Five Words

FIVE WORDS

 

 

 

Part Two: August

 

 

 

The first four weeks were, in several ways, the most intense of all.

 

As July turned to August, the long days and sultry nights allowed both of them time to absorb the changes in their relationship. Each day brought with it something new; sometimes subtle shifts and nuances, other times blunt and shocking events that were like doors slamming on their past.

 

The restaurant was on the edge of their nearest town. It was the best place around and they’d eaten at it several times before; romantic atmosphere, French-Asian fusion cuisine, exciting chef-proprietor, great wine list.

Kelly sat in the back while Mart drove. She was dressed in a long T-shirt dress that barely covered her thighs. Her legs looked amazing.

By car, it only took them fifteen minutes.

But, of course, Mart would have to travel there every day on foot and by bus. The journey would take him a ten minute walk followed by a twenty minute ride on the rickety village coach.

“I figured out a cover story for you.” She said, peering over her sunglasses.

He glanced in the mirror, listening.

It was still only the day after “the offer”. Was it really only the previous evening that she had asked him if his offer still stood ? Was it less than 24 hours since he had been a normal husband, father, man ?

“I told Alain you’re researching a book you’re writing. I said it’s about a guy who washes dishes for a living. You can make up the rest if anybody asks. Alain was cool about it.”

Mart changed gear. The shifting motion made him aware of his new chastity tube.

“Sure.” He replied.

“I said you wanted to be treated just like any other member of staff. But you won’t share in the tronc. You’ll be paid just the basic minimum wage.”

The tronc was the combined pot of service charges and tips that boosted most catering staff’s earnings.

He indicated and turned into the restaurant car park.

They had arrived.

 

From that day onwards, Mart spent from 3 p.m. to 11 p.m. washing dishes; endless steel pans, pots, baking trays, thick with oil, grease, fat and sauces. Joe, the kitchen commis, was uncouth, short-tempered and ruthless in his demand that everything be spick and span, scrubbed and washed by hand until the steel shone. The previous ‘plongeur’ – dishwasher – had resigned after just three days.

Mart was certainly treated no better than any other member of the thirty strong staff of waiters and kitchen hands. In fact, he was treated as the lowest of the low. And most of the staff were kids twenty years younger than he was. Alain, the owner, was rarely around. He had delegated the kitchen to rough Joe, and the front of house to the smooth Maitre d’.

 

Kelly was waiting up for him the first night he got home. It was almost midnight. The last scheduled bus left town at 23.15 and he’d only just caught it. She was sat with a drink and her feet up, watching a chick flick.

“Tidy the kitchen.” was all she said, engrossed in her movie.

She’d made a mess. He washed up, wiped the surfaces, put stuff away.

He was still working half an hour later when she appeared.

“I am going to have the shed converted into a place for you to sleep. That way, if I want to go to bed before you’re back, I can.”

“Can’t I just have a house key ?”

She smiled and fingered the key hanging on a gold chain round her neck. It was the key to his chastity belt.

“No, dear. Only one person has keys round here.”

 

The next day was a Monday and the dreadful, harsh routine started in earnest. Kelly woke him at 07.00 and then she went back to her bed. She’d left him a written list of chores on the kitchen table. At 09.30 he took up her breakfast, ran her a bath, then made up her bed. At 10.30 he jogged and exercised in the field nearest the house while she watched him from a window. Then he showered and shaved. From 11.30 he cooked, did more chores. At 13.00 he served her lunch, then ate a cold salad himself. At 14.15 he left to catch the bus to the restaurant. At around 23.45, he got home. Exhausted.

The back door was locked. There was a note. Only five words.

‘Go to the small shed’.

 

There was no electricity. Just a half candle in a saucer and a box of matches. He lit it in the moonlight. There was a thin mattress on the floor that he didn’t recognise, and a sleeping bag he did; it was Barbie pink and only about four foot in length. On the floor there was a chipped mug that they had used to keep pencils in. His brush and tube of toothpaste stood in the mug. By the side stood a full bottle. It was labelled. ‘Today’s Brew !’.

 

At 7 a.m., he was woken by a shrill ringing. He found an alarm clock that he hadn’t noticed the night before.

