The Borrowing Part Two

I take a swig of coffee as I come to the main event on the tape, played out on the screens in front of me. Zoom in. We need an extra close-up on this.

Arousal again as I watch the crucial climax, if you'll pardon the pun. Slowly, very slowly, I inch the knife handle towards her dripping pussy. The decoration at the top of the handle teases her, moving backwards and forwards (enhance here), slides into her as she groans through her gag. She's probably pleading, but can't speak, of course (use long shot and zoom to face). Now I exert the pressure, mindful of how, if this was the blade, it would be lethal. The handle thrusts deep into her, no resistance to speak of and she screams, even through the gag, head thrown back, mouth wide open, back arched. Inexorably, I push the handle deeper, letting her sensitive lips and tissues feel every ridge of the bevels. I feel her pussy closing in tight around it as the last of the handle disappears inside and we're almost at cold steel. Now we wait for a few seconds. A second can seem a very long time when you're in that position. (Long shot and close-up intercut).

I can feel her anticipation, her whole body tensed. In that moment, a frisson of pure, beginning-of-time primal understanding, mutual bonding, sexual synchronicity passes between us. It's that nanosecond before the starter's gun fires.

And out I wrench it, almost completely out, then in again, full length. She screams, he bucks, she cries – she loves it! Her pussy reddens, spasms, her whole body bucks and her orgasm – the orgasm of her life erupts - juices forming a pool on the floor, even splattering on her feet. No let up though, backwards, forwards, deeper, harder, in, out… she screams, she thrashes, she howls through the gag as the handle rubs her clit into paroxysms of pleasure. She thrusts her hips in time, perfectly matching my thrusts, raw, basic sexual instinct taking over completely. And the smell! Not many human beings release their natural sexual spoor, even after the best of shags, but she does now. Does it work for me? You bet! How long can an orgasm last? I check the timer on the video. Three minutes. Now that's style.

Slowly, I tone it down. To stop right away would surely kill her. So the thrusts become slower, and she begins to relax, her skin pales again and her breathing lessens. Strong heart, that's for sure. I finally withdraw the knife, my own legs wobbly as I carefully cross to the table and place the knife down on it. She sags in the ropes, her legs barely able to support her. She must be wondering what I have planned for her next. But whatever it may be, she knows the simple truth; she's been mastered and she's been liberated, all at the same time.

I pick up the aerosol can and cross back to her. I untie the gag and she spits the wad of bra from her mouth, gasping, sucking in air. As her breathing calms, I gently brush her hair back from her sweaty face, stroke her flushed cheeks, and quietly whisper to her that it's all right, that she did well and that she has nothing to fear. She swallows and whispers two small words: "Thank You." It's almost with reluctance that I spray the fine, musty-smelling drug onto her nose, my last words to her giving her something to look forward to – and believe me, she will look forward to it – "Until the next time…"

All that remains now is to wait until about 5-ish, dress her in the baggy, large man's T-shirt, carry her to her car, strap her into the driver's seat and we're off. Then it's home again, home again, jiggity-jig. My own car is parked outside the house and I have to get off to work soon afterwards. I figure she'll wake up within the next half hour, as she's beginning to stir slightly. I don't expect she'll go into work today. Anyway, it's a Friday – she can call in sick and have a nice long weekend. Freshen up for later.

Just as I climb out of her car, making sure to place her handbag on the floor, so some teenage tealeaf doesn't make a grab for it, I lay my parting present across her lap. It's her old school tie. Neatly cut off all those years ago. I could have left her one of the photos from then, showing her, a mere 18 years old, tied up, fast asleep, blouse ripped open, bra showing. But no, she's seen them anyway. I've had the tie as a souvenir for so long now, so she can have it back. I'll keep the photos, they're always fun to look at, even if my technique was less stylish then. It's always nice to have some reminder. I have a souvenir from this time now (apart from the film, that is) – her severed skirt, safely locked in my "trophy cabinet" – a secure metal safe, souvenirs all neatly bagged and labelled by number and date. Maybe I'll leave the skirt for her after the next time. All adds to the fun. To the game. To the borrowing.

Oh yes, there'll be a next time. Not for a few months yet though. You can't borrow the same person too often, it isn't as much fun for either of you if it's too frequent. Keep her guessing.

She'll be pleased to see me when I get home from work. She'll be all over me after dinner when the kids have gone to bed (thank goodness for a good childminder on the days and nights we play our games) and then we can watch the films. How do you keep a marriage fresh? Play games, that's how. Don't be afraid to push the boundaries. Or to break them.

She loves it, that's for sure. Why do I do it? The thrills it affords me? The sheer, sexual blast? Of course, but the real answer's far simpler.

Because I can.

Because I've got style.