Trying To Relate

"It's not like that - she just eats with someone in a restaurant and then comes home," I protested.

"Course its like that. Don't be bashful. Christ - what a wimp you are," he said with a return of his old attitude but then he added more thoughtfully, "I can't really blame you. This place must cost a packet and I always did say that she was sitting on a fortune."

"Some escorts may be like that but Fiona is working for a respectable agency," I said without much conviction.

Mathew ignored this and asked, "Have you got anything stronger than lager Charlie boy - I need a bit of a jolt after that kind of news."

I dig out the half bottle of whiskey I had been hoarding and from then on we drank lager with whiskey chasers. After downing his first tot, Mathew returned to the subject. "I don't know how you do it - I certainly wouldn't let my wife go out and get shagged for money."

"I didn't know you were married," I said switching subject having decided that further defence of my wife's chastity would do no good.

"I was. She was another tart though - opened her legs for half the neighbourhood. I kicked her out on her arse the moment I found out. I certainly wouldn't have sat watching the box knowing that she was being shafted by some rich toffee nosed git."

Rather than answer I raised a can to my lips and for a while we drank in silence. I was serious bothered by Mathew's words because he sounded so confident in what he said. I found him gazing reflectively at a head and shoulders photograph of Fiona on the mantelpiece. He saw me looking and said, "I'd give a lot to fuck that myself. I know she's the real thing you see. Back at the firm's dance, I copped myself a really good grope - she loved it."

I felt like crying. My mind was becoming fogged and I felt unable to refute his insinuations. "She doesn't do anything like that - I'm sure that she doesn't."

"Don't fool yourself Charlie - of course she does. Why not - a purse full of cash and all the extra cock that she needs. Face it. It's an absolute certainty that you can't give her all that she needs. A woman like that has got to have an appetite to match - I bet she's been at it for years behind your back. You mark my words - your shag happy wife is in it more for the screwing than for the money."

And so it continued. Periods of silence interspersed with further aspersions against my wife's morals. I found myself believing him. Not able to close my ears to these insidious words, I tried to drown them out with liquor. Suddenly I realised that my bladder was bursting and got unsteadily to my feet. "Got to go for slash," I muttered staggering away.

"Have one for me while you're there," he said.

I had heard the remark many times before and raised my hand in acknowledgement. As I reached the door he shouted harshly, "Come back here." Without thinking I turned and retraced my steps until I was standing before him. "I wasn't joking," he snarled. "Get down on your fucking knees."

Bemused I obeyed, only then realising that he had got his cock out and a stream of light coloured urine was arcing through the air towards me. Even in my condition I saw three alternatives. I could dodge out of the way in which case it would go all over the carpet or I could stay where I was when it would go all over me. With no time to think I opened my mouth and let the piss go down my throat - even then my shirt got very wet from the liquid that had overflowed my mouth. There was little taste, which is understandable because it must have been mostly greatly diluted lager. When he had finished, with mind reeling, I made my way to the bathroom. The experience had sobered me slightly and I tried to understand why it had happened, and more importantly - why I had allowed it. It had to be a joke that had got out of hand. I was stoned out of my skull and he could not be far behind. We would most like laugh ourselves silly over it afterwards. I had the sense to change my shirt before returning downstairs. I made no reference to what had happened and neither did he - thankfully he said nothing more about Fiona.

The following Friday I was wary of him. With more resolution I would have refused him admittance but my mind was split. The suspicion engendered by his accusations the previous week had made the two nights between when Fiona had worked into hours of mental torment. Now I would almost rather suffer his obnoxious presence than spend more hours alone. He started the moment I let him in. "The lovely Fiona been spreading her legs again? The money must be really rolling - what does she get £100 a trick?"

"She gets paid fifteen pound an hour for four hours with no sex involved, " I told him firmly.

"Maybe you're right," he said. "Just take my tip - don't gobble her twat after she's been working - you might get a mouthful of something that you don't expect."