And a handwritten list; ‘Garden Chores’.

There were two sheds. The small one and a larger one with gardening equipment in it. He dressed in what he’d been wearing the night before and did over two hours of early morning pruning, cutting, tidying. Then he fired up the mower and did the main lawn. The day was going to be a hot one. The sky was clear blue and there was no breeze.

Sometime later, he saw her watching him from her bedroom window.

She waved. He grimaced, then gave an embarrassed wave back.

Was this really what he wanted ?

Sadly, yes it was.

 

 

Kelly waved down. It was almost ten o’clock.

She watched him frown and give her a little wave back. She stood in admiration as he continued mowing neat lines on the grass. Her husband was such a talented man. Everything he did, he did well. She chuckled. Well, almost everything !

And now his many talents would be put to use for her benefit.

She turned back to the bed and smiled at Alain.

Her lover.

Well, thank heavens she didn’t actually love him. This whole thing wouldn’t have worked if she did. That would have been much too complicated ! But the hunky 28 year old Frenchman was no more interested in loving her than she was him. The French understand affairs better than anybody else. This was hot, sexual lust, that’s all. Passionate, naughty, romantic even, but certainly not true love.

She opened the window. The buzz of the lawnmower and scent of freshly cut grass invaded the room. She let her robe fall open and walked slowly over to the bed.

He smiled sleepily up at her. His handsome Gallic features, long black hair and morning shadow excited her. He was only the second man she had ever slept with. She’d been a virgin when she met Mart and faithful throughout two decades. She had a bit of catching up to do !

He reached out to her and pulled her to him.

She gasped as his hands explored her, his lips on hers, then his mouth kissed her throat, her chest, her stiffening nipples. Her robe fell off and she moaned, taking his hard shaft in her hand, admiring its bulk. There’d been nothing disappointing about Mart’s penis, but she had struck lucky with Alain. To feel full again after motherhood and all this time was an awesome sensation.

Outside, the lawnmower chuntered up and down in a steady rhythm.

Inside, she climbed on top of Alain and hissed excitedly as he started to push up and into her in an equally steady rhythm.

 

Mart put the lawnmower into idle and wiped the sweat off his brow. The sun was beating down and he had huge wet patches under the arms of his shirt. He glanced up at Kelly’s open window. She’d gone. Probably to have her bath.

He’d had no breakfast yet. The bottle labelled ‘Today’s Brew’ stood in the shade. He could have drunk water from the garden hose but he knew she wouldn’t approve. It was another test he had to pass.

He unscrewed the top and lifted the bottle to his lips. Moments before he tasted it, the stench hit him and he gagged. But he fought through the reaction and glugged back several mouthfuls. It was lukewarm and bitter and it left an after burn lingering in the back of his throat. You could only say one thing for it.

It was fluid.

He put the top back on the bottle and belched. A hint of acid and garlic repeated on him, making his eyes water. Wearily, he put the mower back into gear and got back to work.

 

Kelly bit her lip to stifle her cry as she climaxed yet again. Multiple orgasms were a new one on her ! Then she heard the lawnmower start up again and allowed herself to cry loudly; yesssssssssssssss.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want Mart to know eventually. He’d find out soon enough. One of her ambitions was to have affairs openly, not behind his back. But she was enjoying this too much to share it yet. It had only started three weeks before. A lovely illicit affair while she got the confidence to cum clean, so to speak.

Alain groaned beneath her and she smiled, putting her finger to his lips.

She felt him thrust one final time and then he came too. She let herself collapse like a wet rag onto his perspiring chest and started giggling into the pillow.

 

“Look !” she shrieked at him. “That’s not straight.”

It was noon, and she had taken a glass of iced lemonade into the garden.

Mart stared down at the lawn. The stripes he had mown were almost perfect, except for an awkward area by some rose bushes.

“I’m sorry.” He replied, staring at the slight kink in the grass.

She shook her head, running her fingers through her just-washed hair. Beyond the neat lawn and borders, through a statuary arch, there was a secondary garden, run amok with trees, wild flowers, overgrown bushes and an old vegetable patch.

And down a small path there was a dense clump of ‘urtica dioica’.

