EXTRACT 1

 

Contents

 

Introduction

1. The First Week

2. Happy New Year

3. No Compromises

4. Great Expectations

5. Tis a pity she’s a Whore

6. Ladies must merely glow

7. Rusty Trombone

8. A Cunt’s just a Cunt

9. Freedom Day

10. Postscript

11. An Essay: M for Masochism

 

Free Story: Second Chance

 

INTRODUCTION

 

This is the sequel to ‘What Lies Behind’, the true account of my ménage a trois with my wife and our female slave ‘M’, obviously written with the permission of all the main characters involved. Names have been changed and dialogue recreated but this book continues the tale, just as it actually happened.

‘What Lies Behind’ ended at the start of November 2020, as Lockdown 2.0 begins in the UK. My wife Sarah and I agree to release M from her slave contract and she moves into the life and bubble of a guy called Brad.

We genuinely never expect to see or hear from her again.

After M’s departure, I sink myself into my fiction, finally publishing stories such as ‘Arabian Afterlife’, ‘After the Lockdown’, ‘Bedtime Stories’ and the first chapters of ‘Penal Colony Nine’. Perhaps a little of my lingering resentment about losing M seeps into my tone and writing of Penal Colony Nine?

Meanwhile, Sarah and I return to living like a normal middle-aged couple again; doing our weekly shop at supermarkets, face-timing our adult kids, watching box sets, buying presents online. Even doing the fucking housework ourselves! Our family reunites for 48 hrs on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day itself.

Then – when our kids have departed and we’re suddenly alone again, just as the afternoon’s turning dark on 26^th December, Boxing Day - our doorbell rings ...

 

 

EXTRACT 2

 

There’s little to beat working on the draft of a story while using inspiration from real life. M spent her first two decades as an adult woman barely knowing what her mouth is for. Neither her first love, nor her husband, nor her one post-marriage affair required more than the basics when it came to oral sex.

Whereas the past year saw her become a highly accomplished fellatrix. For a start, she has a nice wide mouth with a pouty lower lip and very white, rather small, teeth. No dentist has ever had to give her a filling in her life. I love the way her teeth glisten when she laughs (more often than a reader might think!). Her normal smile is a thing of beauty.

I love varying the money shot; mostly I cum on her tongue and make her gargle but occasionally I’ll just shoot down her throat. Then, infrequently, on the rare occasions I think my balls have built up a big load, I decide to coat her face instead. I just love to see my signature in her eyelashes and nostrils and all over her chin. All that M knows is my orgasm must never be wasted.

I spent several months training her before I let her ‘represent us’ last summer. In my view, the mouth is by far the easiest orifice to share with other guys. There’s something more intimate about a vagina and anus. For a start they’re usually covered up by clothes. They are the orifices that serve private purposes; breeding, childbirth, urinating and defecating.

But mouths are different; most Westerners expose our mouths (during non-COVID times); we’ll kiss people we barely know, we share food and drinks, we laugh up close next to complete strangers. Our mouths are our public mouthpieces. 

So I found watching M suck random cocks would never make me feel possessive. Cum in her mouth was neither here nor there. She’d gulp it down and, once her teeth were brushed or mouth rinsed, she was good as new. That’s why Chapter Nine of last year’s diary is called “A Cock’s just a cock.”

Although I prefer her to make eye contact, we hooded M at first because we didn’t want her to see the guys. We wanted them to be ‘just cocks’ to her; fresh or sweaty, cut or uncut, long or short, thick or thin, white or black or brown, smooth or veined. M’s duty was to treat every single one with the same degree of reverence.

She didn’t need to think about the man the cock was attached to; he could be old or young, fat or skinny, bald or hirsute, ugly or handsome, nice or unpleasant. Our job was to choose partners for her (and, obviously, to keep her safe as well).

But my training isn’t just about what to do with her mouth, lips, tongue and, if necessary, fingers. It’s about demeanour and details. When possible, I insist on eye contact, respect and focus. Her deportment must underline that it’s a privilege for M. Not vice versa. Of course ‘normal’ women are allowed to think that they’re doing their man a favour by blowing him. Most women think that. And that’s fine for ‘most women’. But the attitude I want M to exude is that we are doing her the favour allowing her to blow us.

There’s a scene from Book Seven of Penal Colony Nine that I vividly remember writing while M was kneeling under my desk, worshipping my cock. Here are some extracts to try to illustrate my point:

“While Bull plodded through the final draft, Jim’s missus was under his desk making the boring task a little more pleasant. She had a good wide mouth … He shifted in his chair again and thrust forwards, circling a word with his pen.

She gagged on his cockhead. Her throat retched as he thrust into it but she managed to keep her head bobbing without interrupting the pleasurable rhythm.

Bull loved how the vast majority of females quickly became great cocksuckers under his tutelage. He grinned down at her. Her eyes were looking up at him as she suckled his dark, veined truncheon. That was one of his many rules. He demanded respect. Great cocksuckers maintain eye contact throughout. She might not enjoy what she was doing but that was her problem, not his.

He saw himself as a tutor. Once he’d finished with her, she’d have years of sucking cocks and would please numerous men. He liked to imagine them telling her that she must have been taught well.

Bull winked. He was ready to cum now.” (end of extract)

When I was younger, I was always slightly impatient and quicker to orgasm. I was never a premature ejaculator but, after say 10-15 minutes, I’d usually want to cum, especially if it was oral sex. However, nowadays I can last 90 minutes, even a couple of hours. I’m in no rush at all. The journey’s as enjoyable as the destination.

Fortunately M’s robust and flexible, with good knees. I’ve trained her to ignore any discomfort and jaw ache. She doesn’t suck me too hard until I’m good and ready. She simply worships my shaft with gentle licks and occasional slurps for over an hour. If I slide forward on my chair she understands it’s a sign to take a break and lick my hairy balls and anal rim instead.

Sometimes I don’t even cum in her mouth. I end the session by pushing back my chair and snapping my fingers. Then I’ll leave my office to look for my wife. If Sarah’s in the mood, she and I will have sex and summon M to watch and assist.

The humiliation hammers home the point to both women. Sarah loves us doing it occasionally. The fact that I’m still choosing ‘boring old’ missionary sex with her despite (i) our 30-plus years of marriage (ii) her being in her mid-50s and (iii) M’s availability alongside us both. It emphasizes that Sarah will always be my wife and our enduring love for each other.

In comparison with Sarah, M is a ‘shiny new toy’; she’s much younger, and she’s just performed an hour or more of jaw-breaking preparatory work. All she’s hoping for is acknowledgment via a mouthful of cum. But she gets to watch me choose to finish off inside my wife instead. 

 

 

END OF EXCERPTS