Gromet's PlazaErotic Stories

Indiscretion 3

by Wiccedwoman

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© Copyright 2008 - Wiccedwoman - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/f; M/f; bond; slave; oral; dreams; cons; X

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Chapter 3

It was raining in sheets and the winter daylight had just faded, although the overcast sky had hastened the darkness. The wet pavement shone with the reflected beams of yellow streetlights. 

Jack’s grey Jag pulled up outside his trucking yard and he climbed out, pausing to click the lock.  Erith, a bleak town edging South East London, wasn’t a good area. Holding a newspaper over his head, he quickly made for a door in the corrugated iron fence.  Pushing it shut behind him, he ran towards the porta-cabin office - his Italian leather shoes splashing in muddy puddles and crunching over gravel.

Michelle looked up from her screen when the door flew open, and saw him standing there, water dripping from his classy woollen overcoat.  It was carelessly undone, revealing his customary designer shirt and suit.  She drew a breath and wondered what he wanted.  She was working late, as usual – bringing order out of chaos. In her opinion, good secretaries never got enough credit, especially her.   “Hi Jack – what’s up?” she asked pleasantly, searching his craggy face for clues. He was over fifty, but she thought the years suited him.  His greying hair was clipped and stylish, and those icy blue eyes matched his cool, calculating demeanour.  Though right now, it seemed to her there were cracks in that perennial calm.

“That fucking scroat!” he shouted, “Where is he?  Where’s Michael Tully? 

“I don’t know,” Michelle replied, a bit taken aback, “Why? What’s wrong? What’s he done?”  Although she’d worked for Jack a couple of years now, she’d never seen him this mad; his imposing frame was shaking.

“I’ve had a call from Parson’s, that last delivery was short – again.  If it carries on like this, we’ll lose the contract.  That little weasel’s siphoning the stock.” 

Michelle sighed.  She knew Jack wasn’t averse to a little siphoning himself, but he was smart, businesslike; he used his inside contacts.  Michael Tully’s experiment in private enterprise was likely to end badly – at least she thought, if Jack’s previous form was anything to go by.  She was familiar with her boss’s unconventional methods; he didn’t always play by the rules.  That was part of his appeal.  “Calm down Jack – he’s somewhere up North with that new truck.  There’s nothing we can do right now, but I’m sure you’ll figure something out when he gets back.” 

“Yeah, I’ll figure something out all right.” His words were menacing, and then suddenly, his face relaxed.  He sat on the edge of her desk, pulled out a cigarette and lit it.  Glancing down, he contemplated her smooth olive skin and slender curves, “So Michelle, working late again?  Everyone’s gone home except you.  I can’t afford over-time you know.”  His eyes were teasing.

Michelle looked up, her heart beating faster.  She’d been fucking him nearly a year now.  Elaine, his wife, didn’t understand him – she was frigid.  He’d leave the bitch tomorrow if it wasn’t for the kids, at least, that’s what Jack told her.  Besides, she was willing to cater to his tastes.  It kept him hooked - and the lavish gifts showed his gratitude.  She idly fingered the diamond pendant around her throat - a token from Jack on their last weekend abroad.

“How’s my little slave to-day?”

Michelle heard his voice take on that well-known husky tone and saw the stiffness in his shoulders soften. She couldn’t help herself – her nipples froze and she felt a pulse between her thighs. She knew what he wanted, and gulped when he gently trailed one finger down her cheek.  Though she’d never admit it, she’d been thinking about sex all day – it was that time of month; the time when her pussy throbbed and her breasts were too sensitive to touch.

“Where’s your collar Michelle? Get me your collar.”

Without a word, she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a black leather choker set with silver studs.  She gave him the restraint, and then felt him push aside her long dark hair and fasten it snugly round her neck.  Next, she watched him retrieve a long silver chain from the same niche, and shuddered when he clipped it to the leather. 

“You’re mine now Michelle – you’ll do as you’re told.  Understand?”  he yanked the fetter slightly, to underline his point.