“Let’s go for a wander.” She said, leading the way, until they reached a rusted seat next to the nettle patch.

They stood by the fronds, standing tall and still in the breezeless air. Urtica dioica is the European stinging nettle. It grows up to 6ft tall and contains three chemicals; a histamine that stings the skin, acetylcholine that causes burning, and serotonin that stimulates the other two chemicals to perform.

By September, the serotonin has started to become less effective with the onset of Fall, but in mid-August it is still at its most vigorous. As a result, the sting, burning and itching are intense !

“Take off those sweaty clothes.”

She sipped her drink as Mart slowly removed his soaking shirt and other damp clothes, until he was standing totally nude before her, except for his chastity tube.

The ice made a sucking sound as she finished her glass of lemonade.

“Do you remember once when Chantal was three of four and she stung herself badly ?”

He looked up into her eyes and nodded silently.

“You said to her then she had to be brave. Remember ?”

She had him now. Nervous as hell.

“I do.”

“I’d expect a forty two year old man to be brave too, right ?”

He nodded again.

“So pluck one of those nettles out with your bare hands.”

She watched him blink, then step slowly towards the threatening fronds. He stretched out an arm and twisted a stem between his thumb and index finger. It stood strong, unbroken, and she saw him wince, biting his lip.

“Use your whole hand. Come on … be brave.”

He curled his fingers round the shoot and broke it in half. He was now holding a 3ft long, stinging cane in his palm.

“Now, rub that all over your front.” She said. “Legs, chest and, don’t forget er … you know where !”

Their eyes met in unspoken combat. There was only one winner.

She watched him apply the stick of green leaves with their serrated edges and silver hairs all over his front. In seconds, his skin was bright red with tracks of welted, goose-bumped stings. His green eyes became moist.

“Aw, diddums.” She teased. “Make sure you cover your scrotum.”

“Atch … ow …” he moaned, shaking his hand in pain. He was starting to move from one foot to the other as the chemicals filled his bloodstream.

“Now wipe your bottom with it.”

She wondered whether he’d obey. At any moment she feared he might throw it to the ground in rebellion. It was a risk she had to take. To find out just how far this whole thing could go.

Remarkably, green eyes narrowed in determination, he bent over and rubbed the remaining uncrumpled leaves all over his anus and buttocks.

“Good boy.” She said, like he was a begging dog. “Now stand to attention for half an hour while the sensation dies down. That was an easy test. The next time we come out here will be much harder !”

She settled down on the rusted seat and watched him, arms by his side, legs straight, as he somehow managed to resist scratching or soothing his blazing skin.

It seemed as if she could go a lot further yet !

She raised her face to the sun and shut her eyes, enjoying its heat. Fumbling with her fingers, she unbuttoned her top, so that the rays could warm her skin.

And so that her husband could see what he couldn’t touch.

 

Early that evening, Mart was in the back of the restaurant kitchen, scrubbing away at the pile of saucepans and utensils when Alain appeared. The owner was a lazy sod. He seemed to be one of those new type of ‘celebrity cooks’ who think that putting their name to a place and coming up with a menu constitutes being a chef.

He spoke with Joe and several other staff then looked over at Mart.

“Ola”

Mart nodded in response, wiping his hands.

“Non … don’t stop.” Alain said. “Keep drying.” His English was fluent but he spoke with one of those annoying, cliché French accents.

Mart picked up a scouring pad and a new pan with a stubborn treacly sauce stuck to the bottom.

Alain smiled and slapped him on the back.

“Nice work, mon ami. I hope you are enjoying your job here.”

Mart watched him walk away with a supercilious sneer on his face.

Fucking frog.

 

Later that evening, Kelly drained her glass and pouted.

“Let’s go to bed.”

It was only ten thirty but she felt horny again. She had gone from feeling hot about twice a month, to being ready for sex twice a day. In fact, more than ready ! Embarrassingly, she’d even started masturbating herself again, something she’d almost never done since her teens. This past week not even frequent sex with Alain had been enough.

He gave her a Gallic shrug and wicked smile. Pourquoi pas, eh ?