I just nodded not allowing myself to be provoked and instead put in to operation a plan I had devised to circumvent a reoccurrence of the previous week's incident. After drinking only one can I got up thinking that if I emptied by bladder early then I should last the rest of the time he was there, without needing to visit the toilet again. However I had only gone half a dozen paces when Mathew said calmly, "If you're going where I I think you are going, then you know what you have got to do."

I can excuse my weakness the previous week because I was taken by surprise and badly inebriated at the time but I will never understand why this time I turned back to meekly sink on my knees before him and open my mouth. "You're in luck - I've been saving this up nearly all day especially for you," Mathew said confidently directing a gushing stream of dark yellow urine towards me.

Had I not opened my throat as if downing a pint of beer then I could not have coped and as it was there were moments when I felt as if I were drowning. The urine was strong and bitter inducing a feeling of nausea. The moment that he had finished I jumped up and ran upstairs with my stomach heaving. I spent a long time in the bathroom regaining my composure and returned downstairs determined to tell my overbearing guest that this would never happen again. Before I could speak, he said harshly, "Who told you that you could go?"

"I thought..." I stammered caught off balance again.

"That's the trouble - you don't think. I hadn't finished - there's still some more in there that you've got to get. Come on - down on your knees chop chop." Browbeaten into obedience, I knelt, closed my eyes in misery and waited. "That's no good. The piss has gone back in - you are going to have to suck it out," he instructed.

I shuffled forward, took the end of his prick slightly between my lips and began to suck as if it was a very thick straw. He laughed. "You've no idea have you? Get more of it in your mouth - and you might as well make yourself comfortable because this could take quite a while. Tickle it with your tongue that should help."

Unthinking, I did as ordered and it was not until his penis began to harden and lengthen in my mouth that I realised exactly what I was doing and tried to pull my head away. Mathew had his hand in my hair holding my head firmly in position. "Suck - and keep on sucking until I tell you to stop," he ordered.

Then a weird thing happened. What I was doing had a soothing effect on me, my sense of humiliation disappeared and the tormenting visions of my wife with other men just melted away. For the first time in my life I understood the comfort that babies and young children get from dummies and sucking their thumbs. When he ejaculated, I had no sense of taste or anything much - just a feeling of satisfaction at having crossed some kind of line. I wiped my lips and got up and sat on the settee beside him with heart pounding. Mathew smiled. "That wasn't so bad now was it Charlie? It was for your own good you know - you need to know what cum tastes like, so that you'll know when you come across it again."

For the rest of the evening, Mathew was very friendly and there were reminders of that first evening he called. "Seriously Chas," he said tossing me a cigarette. "You ought to ask your wife exactly what she does to earn her money because I don't like to see you being misled. She probably hides things from you thinking they don't matter and are not worth upsetting you with. Look at it logically. This bloke lays out sixty for her, some more for the agency and then the cost of the meal. That is at least £150 he is out of pocket to start with. He spends the evening with a beautiful woman and finishes up with aching balls just looking at her - don't you think he will want her to do something about it. If he has already laid out that much, what's another £50, £100 or even more to enjoy whatever she has to offer. Perhaps I have laid it on a bit thick teasing you but I bet a pound to a penny that it's not just 'thank you and goodnight' when they have finished eating."

This calm argument destroyed my trust in Fiona far more than his inflammatory accusations and I resolved to question her. It took several days before the right moment and a steady nerve coincided. She admitted fairly readily that she masturbated clients but then proceeded to justify her actions. "Suppose it had been you Charles instead of me who got the chance of a part time job," she said. "It is at an abattoir but working in the offices. You don't like working there but we need the £50 per night. Then suppose that they offer to double your money for ten minutes overtime moving meat. You'd find it distasteful but I think you would do it. That's all that I do love - 'handle meat'."

I waited for my 'friend's' visit complacently having been able to convince myself that what my wife did to earn her extra money was meaningless. As soon as he was in the door he asked, "Speak to your wife then?"