She could see he looked pleased when she shivered again – but ignoring the tautness, she just nodded in respect.  Of course, she understood; she understood completely.   Just then, she saw him squint at her, clearly mulling his next move - and then it was obvious he’d made a decision.  She watched him rake in the desk and find the cuffs.  “Hang on a minute Jack, I have to give Jerome a call.” She could tell he was annoyed, but she quickly pressed out a number and impatiently waited for a reply, “Hi Jerome – it’s mum.  Look, I’ll be late tonight.  Order a pizza – and don’t forget your homework.” Then she had an afterthought, “I want you in bed by ten, understand? – no messing.” 

“Aw Mum,” Jerome replied, “you’re not seeing that old geezer again are you?  He’s a wanker.”

“Shut up!” Michelle spat back, “look, who I see is my business – it’s my life, not yours.” She wondered why he couldn’t be like other kids his age – into the latest fashions, but no – not her child.  He read weird stuff  - books by Marx and Kropotkin, and edited the school magazine.  She remembered his biting satire pissing off the principal, unvarnished truth causing deep offence.  Michelle consoled herself - the pompous bastard had it coming - and anyway, it was practise.  Jerome told her wanted to be a human rights lawyer – and with his terrific marks, she knew he’d make it one day.  It was also obvious he hated Jack, the slimy git who took advantage his brilliant mother.

Jack coolly waited until his girlfriend finished the call, though if he was honest – Jerome irritated the shit out of him.  In his opinion, the arrogant little bastard needed a good hiding. Jack knew Michelle was a single mother – just sixteen when she had Jerome, though he thought, she’d defied the norm.  There were no more kids and she worked her butt off to support the baby, now a defiant teenager.  Keeping those ideas to himself, he secured Michelle’s wrists behind her as soon as the phone clicked down - and then studying her helplessness with approval, he couldn’t help some teasing, “Well Michelle, what do you think? What should I do now?” He lit another cigarette and slowly took a drag, watching her reaction with the intensity of a hawk.  He’d coveted her snaking sensuality the first time they met.  It still grabbed him each time he looked.  He knew Michelle was Anglo-Indian – her father from Bangladesh, her mother an English blonde.  Seeing that fragile beauty bound and helpless stirred his basest instincts.

Michelle kept her eyes down and didn’t answer, though she felt her heart racing.  She’d learnt this; she’d learnt to keep quiet.  Suddenly, she felt a hand slide under her bra and roughly squeeze her breasts.  She realized Jack was in charge; he made the rules.

“OK bitch, don’t move – I’m making a call.”

She watched him vanish into a side office and wondered what was going on, though she wouldn’t ask.  She trusted him; Jack always treated her well - even though he’d led her into new terrain.  She remembered he was cautious at first – and then bit-by-bit, he’d pushed her limits – cajoled, begged, manipulated – and if she was honest, seduced.  She was probably in love, though his generosity helped. Those musings were cut short when he came back; she thought he looked pleased.

“OK – I’m going to lock this place up, you’re coming with me.” 

She was hustled out the door.  Despite an umbrella, the rain soaked her white shirt and she knew her lace bra was obvious.  Sliding into the cushioned seat when he opened the door of his Jag, she also caught the approving look when her smart business skirt rode up. She watched him clip their belts, and then felt his hand between her thighs. The abruptness of their getaway jerked her a bit, and then she was driven into the night and a strange destination.  She soon figured they were heading to the City, but she didn’t ask any questions. 

They sat in complete silence.  She saw Jack concentrating on the traffic, while she was mesmerised by the rain, the city lights and the music – Phil Collins crooned through the expensive sound system.  Her cuffed hands began to ache a little, but she pushed the discomfort to the back of her mind.  Her thoughts wandered to the last kinky interlude with Jack.

“What’s your dirtiest fantasy?” he whispered one day. 

She’d been shy; unwilling to share her dirty secrets, but he’d pushed – and then pushed again, until finally, she cracked.  “OK then, you asked,” she began warily, “I think about having two guys at once.”  She regretted the words as soon as she spoke, but it was too late – they’d escaped.  She remembered watching his face for a reaction.

