Afghan Bound (13 page)

At one in the morning David and Imogen were heading to her house in the back of a black cab. They had dined at Planet, gone on to Dexters, and were now arm in arm with little pretext of propriety between them.

Once inside her large town house there was little in the way of sexual foreplay either. Imogen had simply undressed on the fireside rug, and David had performed the necessary act. It was not entirely perfunctory; Imogen had a remarkable body for her age, and looked wonderful in matching bra, briefs and stockings – all in midnight blue. Her considerable enthusiasm had quite excited David, and now as he lay next to her in bed he allowed his hand to drift between her thighs as she smoked another cigarette.

Suddenly dismissive of her lover's actions Imogen sat up against the headboard and announced it was time for him to leave.

‘That was fun,' she said dryly. ‘I expect you'll want to be off now.'

‘Not really,' David answered. ‘I thought you might want to fool around a bit more.'

‘Why should I? Aren't you satisfied?'

‘Well yes, of course. I just thought we could, you know, do it again.'

‘Well we can't.'

She got up, threw on a pink dressing-gown, and went through to the bathroom.

David was slightly bemused. ‘What's up? Haven't you had a good evening?' he called.

‘It's been lovely,' her voice floated back. She paused. ‘But my husband will be home soon.'

‘Your bloody husband! Why didn't you say you were married?'

‘Why didn't you ask?'

‘Because…' he was already in his trousers. ‘Because, you made all the running. You came and sat by me. Remember?'

From the bathroom David heard the sound of the shower running. ‘So what?' shouted Imogen. ‘You wined and dined me and I paid you back. We're even.'

‘Even?' exclaimed David. ‘Who's paying what? For who? For why?'

Steam billowed from the bathroom and crept across the landing. ‘Don't be silly,' Imogen called above the hissing of the cascading water. ‘You were paying. For me. And it's rather obvious for why. And now you've had the for why.'

David felt his anger rising. ‘And do you do this sort of thing often?'

‘What sort of thing? Come on David, it's the way of the world. Men pay for the goods. And in case you don't understand, that means us, women, we're the goods.'

He was at the door now, watching her through the frosted shower cubicle as she lathered her body. ‘And your husband, does he pay for the goods?'

He saw Imogen's pink outline as she threw back her head and shrieked a loud laugh. ‘Every day of his life. But I can assure you, the price I pay is greater than all the clothes or cars he's ever bought for me. It's not easy sleeping with someone you can't bare to touch.'

‘Is he a bad man?'

Imogen's arm appeared and motioned condescendingly for David to pass the shampoo. ‘Bad? No. Boring? Yes.'

David was definitely growing to dislike this lady. ‘Then why are you with him?'

‘He's a good worker. That's where he is now, at some meeting or other. I look good on his arm, and he pays for it with an account at all the best stores.'

British women. Listening to Imogen was confirmation enough that British women were the total opposite to those he had met in the East. Imogen was conniving and self-serving. Her husband was being made to look a fool. As David watched the naked woman he realised it was time to make a stand on behalf of all the men who had married the Imogen's of this world.

‘Get out of the shower.'

‘Sorry? I've got shampoo in my ears.'

‘I said get out of the shower.'

Imogen rinsed her hair and then poked her head around the glass door. ‘I told you, Malcolm will be home soon. There's no time to mess around.'

‘Get out!'

His tone clearly surprised her – and so did his actions.

‘What are doing?'

He was slipping his belt through his trouser loops. ‘Get dried,' he ordered. ‘And get into the bedroom.'

She recognised his intent immediately, and stepped out of the shower and onto the bath rug. ‘Malcolm will be back soon,' she said again, though less frivolously than before.

David let one end of the belt drop to the floor. ‘Well, you'd better get a move on then.'

She patted herself dry, and then sidled cockily past him to the door. In the bedroom she stood near the rumpled bed and displayed her body. She wasn't shy, and she wasn't stupid. She was trying to defuse his mood by belittling him; by making him feel inadequate.

‘Sit at the dressing-table.'

She did as he said. ‘What now?'

