Girl’s nights out. Girl’s days out and then yes, a weekend or two away. I put it down to golf, to release from the drudge of a working life. Women, well they were more gregarious than men. They liked each other’s company and they gossiped. I was honestly pleased about that. Pleased that Annette didn’t feel in my pocket, didn’t feel the need to ‘ask permission’ to go out with friends. She was dressing kind of horny I must admit. High heeled Italian leather boots and very tight jeans. She wore balcony bras that put her tits on show. But I trusted her enough because they were firmly girls nights out.
Amongst the gaggle of women there was one who often provided the lift for Annette. Sophie. The woman was ash blonde with bob cut hair and almost mesmeric cornflower blue eyes. She drove a Porsche so I supposed that senior officer pay rates in the Met were far better than I imagined. I remember that she had a penchant for cocktail rings on her fingers and she wore a swanky Cartier Santos watch…in gold. I supposed that such gear wasn’t allowed in uniform. Still, I couldn’t see it. Sophie in Plod blue. She looked as though she was born for denim and leather.
Sophie seemed arrogant. She’d breeze into the house when she picked up Annette. My wife wore similar jeans, likewise the boots. I thought, fuck you’re making Annette arrogant too! My wife was getting so critical these days. That Saturday night Annette came down in the gear and this time she wore a watch like Sophie’s. I stared at it as she added things to her Gucci shoulder bag. I stared at it. I stared wide eyed. What did those things cost? Thousands, they cost thousands of pounds.
Then Sophie kissed Annette, on the mouth. I know that my wife wasn’t expecting that, there, then. She was obviously caught off guard. her face blushed red. She looked alarmed when Sophie let her go.
‘You’re to sleep in the guest room tonight, understood Ian?’ said our visitor.
I blinked. I blinked and looked at Annette. Fucking hell. No! Sophie’s eyes narrowed.
‘We go spend the night over at Jenny’s’ Annette ventured to her girlfriend. I shuddered. Annette was trying to avoid the confrontation. She was trying, may be she was, to soften my landing. Annette….lesbian…..my wife…..this woman, shit.
‘He has to learn,’ Sophie intoned, coldly, calmly, her voice as crisp as in the middle of a frost forrest. ‘He’s being pushed out. He has to learn. We don’t find how far he gets shoved away unless he knows.’
Annette nodded. She nodded like she was accepting something in one of those nightmares. The ones where something terrible is going to happen and you must comply. I watched the bitch Sophie. She came forward to her.
‘It’s for the best’ she whispered. Their eyes met again. Annette’s eyes dropped, her gaze downward and then the fucking bitch kissed her again. I watched my wife respond, their mouths open, moving together as one. The blonde bitch slipped her arms around Annette’s neck and drew her in. My wife’s arms went around the woman’s waist and into her pert bottom. They were fucking necking.
Dykes don’t wear sexy smart gear. They wear shabby jeans and check shirts. That’s what Webster always said. The guys at work joked about lesbians. They joked about their crazy antics.
‘This is going to be gentle Ian, ‘ the visitor said, checking Annette’s gaze, ‘you’re going to do as you’re told and then there won’t be tears at bed time.’
I gulped down breathes. You cannot imagine what you would do at such a moment. You can’t so don’t fucking well lie to me. Walloping the bitch one, taking both by the scruff of their pearl adorned necks and running them out of the house for good, it doesn’t work as a real reaction. That’s the stuff of your pride, its in your head.
The blonde bitch smiled. It wasn’t anything warm. it was a ‘so there’ smile. It simply confirmed what she had expected.
‘Annette…’ prompted her lover.
My wife looked shell shocked. She glanced at Sophie and then back to me.
‘I’m not leaving you, ‘ she blurted, ‘but you do as Sophie says’.
It wasn’t her prepared speech. It couldn’t have been. It was raw and terrible. It was painful. There was not an ounce of easing in her words. Sophie took my wife back into her embrace. Possession was nine tenths of the law right? Wasn’t that what they said?
Like an oaf, I nodded again. I nodded like one of those fucking toys left over in veteran cars.
‘Good’ opined Sophie and she swept up Annette’s bag. The front door shut, clump. There was the sound of gravel scrunched as they walked to the Porsche. The engine uttered a guttural note and the car spun off.
I stared at the clock on the wall. When all this blew up, it was around 8 pm. When my mind returned to the room, it was nearly 9 pm. I had stood stock still, staring, transfixed. You shouldn’t be able to do that, but I did. The will to move was gone, drained down my fucking trousers legs and onto the carpet. I imagined their frantic conversation. Annette protesting how cruel that was! I imagined the bitch slapping her down coldly and saying it had to be done. The bitch had turned my wife into a lesbian. May be she was bi sexual? May be this was about companionship? May be the bitch Sophie was just territorial about time, space, the right to see my wife when she choose. My mind raced. They were in bed together, touching, petting, kissing. I shook.
How did this work? I mean, seriously, how did it?! Are lesbians jealous and territorial in the straight sex way? What do they do if a wife convert admits to still feeling something for her husband too? Fuck, was something left? What was that something, that fragment, if the bitch didn’t swipe Annette away? I was crying. I was literally crying. Tell me, tell me that you would hit a woman for such a fait accompli. Tell me that you would! You’re lying. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t. The wrench is too much, the direction taken too much of a shock.