“Mmmm,” he sighed at first, digesting the news – before taking up her thread, “you’re a randy little bitch aren’t you?  You’ve got hidden depths – maybe you need to explore them.”

“What are you talking about?” and she recalled his indirect reply.

“We’ll see,” he smiled, and then paused a bit, “don’t worry, perhaps I’m just teasing.” A couple of days later, Jack booked them into a smart hotel. 

Expecting the usual bondage scene, Michelle got a lot more.  Oh, she remembered, he tied her up all right – and then introduced his old friend, Alan.  Her heart nearly leapt from her chest when she heard the knock; she was helpless to stop Jack getting it.  Gagged and spreadeagled on the bed, she couldn’t say no.  But once her shame passed, she loved it - losing count of the number of times she came.  At last, her inner was slut free.  The pictures still made her tingle.  Soon though, something disturbed those wicked thoughts. 

“We’re here,” said Jack – that was all; he didn’t expand.

Michelle peered at the solid four-storey building and its Victorian front.  She saw the place was dark, except for a faint crimson glow from a couple of the windows – and then she jumped at Jack’s clipped order. “Get out.” 

She watched him open her door; her belt was already undone.  Still cuffed, Michelle moved clumsily before she felt Jack take one arm, and then she balanced beside him.  Almost in a dream, she saw him click the car lock - and then felt his grip tighten.  She meekly complied when he led her towards the place, though her heart was jumping.  She startled at the doorbell, and her eyes widened when the catch was unlocked - but all she saw was an ordinary young woman.  Michelle thought the girl’s dark pencil skirt, cream blouse, black stockings and smart heels were pedestrian enough  – though maybe her scarlet lips and nails betrayed more daring.

“Come in,” the young woman whispered.  She guided them to a private sitting area, “Wait here – Celeste won’t be long.” 

“Christ!” thought Michelle, “whose Celeste?” though she didn’t ask.  She knew Jack had never done anything to hurt her – and if she was honest, there was a thread of excitement.  She’d noticed the exotic aroma and thought the place smelt like a brothel – which of course, it was. After a short nervous wait, she watched a tall siren sashay in – a curvy woman in a low cut dress.  The tight outfit barely held a full cleavage, and the white flesh contrasted starkly against the scarlet Lycra. Michelle thought the short hem played up the siren’s endless stockinged legs – and red strappy sandals with teetering heels accentuated them even more.  She watched Jack get up, take the lady’s hand and kiss it. She caught a faint smile brush the girl’s pink, glossy lips.

“Hi Jack,” Celeste purred, pushing a strand of long blonde hair from one eye, before glancing towards Michelle, “I see you brought her then – is she good?” Celeste’s question ignored the slave’s existence; for this game, Celeste knew Michelle was only a chattel.

“Yeah, she’s good,” replied Jack, giving a quick tug on his girlfriend’s chain to emphasize his point.

Michelle felt her belly lurch.  She’d make Jack pay for this – through the nose.  She really wanted some new gear – and Jerome badly needed another sporting kit.  Nothing came cheaply.  So soon, she followed Celeste up the carpeted stairs to a lavish bedroom.  The door quickly clicked behind them.  The huge four-poster and its rich satin quilt caught her eye at once – and then she noticed the thick velvet curtains cutting out the streetscape.  The only light smouldered from an elegant red lamp in one corner.  She felt her feet sink into the deep plush, before watching Celeste spread herself in a well-cushioned armchair and part her pale thighs – one languid hand resting between them, the other on the arm of her throne. 

“Undress her Jack, I want to see her naked.” The blonde’s words were businesslike.

Michelle stood there as Jack followed the order, and felt him briefly unlock her cuffs, before fixing them again. There was a pulse in her throat – and she suddenly noticed her ragged breath and damp skin.  The room felt very warm.