I confirmed that Fiona indulged in minimal sexual activity as part of her work and repeated part of the argument that she had used to justify it. Mathew nodded with satisfaction at having been proved correct and then destroyed my peace of mind by saying, "It she was willing to admit doing that much it means that she has certainly done a hell of a lot more. Did you ask her about blow-jobs because I bet she sucks of the ones she likes? Remember to find out if she has any regulars because she won't get regulars unless she either gives head or fucks."

Now that I thought about it, Fiona had answered my question far too easily. Mathew had been accurate in his predictions so far and this latest surmise had certain logic to it. I watched absentmindedly as he got his cock out to be brought back to reality when he said, "While you are pondering, wrap your lips round this. With a bit of practice you are going to get a good mouth - but move your head up and down a bit this time, it makes it feel a lot nicer."

His penis at eight inches was a good inch longer than mine and quite a bit thicker. I had been circumcised as a baby so I found some fascination in his foreskin. I got his cock in my mouth rather quickly - my mind was in new turmoil over Fiona and I hoped to find mental relief this way as I had before. It worked just as I had hoped but I was able to take better note this time of the diverse elements that made up the experience. I loved the sweet sticky pre-cum from the start, constantly sending my tongue to seek out the dribbles that oozed from his slit, but found the real cum to be more of an acquired taste. Its texture was not unlike that of sago pudding but it had an arid almost acerbic taste. Over the next few blow jobs that I gave him, I did quickly acquire a taste for the stuff, finding some similarity to getting to enjoy eating blue cheese.

Mathew had kicked off his trousers and sat naked from the waist down while we continued to drink. Time and time again, he brought the conversion back to Fiona. Every time he did that his prick grew ominously stiffer until it was sticking up like a flagpole. He saw me looking at and said, "I am just imagining Fiona lying on her back panting with her legs in the air and some well hung stud pumping her full of his spunk. I'm afraid that I need the use of your mouth again."

Although my jaw still ached slightly, I was not really reluctant and did what he asked. However, I had only been at work for a couple of minutes when he shouted, "Watch your fucking teeth. Stop."

I knew that I had caught him slightly but it was little more than a graze so I sat back and looked at him in puzzlement. The next second he had caught me with a roundhouse slap to the side of my head and sent me sprawling. More shocked than hurt, I regained my knees.

"Just because you think I am imposing on you there's no need to chew lumps out of my nob," he said angrily. "I will need to punish you for that. You can think of it as making amends rather than punishment if you want. Start by licking my cock all over, just lick but make it nice and soft and soothing."

Very relieved that I was not to be chastised physically, I licked as ordered. But when I thought I had finished he told me to do his balls as well, saying "You can put them in your mouth but only one at a time - it's too risky until you learn to control your jaws."

Mathew had shuffled forward until his butt overhung the edge of the settee and also spread his legs wide to give me access. Again I found that there was still more to do when he ordered me to lick the skin underneath his balls. I endeavoured to obey but the presence of his obscene anus less than an inch further down made me keep my tongue as near to his testicles as possible. The raw musk smell was overpowering. "Lower," he ordered but although I moved my head slightly, I managed to only cover the same area as before.

"Come on Charlie, don't fuck about," he said impatiently. "You know exactly what I want you to lick - so do it. You are staying down there until you do. Go right round the outside slowly and then circle in to the middle."

That was the start of my nightmare. The following time he made me push my tongue inside his anus and this first time became only a taster (literally) for what was to come. It did not take me long to realise that I could not escape punishment and the only thing that varied was the duration of the penance I had to pay at his backside. At the start I paid for further infringements with my teeth and when I cured that he found fault in the enthusiasm with which I had sucked his cock. Giving perfect head was no answer because he then found offence in what I said and when I remained silent, he took umbrage at my surliness. The punishment was inflicted with him in different postures like standing legs with legs apart and his hands on his knees or me lying on my back with him squatting above my face, (I was always terrified that he was going to inflict another obscenity then). In a way the worst position was how he sat the very first time because he got a hand mirror to watch me through and was able to give orders like saying 'That tongue will go in another good half inch - you can't fool me'.