I poured myself a whisky, a triple measure. I sat cradling it, staring out through the window at the magnolia tree. It had started to rain. Another hour passed. May be I just had to cling on. May be this was just the craziest of aberrations? Annette would come to her senses, she would! I sloped upstairs and moved a few of my things to the guest bedroom. I moved my toilet items out of the en suite. I sat on the bed and bit my nails. They were some place. Some place with her friends, some place where they concluded that sometimes you just had to be brutal. Annette…was she agreeing? Was she reassured by those bitches? I shook again. Then they were kissing again. That fucking bitch couldn’t stop kissing my wife. She couldn’t stop touching her, I’d seen that.
I didn’t know where to put myself afterwards. I thought about driving out and sleeping in the car someplace. I thought of banging on Webster’s door and explained that we’ had an argument. I wasn’t about to explain why though. When the sound of the Porsche echoed on the drive again it was nearly midnight. I’d had ‘time to stew’ and was seated on the sofa in the living room. I felt tense. I looked fucking tense. There were knives in the kitchen, may be no, no, fucking no!
Sophie came in first, Annette afterwards. My wife’s neck was marked. The bitch had marked her territory. The fucking bitch looked steel hard, her eyes narrow, her lips tight. She was ready for a row. She strode over to me before I could rise and stood inches from my face. Her fucking crotch in those jeans. I could hear my breathing, she MUST have.
‘We can talk terms in the morning Ian’ she whispered, pausing, then adding, ‘but for now, I need your reassurance that you will be polite and cooperative.’
I looked up at the bitch, her pretty face framed below by the shape of her breasts. They were moving, even heaving. This was ‘a moment’ for her too. Did she think that I was actually going to answer her. FUCK YOU!!!!
She held out her hand, her fancy cocktail ring for me to kiss. Annette watched.
‘Do as you are told or I will put you out of the house and you will never get back in’ she said firmly. Had the bitch done martial arts? Was there a telescopic truncheon in that slouch leather bag of hers? Annette watched me transfixed.
I kissed the fucking ring.
There was the faintest sound of a sigh of relief. I didn’t know from which woman it came. Sophie turned her hand over. I was to nuzzle and lick her open hand. I paused. Bitch!!
She waited patiently, resolutely.
I started to lick her hand. It smelled of cunt. She had been fingering Annette. Still….grimacing I licked her fucking hand. I felt the other one come over and then her fingers start to stroke through my hair. I didn’t dare look at Annette. I couldn’t bear to see her expression.
‘Good boy…..that’s better’ Sophie whispered. I pictured her smug expression. I pictured her smiling serenely over at my wife. There, you see!
She pointed at her denim crotch. I saw her glance across at Annette. her look said, ‘he will…..promise you hun’.
I kissed her crotch. I felt the denim against my lips and then my tongue. I felt its fabric coarseness the weft and the weave of the cloth. When I licked it that tasted of sex too. Fuck.
‘I don’t want his mouth on your pussy’ Annette gasped suddenly, ‘that’s mine!’
‘Don’t worry darling…pussy isn’t for the likes of him. Let me show you…..’ Having announced that the bitch stepped back. She was wearing a slouch heavy buckle belt which had been pulled to one side so I could kiss crotch. Now though the ring adorned, manicured finger nails came daintily down and she unbuttoned her jeans. I watched her shimmy them down and turn before me. Her buttocks were now inches from my face.
‘Lick’ she ordered.
Dear God! Her arse was pretty. It was curved in that perfect way. I shuddered again but started to lick her rear. I heard Annette brush past the arm of the chair and then her boots were beside those of her fucking lover’s. It was her fingers that ran down those cheeks and pulled them a little open so that I could see her pert little arse hole there.
‘Lick’ whispered Annette. Her fingers held the woman’s buttocks open. The bitch leaned forward and pushed her rear towards my face.
‘I can’t….its degrading’ I mumbled.
‘You will lick or I will put you outside! You can think about things in the cold!’ Annette’s voice came sharp.
I started to lick the woman’s bottom, my tongue swirling around and around her spasming botty hole. She smelled clean, thank god. But there was the close too smell of her luxuriant, aroused pussy inches away.
‘Is it he licking nicely?’ Annette asked. Her voice quavered, but you could hear the growing conviction there. This was happening, it did have to happen.
Sophie moaned softly. ‘You’re a good boy aren’t you Ian? You know what mistresses deserve? You know that there is a role for you just as long as you accept things meekly.’
I washed her arse with my tongue. I thought fuck you! You’re going to want this so fucking much! A revenge thought may be, but the compulsion was huge too. I needed to lick the bitch’s arse for her.
‘Now my boots whilst we pet’ said Sophie. I watched the bitch unzip Annette’s jeans and slip back within where her fingers had worked before. Listening to Annette gasp as the woman fingered her, it fucking wrenched my balls. I licked the black leather boots. Annette panted, gasped and moaned as Sophie fingered and kissed her.
‘I love you’ Annette gasped, her eyes locked to the other woman’s.
‘I know…I love you too. Ian will be a sweetie, I promise.’ Sophie mouthed the words like they were ambrosia. The look on her face, fuck, it was so excited and so triumphant. Annette’s jeans were pulled down to the middle of her thighs and she was turned so that I could lick butt again. I started to lick at my wife’s buttocks. Sophie kicked her boots a little further apart and then my wife’s botty hole was presented. I sniffed and licked greedily.
‘This hole…’ Sophie breathed deep, ‘this hole is mine’ she whispered and pushed three fingers inside Annette’s sex. I watched the rhythmic thrusting of the woman’s fingers inside my wife’s sex. I watched the dainty dance of her thumb across Anette’s clitty. I licked as hard as I could. My wife was orgasming.