“OK darling – you’ll do.  I like your tits and you’ve got a beautiful ass.”  The siren addressed Michelle just briefly, before turning to Jack, “You’ve done well, she’s gorgeous.  Are you ready?”  Of course, she knew he was anxious to watch the show and saw him nod, mesmerised.  Standing up, she placed one soft palm on Michelle’s shoulder and felt the clamminess, “Come on sweetheart; let me take you to bed.” With that, she led her towards the divan, “lie down babe; move into the middle.”

Although the cuffs made it awkward, Michelle obeyed, shuffling over the cool material  – anticipation creating a tight ball in her stomach.  She felt Celeste easily spread her legs, and then clip her ankles into place.  She watched her fix them with slender chains to the bottom posts, and then gazed as the woman stripped, revealing a curvy, well-toned body.  “She must work out,” thought Michelle, feeling a pearl of sweat in her nape.  Glancing towards Jack, she realised he was naked and sitting in the vacated chair.  She saw him slowly stroking a firm erection – and noticed a glassy look in his eyes, and a half gaping mouth. 

“Celeste will make you feel good babe, she’s great – just relax.”

Michelle wondered how long he’d known Celeste – and how often he saw her, but warm lips around a nipple and a soft hand stroking one breast quickly expelled those thoughts.  From inside that voltage, Michelle just made out a groan from Jack – and briefly looked his way a second time.  She saw the fist around his cock had tightened and he was wanking in a steady rhythm - however, the humid mouth soon sidetracked her again.  She felt it wander between her thighs, and she couldn’t help wriggling under the teasing tongue.  She was helpless; each stroke was bliss and then she felt some fingers slip inside and play.   She sensed them respond to her squirms and slowly edge her towards an inevitable orgasm.  “Oh Shit!” Michelle exclaimed and bucked her hips towards those lips and hands, before exploding. As each tremor passed, she felt Celeste coaxing even more – until she lay there, sweaty and exhausted. 

But Jack wasn’t finished.  Gently pushing Celeste aside, he mounted his girlfriend and fucked her hard.  He came quickly – wasting himself in a few aggressive thrusts. 


The journey home was quiet; Jack calmly focussed on his driving.  He noticed Michelle sitting in dreamy silence, watching the passing lights.  “Are you OK babe?” he asked with concern, gliding to a halt outside her council flat.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”  It was probably the truth.  She knew Jack always pushed her limits – but then, it was the danger that snared her in the first place.  “Are you coming up for coffee?”

“Nah.”  He was suddenly distant, “I’ve got to get home – I’ve got an early start, see you later babe.”

“Yeah, sure – see you later.”  She stood by the kerb, watching his tail lights disappear, still feeling the throb between her legs. “Bastard!” she thought, before wearily turning away.  She wondered if he’d ever leave his wife, remembering those promises.  Lately, his passion for divorce was wilting as fast as each spent erection. 


Jack’s wife Elaine curled on her sofa, sipped a large glass of red wine and glanced at the clock, just gone eleven – and Jack still wasn’t home.  She’d tried to reach him on his mobile, but all she got was the message bank.  She remembered what he’d said - he’d be home early.  Now he was awol – but that wasn’t unusual.  Suddenly, she felt her aching shoulders – and noticed her tight hands. “Fuck!” she thought,  “where’s he got to?” She sighed – and then gulped her drink.  At least that was comforting.  Aside from ‘Enya’ playing softly in the background, all she heard was silence – one son was away and the other three were sleeping.

Her mind wandered to the first time they met.  She was young – only twenty, Jack was ten years older.  She was waitressing in that seedy Soho bar.  She recalled his intenseness; the way he watched her.  Every time she looked, he was staring.  It gave her butterflies – like she’d seen her future.  She remembered him calling her over to sit with him.  He’d been charming – listening quietly to everything she said, before telling her how beautiful she was.  Of course, Elaine had heard it all before and dismissed him, before quickly discovering how determined he could be.  Soon, she was drowning gifts and attention. 

Jack wouldn’t rest until she gave in.