I always had to suck him off immediately I had finished licking because my tongue always made him extra hot. During the first blow job of the evening he lay back and let me do it all but after a licking he kept thrusting, effectively fucking my face. The end of his cock pushing against the back of my throat caused me to retch and after a time or two this started to annoy him. He warned, "The sooner you learn to swallow and take my cock right down your throat the better. In future, whenever you make that nasty choking noise, I am going to add five minutes to your next punishment." After one horrendous evening when he kept my tongue embedded up him for almost a full half hour, I mentally controlled the retching reflex and soon after could give 'deep throat' without any problem.

As he left the house, the evening that I had first been subjected to punishment, Mathew asked casually if Fiona did her escort work on any other evenings. I already felt unable to lie to him so answered, "Yes, she works Saturdays as well," intending to continue with, "-and Wednesdays" but before I could complete the sentence he interrupted with, "Good - then I'll be round to see you tomorrow." There were times in the future when I was very grateful that he was unaware of her third night.

Every time we met Mathew asked if Fiona had admitted to fucking her clients and I was able to truthfully deny that she had. He accepted this but said, "When she does confess remember to tell me because she will - nothing is more certain on this earth."

He was proved right one Sunday. Fiona tactfully told me that she wanted to start - or rather that it was imperative for our financial well being that she took advantage of an offer made to her. Mathew had already got me well softened up to the idea, I was relieved that she wasn't doing it already and the we undoubtedly did need that thousand pounds with the likelihood of more to come - so I reluctantly agreed that she should do it. I stewed over it for the rest of the week and when Mathew arrived on the Friday, I told him immediately that Fiona was going to have full sex with a client the following day. He whistled when I mentioned her fee but made no comment and this encouraged me to pass on my wife's propaganda about condoms and 'skin not touching skin'. He laughed uproariously and when finally able to speak he said, "You poor sap - you'll believe anything that anybody tells you."

When I just stared, failing to see the humour, he explained, "If a man is paying that much for a shag, do you honestly believe he will wear anything that is going to spoil the pleasure?"

I had no answer and he did not push the subject at that time but the following night he couldn't leave it alone, constantly suggesting what she might be doing at any given moment. He kept projecting images of Fiona engaged in passionate unbridled sex which conflicted with my more acceptable picture of her lying passively and merely allowing her body to be used. Before he left, Mathew said, "Check her knickers. If they used a condom they'll be dry - and if they are dry I'll...I'll suck your prick for a change."

After he had gone I sat up and waited Fiona to get home, allowing for the hour she had led me to believe this 'overtime' would take. After that I went to bed but stayed awake. She was very late and I had drifted off once or twice before I finally heard her key in the door. I heard her use the toilet in the main bathroom, tiptoe quietly into the bedroom, undress as usual at the bottom of the bed and then go into the en suite bathroom for a quick shower. When she got in bed beside me I said nothing - what could I say - 'Had a good time?', 'Did you enjoy it?'. My wife fell asleep immediately but I waited until she was breathing steadily before slipping out of bed. I searched her clothes twice by touch without success and drew a similar blank in the little bathroom. They turned up underneath two other garments in the linen basket that we keep in the main bathroom. I lifted them out gingerly praying silently to myself but without avail. Why was Mathew never wrong?"

This knowledge ate away at me all week and when my lascivious visitor arrived on the Friday, I would have blurted my pain straight away had he not spoken first, asking, "Well," with his eyebrows quizzically raised.

"They were wet, " I admitted but before I could go on to say more he held up his hand.

"I'll tell you," he said. "You searched her clothes on your hands and knees but the knickers weren't there - but you kept on looking and found them..."

"In the linen basket," I provided.

"They were not lying right on top but you dug down and found them. They were very wet. You lifted them up to your nose and got a whiff of her aroma and something else. You turned them inside out and found it rather slimy, especially on the crotch. Then you gingerly poked out your tongue and touched the slime with just the tip. The next moment, you have got the crotch band in your mouth and you are sucking the accumulated spunk and cunt juice as fast as you can. Then, knowing you, I would imagine that you tossed yourself off and shot your cum all over her pants." With that he stopped and looked at me triumphantly.