to you. They were poor substitutes. I love sex, you know that, but you weren't there!"

"Holly, I can't fuck you as much as you need, and you do need to be fucked, don't you?"

"Yes Master, I'm a fuck-slut."

"But you're my fuck-slut. You know that now, don't you?"

"Oh Master I'm yours, I always was, please, please fuck me."

Simon tilted my chin, bent down and kissed me, deeply, passionately, lovingly.

There was a knock at the door. Simon opened it.

"Todd. Good of you to join us. Finished for the night?"

"Yes sir. You asked that I make my last call to your room."

"So you're off duty now. Do have a drink. By the way, I'd be much obliged if you'd service my wife, if you don't mind me watching?"

Todd followed my husband into the room and he stared at me, brazenly, admiring the raunchy basque, the sheer stockings and my exposed pussy. He had no fear. My husband had offered me to him

"Are you sure sir?"

Todd was seeking permission, absolute confirmation. Simon liked that, acknowledgement of his ownership.

"Don't you want to fuck my wife?"

"Oh yes sir. Very much sir! She is exceedingly fuckable".

"Holly, show Todd what you have to offer."

I sauntered over to champagne bucket, deliberately standing with my back to the men. Widening my legs, I bent over to pour Todd a glass, displaying my bare buttocks and tight pussy. Returning with the bottle to refill Simon's glass, I rolled the ice cold bottle across my breasts, making my nipples protrude, leaving tiny droplets on my skin.

Todd's gulped his champagne, keen to progress to more salacious activities.

"Let's move to the bedroom," said Simon.

I took Todd's hand and he followed us. He stripped off, unselfconsciously, proud of his body. Fit, with broad shoulders and a slim waist, he had a huge protruding cock. I wanted him to ram it inside me.

"Holly, on the bed, spread-eagled," said Simon.

Simon tied me to the bed, my arms, my legs, I was completely vulnerable. He had all the toys, even a gag that was an inflatable cock. I was rendered silent no matter how loud I tried to scream.

"Lick her pussy," ordered Simon.

Reverently, Todd moved towards the bed, lying beside me. He would not be rushed. His mouth and fingers gently explored and tasted my body, like a connoisseur savouring an exquisite delicacy. He nuzzled and kissed my neck, burrowing his hands in my long hair. His sucked on my engorged nipples, rolling my nipple rings between his tongue and teeth, sending waves of pleasure from my breasts to my pussy. His fingers traced invisible circles on my flat belly, all the while slowly moving downwards. Finally he started to lap my fuck juices, making me buck and squirm and want cock more than I ever had before.