Twenty-six years and four kids later, it felt like they were strangers  – or would have, if the fog in Elaine’s head would clear long enough to feel anything.  She must have drifted off to sleep, because a slam dragged her back to shore.  Her unsteady gaze soon rested on the outline of Jack’s shoulders, before the rest of him came into focus.  She saw him standing by the drinks cabinet, pouring a shot.  “Where have you been Jack?” she mumbled, brushing strands from her brow. 

“Out – I’ve been out.  Go to bed – go back to sleep.” He was irritable.

Thinking back later, it seemed odd.  Elaine wasn’t sure where the energy came from – or why it arrived then, it just did. Digesting his prickliness, she rubbed her eyes, stretched and stood up.  Then she asked the question again, “Where have you been?”

“Out, I’ve been out” he repeated sharply - and then ignoring her, he absentmindedly searched for a mixer. 

“Well that’s fucking obvious Jack.”  Elaine said each word precisely – her eyes boring into the back of his neck.

Perhaps he felt the barbs – anyway, he turned to face her. “What is it Elaine?  What’s your problem? Run out of pills again?”  As soon as those questions escaped, he wanted to retrieve them.  He realized something was different; his wife looked incandescent.  

Elaine was strangely centred – despite her fury, “You know something Jack – you’re a total fucking asshole.  For twenty-six years I’ve turned myself inside out wanting to be a good wife, thinking I had the problem - thinking I should try harder, do better.  Well, I’ve made a decision – you’re not good enough, you’re not a good enough husband.  In fact, you suck.”   Her controlled, icy tone burnt harder than any wild fire.

Jack stared – briefly wondering if Elaine was an alien.  

“You’re right  – I should go to bed, though I don’t know where you’re sleeping.  In fact, you can go to hell.”  She turned towards the door.  As it banged behind her, the echoes underlined her contempt.

At least, from where Jack was standing they did.


Elaine was falling.  She tried to grip on to usual things, but they passed through her fingers like ghosts.  Landing  in a curious mansion, she sprawled on the cold marble floor.  Lifting her head, her eyes squinted in the hard light, before she noticed a grand staircase to one side.  She was lost and nervous, and then suddenly, a woman brushed near and took her hand – telling her to be quiet with a finger on her lips.  Elaine felt relieved – the figure seemed warm; she trusted her at once and followed when the stranger guided her underground, into the bowels of the mansion.  Soon, they came across a strange subterranean stream shimmering and snaking in the half-light.  Elaine knew this place was different; this place was alive.  Women in states of undress crowded the secret galleries; some were giggling, and some just looked blissful. 

She heard murmurs of pleasure as a few men played with the ladies, and watched enthralled as one woman slowly made another come with her fingers.  Two more gently held her down and played with her breasts.  Then, out of the corner of her eye, Elaine spotted a serious looking girl.  She was coolly weaving through the maze of bodies, intent on an odd mission.  Behind her, she trailed a spool of red ribbon.  Without knowing how, Elaine recognized her task.  The girl was mapping the subversive warren, recording its nooks and crannies and collecting her knowledge in an old book. Suddenly, Elaine shifted to a different scene.  She was running through the upper halls of the brightly lit manor following the earnest young woman, both desperate for a hiding place. 

Elaine knew they had to find a secure corner.  As they darted to safety, she saw the girl frantically gather in the scarlet ribbon. They had to hide it – there was punishment for saving dangerous wisdom.  Below, they were strong – up here, they were victims of random discipline.  Elaine felt her heart beating fast  – and then saw the door to a private room was in reach. She didn’t know if they’d make it  . . .


Dawn’s half-light met Elaine's eyes as she blearily searched for the glowing numbers on the alarm clock.  Before she could check them out, her gaze settled on a small figure on the bedside table.  It was a gift from Chelsea, her friend Carol’s twenty-something daughter.  Why it appeared important right then, Elaine couldn’t say – but the porcelain stare burrowed into her soul, and she looked more closely.  The ceramic woman with piercing eyes wore a layered crinoline; her upraised hands held two struggling serpents and a growling panthers head sat as a crown.  The present wasn’t to Elaine’s usual taste – though she’d thanked the girl kindly. 