They got up from the table. The kitchen was a complete tip from where he had cooked her dinner. She blew out the candles. It wouldn’t take Sherlock Holmes to detect that it had been a romantic dinner for two.

“I’ll just go and check the door.” He said.

“No.” she shook her head. “Leave it unlocked.”

It was time to move things on. First, she picked up the white wine bottle that Alain had been using all evening to empty his bladder. It was full and labelled ‘Today’s Brew’ in her writing. Then she took a sheet of paper from the sideboard. It was a message she had prepared earlier.

“Pin this to the door for me would you.”

 

The bus was running late and it was after midnight when Mart arrived home, fearing another night in the shed. The air was clammy and warm and he still had several itchy mosquito bites from the night she’d left the window open, although that day’s nettle rash had thankfully died down.

He was relieved when he had read the piece of paper pinned to the door.

 

I hope you had a fun evening, darling.

I’ve had an exhausting day and

I’m now a little worse for wear so I’ve turned in.

Tidy up the kitchen and make sure you lock the back door.

You can sleep in the guest room tonight as a treat

and lie in until I wake you in the morning.

Sleep tight, K

 

He stared at the mess in the kitchen. He’d just spent eight hours washing frigging pots and pans and she’d left him a bunch more ! The central table had been laid for two. There were the remains of candles, cheese plates and dirty glasses, plus a couple of empty bottles of wine. On the counter, more used plates were stacked by the sink for washing.

He frowned. It must have been some ‘dinner a deux’.

He wondered which of her friends she’d entertained and how she’d explained his own absence. Most of her close girlfriends still lived in London and her local mates were pretty much all married. In the past she and Mart had always socialised as a couple in the evenings.

He turned the hot tap on and started clearing away. It would take him a half hour at least to make a proper job of the disarray. But there was something much worse than yet more domestic drudgery.

His dick and balls ached. He was starting to feel very frustrated indeed.

 

At 12.50, he trudged upstairs. He paused for a split second outside her bedroom door. Silence.

He blew a silent kiss at the wall and crept along to the guest room. She had thoughtfully put his toothbrush and paste in the same chipped mug by the basin. He smiled. Only somebody who cared, deep down, would have remembered to fetch them from the shed. The inevitable bottle of today’s brew stood by them.

He squeezed toothpaste onto his brush and turned the cold tap.

Nothing.

The hot tap.

Nothing.

He tried both the bath taps.

Nothing. Not a drop.

She must have had a plumber disconnect this bathroom from the tank.

He shook his head in reluctant admiration. Nasty.

With a shiver of distaste, he poured some of her pee into the mug, and used it to swill out the toothpaste from his mouth.

 

He was still asleep at half past eight when Kelly silently slipped into the guest room. She watched his face, and his chest rising and falling. A stab of tenderness pricked her conscience. She hoped he was getting as much out of all this as she was !

She sat on the bed and he stirred, opening his green eyes.

“Shhh.” She said. “Put these in. I want to concentrate your senses.”

They were earplugs. Wedges of rubbery foam that cut out all sound. He made a face as he corked first one, then the other, into his ears.

“Now let’s put this on.”

It was a PVC hood. She’d bought it online with the chastity devices.

He obediently held his head still while she pulled the hood over him. It covered everything down to his neckline except for his nostrils and mouth. She zipped it shut at the back and clipped it tight.

She smiled at his appearance.

“Can you hear me ?” she asked in her normal tone of voice.

He sat up, motionless, deaf.

She pushed him back down onto the sheet and stretched out his limbs gently, using the wrist and ankle cuffs to spread eagle him on the bed.

Then she walked out of the room.

 

She brewed a pot of strong coffee and took a tray of grapefruit juice and pastries up to Alain. After they had eaten, he slid his hand over her plump breast and licked her nipple until it hardened.

She opened her thighs to receive him. She was loose and soiled from the previous night and he penetrated her easily, despite his girth. She bit his shoulder and pushed her hips up to meet him.

It felt sooo goood. She was becoming a nymphomaniac !

She looked up at him and smiled.

It was true. At this moment, she only really had eyes for the man in her bed. But just as she had hoped, a bit in the back of her brain was still thinking of the man in the guest room bed. Weird as it sounds, she was fucking one, but making love to the other ! That was the only way this whole fucking thing could work.