David opened the drawers of the dressing table until he found her make-up. ‘Do your face.'

She fumbled through the cosmetics, but made little attempt to apply anything to her face. David suddenly cut the belt across her thighs, leaving a raised welt on her skin.

‘Christ!' she cried. ‘Christ almighty! There's no need for that! I'm doing it, I'm doing it!'

‘Then do it faster.'

David could see from her expression that the unexpected pain was sapping her confidence; she was much less sure of herself. She stared at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. He had turned the tables on her and she knew it. He knew Imogen – well, he knew her type; she wasn't used to being treated like this. She was normally the one who used others, and this situation she'd find difficult to cope with. Another swipe landed and she yelped again.

‘Faster.'

David guessed Malcolm wouldn't really be home until the morning; he had a gut feeling. Imogen was obviously an intelligent woman, and she'd quickly realise it was in her interest to give him what he wanted.

‘How's that?'

He looked at the pale pink lipstick she'd applied. ‘Not good enough, get it off.' He rummaged through the drawer and found what he wanted; a stick of deep red lip gloss. ‘Put this on,' he told her. ‘Where do you keep your underwear?'

While she put the last touches to her makeup David searched slowly and thoroughly through her large collection of bras, knickers, and assorted items of lingerie.

‘You've some nice underwear.'

‘Thank you,' she said sarcastically. ‘I try to look my best.'

David ignored her arrogant tone. He picked out a black choker, studied it in the light of the bedside lamp, and then threw it on the dressing table for her to wear. ‘Who for?' he asked. ‘Who do you like to look your best for?'

‘You know…' she gave a nervous shrug and tried to smile, ‘…whoever.'

‘Not just for Malcolm then.'

‘No… not just for Malcolm.'

‘Put these on.' He tossed a pair of black French knickers with a matching bra and suspenders. A pair of black patent high-heeled stilettos lay underneath the dressing table. ‘And those.'

She obeyed his instructions, and stood before him in black silk underwear, black silk stockings, black stilettos, and a tight black choker around her slender throat. Her blonde bob and full scarlet lips contrasted perfectly to her sexy attire. David had to admit she really did look quite stunning, although he wouldn't massage her already inflated ego by telling her so.

‘Downstairs.'

Without her noticing he grabbed a handful of stockings from the drawer, stuffed them in his pocket, and then followed her down to the lounge. He directed her to a Davenport desk that stood against a wall. She sat down and he handed her a pen and paper. She looked up enquiringly.

‘Write this,' David told her. ‘Dear Malcolm. I am a slut. I have slept with dozens of men behind your back, and I have treated you with utter contempt.' He paused to allow her time to take his dictation accurately.

He lifted the belt as a tangible reminder of his intent. ‘How long have you been deceiving your husband, Imogen?'

She looked down and whispered, ‘I screwed his brother at our wedding reception. I've always been the same.'

‘Write it down.'

‘What, that? No – it'll kill him!'

‘No it won't.' He watched her finish writing, and then added: ‘Include this: I realise now that I've done wrong – that I have betrayed you. If it is not too late I want to make it up to you. Do what you will with me. Punish me, beat me, treat me the way I've treated you – God knows, I deserve it. No matter what you do I will remain faithfully yours. Now and always.'

David told her to put the letter in an envelope and then took it from her. ‘In the hall.'

She froze. ‘What are you going to do?'

‘I'm going to help you. I'm going to show you where you've gone wrong, and how you can now put things right.' He pulled the belt tighter around his fist. ‘In the hall.'

Imogen stumbled past him, her heels catching in the carpet.

‘Stop there. Pull the phone seat out.'

She did as he said, positioning the telephone seat across the hall about ten feet away from the front door.

‘Kneel down in front of it.'

Her knees sank into the plush carpet. David stood behind her and admired her trim waist and the rounded shape of her buttocks beneath the black French knickers. He then moved close and stood astride her silk-clad calves. He dropped the belt and leaned over her. Her heavy breathing made her breasts swell nicely. The black bra squeezed her cleavage very invitingly. He retrieved one of the stockings from his pocket, stuffed it between her lips, and knotted it tightly at the back of her head. He sensed she was enjoying this.

