The Other Woman

I found myself being distracted from my purpose here. This was turning into a meal with a companion, lover or friend and not with the bitch who fucked my husband.

Of course it turns out that she didn’t, she hadn’t!

There is one other bit of the conversation that I have to report. I asked her what she charged. Monique’s answer was a little evasive, since she told me that it depends on the service, but her final comment floored me.

“About four to seven hundred an hour.”

“Pounds? I mean, that much?”

“Well would you do it for less?”

“Of course not.”

“Well then. Since I enjoy it as well it’s all just cream in my coffee. In fact you could say that I live the life.”

“Can I come round and have a look. I mean, I’m not a voyeur or something but I just have to see.”

“Alone?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I do couples as well,” said Monique with a smile. “Should I be charging you when you arrive? Or is it a social visit?”

“I have no idea! I suppose social, but if I take up your time...!”

“I’ll tell you what. You come round with at least six hundred in your hands and we’ll see. I’ll get the bill!”

Monique paid the bill and I left a huge tip. We stood in Archer Street as she lit a cigarette.

“There used to be a casino here,” she said. “I once tried to get a job here once. That was a few years ago!”

We walked to Piccadilly together. We did not speak a word; we were both too deep in thought. In the end I left her as I hopped into a cab. She stood in her ultra high heels and fur coat, drawing deeply on the cigarette and puffing the blue smoke into the fresh night air.

Jeans and a fur coat indeed!

Flash trash with a stash!

But, I had to admit that despite my reservations I liked her. In fact I felt some strange gravitational force pulling me towards her orbit.

Maybe more.

She was direct, she did not flaunt, she just was. Monique was one of those women who never fits in but she forces a place in any level of society and is accepted for what she is.

I had one last impression of a cynical smile on her face but I might have mistaken amusement for disdain.

 

**** Devil’s Kitchen.

It is the strangest feeling going to a prostitute. When you are a woman and it’s the first time then you get the butterflies in the stomach and a worried feeling that someone is following you!

At any rate there I was wandering through Fulham with a pit in my stomach and a wad of cash in my hand. It was me that asked to come, what had I been thinking?

At last, even though I went as slowly as possible I wound up standing on the steps of her address wondering if pressing the bell was really a good idea. I mean, what the fuck was I doing?

I had waited for this meeting for three weeks now. I had to find a day when Craig was tied up and when I could get away with a few hours to spare. It also seemed that Monique had a full diary!

I was on the point of turning on my heel and heading for the tube station, when the door opened and I found myself looking into the eyes of a middle aged man who seemed to be a sort of butler.

He nodded to me and said, “Sabrina? You are expected.”

So that was it then. I could no longer retreat from this foolish expedition. Yes, I was curious about Monique and what my husband was doing here. But a great deal of the reason had fled at the point that I realised that Craig had visited a number of prostitutes over the years, Monique was just the latest.

I followed the man in the uniform into the house and allowed him to take my coat. He then led me to a room that was like a bedroom without the bed. Chests of drawers and wardrobes ranged the walls and a makeup table on the wall gave the room a theatrical air.

“Please wait here,” he said.

I sat on the only armchair available and waited for Monique. At length she came and I stood to greet her.

“Sabrina,” she said. “I wondered if you would have the nerve to turn up! Did you bring the money?”

I surrendered the six hundred pounds that I had brought and wondered what the fuck I was doing here.

“The money is not important,” she said. “It just represents our relationship for the moment. Keep it in mind that you have paid me and thus I owe you a service. The paradox is that the service is going to be that you do as you are told.”

“Does that mean that I have to call you mistress?”

“Only if you fancy doing so,” she replied. “Most men get a kick out of it, most women prefer not to... On the other hand I think that you will at least for today.”

She took my hand and turned me around. One hand lifted the hem of my skirt so that she could look at my legs. Then she stood behind me and pulled me into her and cupped my breasts. I allowed her to manhandle me, in fact it was an interesting experience and I felt myself relax in her hands.

“You have a great figure, Sabrina, slim but also largish breasts and wide hips under a narrow waist. I think that you would look great in anything, so I will not give you much advice. Just pick from the clothes in this room and I will send Tania. She does the makeup for me and a few other things besides.”

“Where do I put my clothes?” I asked.

She pointed at a wardrobe with a dismissive gesture and left me to my own devices.

I meandered from one collection to the other. It was all here, I could have dressed in any one of a million ways. From Bavarian milkmaid to rubber slut and back to French maid.

In the end I decided that a full length leather dress, split up to the thigh was the thing and I poured myself into it. I kept my heels on, black and metal stilettos, and added stockings that came to not much over the knee.

Tania turned out to look like a lost art student. Maybe nineteen years old and a masterful touch with the makeup. Blue feathers for lashes and azure eyelids fading to black on my glossy lips.

The amazing thing was that it takes me an hour to apply lipstick and foundation and then to finish it off. She managed the lot in ten minutes and the effect was stunning.

**** Throne Room

I was led to Monique’s chambers. I could not decide if I looked like a trashy sex slave ready to be used; or a mistress who would elegantly make her needs known with a flutter of the fingers. But, the feeling of chaos in my head and the willing loss of control excited me.

I was losing control and the feeling intoxicated me.