And, for once, she didn’t climax. Alain did his usual skilful stuff but the triggers didn’t fire and she was happy when he quickly lost it and filled her with urgent, spurting thrusts.

Talk about creaming the fish pie !

 

Once Alain had dressed and left the house, she sat on the toilet and peered between her legs as the thickest part of his load drooled from her labia into the pan. Oh well, there would be other times for Mart to savour a full helping. This time she would nevertheless be soaking and spicy.

The coffee had done its stuff and she felt her guts churn. She picked up an interiors magazine and flicked through it while she emptied her bowels. Then she wiped her bottom with a single piece of tissue. She stared at it and then threw it in the pan. With a shrug, she used one more sheet of tissue. She looked at it and smiled. That was enough.

Mart’s senses would be overwhelmed, scrambled and confused.

Just how she wanted him.

 

He lay in the dark. He was stretched out fully but not uncomfortably. It must have been an hour since she left him like this. He couldn’t see or hear. There was nothing to smell or say or feel. All his energies were focussed on his sixth sense.

And suddenly he sensed somebody in the room with him.

Kelly.

His body dipped with the mattress as she clambered onto the bed. He sensed her fingers straightening the sheet on which he lay and then another shift in the mattress as she manoeuvred herself into position. Her skin brushed his ears and he realised she was sat astride his head, facing his feet.

A solitary wet finger brushed up the inside of his right thigh to the chastity cock-cage he was wearing. Her hands teased his tight scrotum.

He was suddenly aware how strong his sense of touch and smell were, now he was locked in the hood. He realised how sharply Kelly stank. He could distinguish a pungent blend. Maybe she had passed gas and he hadn’t heard her ? She exuded a ripe scent of sexuality too. He realised how excited this whole scene must have got her.

Her soft hairs and hot flesh tickled his eyelashes and nose and he knew she was sitting down on his face. But instead of supporting her weight, he realised she had sunk right down, utterly enveloping his nostrils and mouth. He couldn’t breathe. He panicked.

Mmpphhff … he tried to speak.

Her nails dug into his thighs and raked his skin.

Somehow he guessed what she wanted and stuck his tongue out as far as he could. It tasted coppery and he drove it up into her bottom. Almost immediately, he felt her taking some of her weight and he was able to suck in a lungful of air.

Her skin felt incredibly slippery against his chin. She was sodden. He gasped as what felt like a wet fish slapped him in the mouth.

For the first time he realised something.

 

Kelly sat like a bucking bronco and drove herself to a manic climax. She was owed one after sex with Alain hadn’t got her off. She was using her left arm to brace herself and her right hand to strum her clit, while sliding her sopping gusset all along Mart’s face. She kept peering down and snatching glances at the glistening slime oozing out of her.

She also enjoyed looking at his enclosed dick. Looking but ignoring.

How many of their early years she’d spent putting the priority on him, on his satisfaction. Worrying that if she didn’t compare with his couple of previous girlfriends he might dump her. Sucking him until her jaw ached. Putting out night after night when she wasn’t in the mood. Even faking orgasms to get his humping weight off her.

Well now it was her turn to get satisfaction, his turn to worry about her boyfriends. His turn to get jaw ache. Above all, his turn to experience the frustration and long waits between sexual fulfilment.

Oh, she loved him alright. Loads. But the sex ? She could finally grade him now. Er … give the lad a C minus, please.

 

She left him tied there, while she took a long and luxurious shower.

It was time. The cuckolding bit was not the sole purpose of all this. Heck, it wasn’t even the main purpose. But it was an essential stage to be got through. Soon she’d be able to get to the point.

She took out a sheet of their expensive cream stationery and her fountain pen. She wrote him a very short note and put it in a matching envelope, with an instruction for him not to open it until he was on the bus and almost at work.

It would be best to give him eight hours of hard labour at the restaurant ‘sink’ in order for the reality to ‘sink’ in !

She smiled to herself. The note contained just five more words.

‘Yes, dear. It has happened !”

 

 

End of Part Two

To be continued in Part Three (“September”)