‘Lean forward,' he whispered. ‘Bend over the stool. Put your hands behind your back and spread your legs apart.'

A second stocking bound her wrists together, and two others cut into her thighs just above her knees and secured them to the legs of the seat. When he was finished Imogen was bound and gagged over the telephone seat, her shimmering bottom facing the front door. She looked a picture.

‘Now,' David said. ‘I'm going to give you what your husband should have given you a long time ago.' He tugged her knickers down to her knees, then laid the belt across her bottom a good dozen times. He gauged her discomfort from her groans and from the amount of tugging she did against her bonds. When he was satisfied that he'd paid her back for all the Malcolms who had ever been taken advantage of, he put his belt back on and made for the door. As he reached for the lock he suddenly stopped and turned.

‘Almost forgot,' he panted, a little out of breath from his exertions. ‘A little note for your husband.' With that he pulled from his pocket the letter she'd written detailing her infidelities. ‘I think Malcolm might be interested in this.' He placed the envelope between her knees. ‘Don't you?'

Imogen was really no different from any of the other girls he took home. They were only interested in his money. Oh, they would spread their legs all right, but that was like a payment for what they could sponge out of him. There was no unrequited gift of sex for the simple pleasure and enjoyment of the act. Not like Salim, or pretty Yasmin straining so hard to be good on her first white cock. David yearned for the days when a woman knew how to please a man. Imran was absolutely right; Western women were selfish. They had lost their way.

The club scene began to bore David and he moved into a rut, staying around the flat and watching TV all day. The only exercise he took was channel hopping with the remote control. It went on for a month before he realised he needed to occupy himself.

There was no other choice than to return to medicine, and when the opportunity to buy himself into a practice in Brighton turned up he leapt at the chance. Life once more became enjoyable. He took up squash and cycling. Fitter than ever he threw himself into his work and was soon part of a thriving practice.

Everything would have continued along this vein had Richard, one of his new partners, not invited him to dinner one evening. It was an invitation like any other, although the meal was to be in a private house and not at a restaurant. Outside caterers would provide the food. All that David need do was bring a companion. He chose not to, despite the fact that both his partners would be with their wives.

Unlike David, who still rented a flat, Richard owned a large Edwardian house, kept in period decor. His other partner and wife were already there when he arrived, enjoying aperitifs and conversation in the drawing room.

‘Glad you could come,' Richard beamed and shook his hand. ‘What will you have?'

David asked for a vodka with lime and joined the group. While Richard poured his drink Craig introduced the women, it being the first time David had met them. The first was Stephanie, his wife, and the other was named Kimberly.

‘Are you sisters?' asked David, aware of how alike they were.

‘We are,' Stephanie smiled warmly. ‘The similarity is very strong, don't you think?'

‘Remarkable. Are you twins then?'

Kimberly answered this time. ‘Just sisters,' she said. ‘Stephanie's the baby.'

It wasn't only their features that made them appear twin-like; both wore almost identical clothes. In his experience David found that women were usually horrified to find someone wearing anything remotely like their own clothes, and yet these two were sitting next to each other apparently unaware of it. And what a strange choice of clothes, too. They were very attractive females, both of them, with long waist length hair that had been pulled into tight ponytails. David usually expected to see such girls in up to the minute fashion, but these wore heavy white blouses with a high stiff neck and blue cotton skirts that stopped just above the knee; all pristine and severe. The look appealed to him. It conjured up thoughts of Miss Haines. Their waists were unbelievably narrow, waif-like even. It accentuated their hips and full breasts, creating the most sensual image. Sitting upright and proper as they were, the pair were arousing David in a curious yet familiar way – a way he hadn't felt for…

‘Here you go,' said Richard, holding out his vodka. ‘Dinner won't be long.'

David accepted the glass with thanks, and then asked how they had come to marry sisters when he knew both men were from different parts of the country.