When I arrived Mistress Monique was sitting on a throne. A huge wood and leather armchair that stood on a wide carpeted dais. The rest of the room was empty but I noted that the walls were festooned with chains and fixed rings of steel.

Mistress Monique said, “Sabrina, you have chosen very well, that outfit is perfect.”

I felt a glow of pleasure at her praise. She indicated with her hand that I should come to her side and as I approached she held up a pair of satin gloves in red.

“Put these on, now!”

I pulled on the gloves and then found out why she wished me to wear them as Monique cuffed my wrists together with hand cuffs that would have broken and bruised the skin if the soft material of the gloves had not protected me.

She knelt me down by her throne and arranged me as if I was a doll. The feeling was a total high, I was her ornament, a pliable doll by her throne and the idea caused me to blush with excitement, the excitement of having all resolution taken away and substituted for subservience.

“There is some thing else that you need to wear for me,” she said as she pulled a Venetian porcelain mask over my face.

I sighed and it must have sounded like lust, it was emotional hunger, I suppose!

The mask covered my face from my upper lip to forehead, effectively concealing my face. With great care she arranged me to perfection. The long leather dress was arranged so that a deep décolleté was shown and the hem, allowing the tops of the low stockings to show. Finally the mask so that the black lips were displayed and the feathered lashes fluttered as they should.

“Remember,” she said. “Do always as you are told and you will learn what you want to know, even though you do not know that you need this knowledge yet. Not a word are you allowed to say. No sound. You are Orpheus to Eurydice, you are my slave but I have consideration for you, do not forget that whatever I do it is for your good. Your good and my pleasure!”

I opened my mouth to speak. I intended to ask her a question or two. Either she sensed it in me or else she was sublimating her personality to the role that she was assuming. Her hand touched my black lips and she shushed me with pursed lips.

“Obedience!”

I sat waiting, she sat on the throne and crossed her legs. “Look forward, into the distance, not at the persons that will be in the room,” she said.

The door opened and the butler entered. In his hand was a leather quirt, a crop that ended in a short tail with knotted braids. He came to the throne and bowed. The crop he placed at Monique’s feet with a delicate little movement.

“Your next appointment waits for you, Mistress,” he said as he genuflected.

“Bring him in then,” she said.

The butler left, and as he exited a naked man came into the room. The naked man was, of course, Craig. I should have seen it coming, it was so obvious. No wonder that the appointment had taken several weeks to organise. Mistress Monique had allowed us both time to cover up the fact that we were both cheating with her!

Craig’s hands were bound behind his back and his ankles were restricted by cuffs with short chains between them. They made his steps into a shuffle, an abject hobbling.

“Pass me the whip,” said Mistress Monique in a hard tone as he approached.

Craig picked up the whip with his lips and teeth and stood holding it ready to pass to his mistress. I wondered what Mistress Monique was up to, what was she trying to tell me? I could not guess at the moment, I could not see the destination, just the road.

Mistress Monique’s hand whipped out and slapped my husband. There was a sound almost like crockery breaking as the full power of her arm came into play.

“I said pass me the whip! I did not say hold the whip for me. I did not say pick the whip up. I did not say fondle the whip with your tongue. I did not say kiss the whip. You really have to learn to obey me properly, word for word.”

Craig did not react, he just hung his head and offered the evil looking crop to her with both bound hands.

“If I have to correct your behaviour again, you will regret it. I know that your wife is considering your position in her life so you really don’t want me to be contacting her, do you?”

I could see the fear in his eyes.

The threat of whip and wife was all part of his addiction. She was the heroin in the red hot spoon and the trail of white on the mirror. He was the possessed who craved the fix and she was the needle in his arm.

I felt breathless as I watched her deal with my husband and I wondered if I would rather be in his or her place.

The erection proved Craig’s addiction.

It showed me the second lesson that I had learned that afternoon. The first lesson was that abuse could be dished out as long as the abused did not recognise it as exploitation. The second lesson was that this man was in the power of any woman or possibly even a man who knew where the keys to his locks were kept.

I felt a shiver run down me because I too was in the grip of a similar catharsis. I was hesitating between being the used bitch of Mistress Monique and the proud manipulator of Craig. She was finding the well hidden keys to my locks as well.

She took the crop, that goddess, and let it pass through her hands a couple of times before she sat on her throne. So far she had ignored my presence except that she was showing me the power that she had over my husband.

Monique beckoned to my husband until he came within her reach and then her hand reached out and took his prick with a motion that pushed him from tip to base with a smooth motion of her gloved hands.

Craig stood stock still and to my total amazement he climaxed!

Craig came with a spurt over her hand and a splash on her nylon clad knees.

That one move of her hand had brought him to orgasm with just a single move. A smile played on her lips, a curious sort of disdain and satisfaction crossed her face.

“Did I give you permission to come? Have I ever given you permission?” she allowed her voice to slip into the mode of a schoolmarm or perhaps a bored mother talking down to her child.

“This is now the third time that you have coughed up slime from your pathetic little cock. This time I shall punish you in an exemplary manner.

**** Slave mistress slave

Craig looked scared.

A real look of fear spread over his face as he eyed the evil crop that dangled from Mistress Monique’s hand. Then there was another component of this scene that he did not understand. Who was the beautiful woman who knelt like a gorgeous masked doll by her mistress’ side?

Craig concentrated on Monique and fulfilling her wishes. It was so difficult to understand what she wanted.