Chelsea found the keepsake on a visit to Crete, “It’s the Minoan Snake Goddess Aunt Elaine,” she’d said enthusiastically, almost breathless as she described her exploits on the island. 

Elaine knew Chelsea was in the middle of a degree at the University of East London – and often dropped in to talk about her life.  Elaine was familiar with many of Chelsea’s secrets, but was also aware that Carol, Chelsea’s mum, could be jealous at times; therefore, Elaine kept a tactful silence. Let’s face it, the kid was almost her own; the daughter she never had. 

Tearing her eyes away from the statuette, Elaine surveyed the vacant space in the bed – the space that usually held her husband.   Her throat was tight, and a dry mouth didn’t help.  “Must cut out the wine,” she thought.  Then as she got more alert, she felt some panic – but she stuffed it down by squeezing her pillow.  A small groan escaped.  Was this it?  Had she finished with the prick?  An empty life stretched before her – drab days without sex.  “Hey – fuckwit,” she thought, “what’s new?”


Oddly enough, that day was also the start of her friend Carol’s marital meltdown.  It started normally for Carol, at least, what passed for normal lately.  Just after breakfast, she was in the kitchen when Alan her husband wandered in. She noticed his untidiness and saw he was still sleepy – probably recovering from too many whiskies the night before.  While she found something very appealing about his morning shadow and maleness, she also hated her weakness for him.  “Want a coffee?”

“Yeah – a strong one.  Throw me a couple of Aspirin too.”

“What’s the matter?  Got a headache?”

“Yeah, but these should help.” 

She watched him gulp the water, and then her stomach tightened. “Alan, we’ve got to talk.  It can’t go on like this.  I know what I did was wrong – but neither of us have been perfect.  I love you babe.  Can we start over – can we discuss what’s going on?”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, almost softening – but the stubborn devil in his head wasn’t backing down.  He sensed an advantage.  After twenty-five years with his wife, he had all her vulnerabilities pegged.  His expression hardened, “Listen Carol, I’m not sure I want to stay – let’s face it, Di’s a lot younger, and she doesn’t fuck around.  Then again, maybe I still love you – I just don’t know right now.”

Carol felt like he’d plunged a knife into her; tears welled.  Her throat tightened so much she found it hard to breathe.  “What do you mean – you don’t know?”

Alan leant back in his chair, relishing the effect. “Well, it’s hard to tell – I mean, you’re attractive and we’ve been together a long time – but people change.  Maybe I’ve changed – maybe I need something else.”

Luckily for Carol, the guardian angel of anger stepped in.  If it hadn’t, she would have fallen apart.  Looking at her husband through a veil of red, she seethed, “You’re right – perhaps you need something else, perhaps I need something else.  Jason gave me something I’ve not had from you in months – think about it.” She stared at him hard – almost at a loss, before finding a second wind, “Go fuck yourself! Go screw the ugly bitch – you know what? I hope it kills you!”  By then, she was screaming  – but the crash of the door outdid her as she stormed away.

She sobbed for ages on the bed, her face buried in the quilt.  She cried until the pain started to go, at least the tears felt better than nothing.   Finally though, she forced herself to look at her puffy face. “Got to get a grip,” she thought – though she wasn’t sure how.  The bathroom was her first call.  She stood under the shower a long time.  Perhaps the spray washed away some misery - anyhow, she felt better.  Putting on her robe after, she patted her face with a cold flannel.  Then taking her time, she carefully applied some make-up, before choosing a sexy outfit.  She needed therapy – retail therapy, possibly boosted by the lunch with a friend treatment.  Gazing at her nails, she also considered the beauty parlour cure.  She wasn’t being flippant; she’d learnt value of these sanity savers the hard way.  

It barely ruffled Alan’s surface when he heard the jangle of car keys as Carol took them from the hook in the hallway.  The slam of a door followed.  He continued to sip his coffee and turn the pages of his paper – although a passing thought about her credit cards made him wince a little.  There was a price for upsetting his wife, but his need to be on top came first.



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