‘We met the girls after Richard and I set up the practice,' answered Craig. ‘We were new in town, so we joined a few clubs and societies. Dinner clubs, you know, that sort of thing.'

The caterer entered to say the table was ready, and the five retired to the dining room. As David was on his own, Richard insisted he sit at the head of the table flanked by the girls.

The meal went well; the food was good, the conversation pleasant, and the surroundings delightful. Ornate plasterwork coving and decorative cornice complemented by oil paintings lent a gentle ambience to the room that was further enhanced by candlelight from several flambeaus.

During the meal David noticed a crease on Stephanie's blouse where her nipple would be. Furtively glancing at Kimberly he noticed the same. When the flickering light from the candle threw the shadow to a certain angle the outline of a ring could be seen beneath their blouses. Both girls were pierced through their nipples!

Well, well, David smiled to himself. He never thought his straight-laced partners had it in them. Now he knew about the nipple rings he found it hard not to stare. He was trying his best to study the crystal decanter when Stephanie suddenly rolled off the chair and crashed to the floor.

‘Oh my God!' shouted Craig. ‘What's the matter?'

In an instant David was up and carrying Stephanie back into the drawing room where he laid her on a large sofa. The others were right behind, Richard carrying a glass of water.

‘She's just fainted,' assured David. ‘It must have been the rich wine and the warmth. I'd better loosen some clothing.'

‘I'll do it!' Craig stammered quickly.

‘I am a bloody doctor too remember,' David countered, already unbuttoning the collar of her crisp blouse. ‘I don't think this skirt helps either – it's much too tight.'

‘No—!' It was too late for Craig to stop his partner from lowering his wife's zip and tugging her skirt down, exposing her lovely stockinged legs and tiny black panties, beneath which the clear shape of a labial ring could be seen.

The cool air on Stephanie's legs seemed to help. She mumbled something, although she remained semi-conscious. David undressed her further, laying her blouse open to uncover a black basque that was drawn extremely tight. He turned to her husband.

‘No wonder she fainted. This is far too restrictive – help me undo it.'

‘I'll do it,' offered Kimberly. ‘I know what men are like with fasteners. You're all right with a Rubik's Cube, but give you a bra to undo and you're lost.'

Richard supplied them all with a drink to ease the tension. It had been quite exciting there for a moment or two and they needed to relax. Kimberly meanwhile removed her sister's basque, revealing her soft breasts and leaving her lying in only her panties and stockings.

‘Oh well, may as well get these off too.' She worked her sisters black panties down over her bottom and thighs to reveal a smoothly shaved mound. David noted that she seemed to enjoy exhibiting her sister. Perhaps he had stumbled across a little group of swingers.

Free from all but her stockings, and refreshed from the cool air wafted by Kimberly's napkin, Stephanie soon came round a little. She didn't immediately realise she was lying naked in front of everyone. Somewhat appealingly her first words were an apology for spoiling the dinner.

‘Just you relax and rest,' soothed her husband. ‘You didn't spoil anything.'

As her senses returned she focused upon David, and she remembered there was a newcomer in their midst. Her nakedness suddenly dawned on her and she squealed and tried to cover herself with her arms.

‘Don't worry,' Craig soothed. ‘David's seen you now.' He turned to offer an explanation to the new partner. ‘I don't suppose you've ever seen anything like this before?' he asked.

David smiled and took a sip of his chilled vodka. ‘You'd be surprised at what I've seen.' he said. ‘I knew she would be shaved and probably pierced down below when I recognised the nipple rings pushing against her blouse. Kimberly's the same, isn't she? Are they submissive too?'

The two husbands looked at each other, but it was Richard who answered. ‘Totally. We were hoping to introduce you to the scene, although not quite this way, obviously. It seems events have overtaken our intentions.'

David looked at Kimberly standing by the fireplace. ‘Is she equally as attractive without any clothes on?' he asked, anxious to see the sisters together. Richard immediately instructed his wife to remove her skirt and come closer for inspection. Without a sign of hesitation she removed her blouse, and then unzipped her skirt and allowed it to glide seductively to the floor. Her underwear consisted of a tightly drawn basque like that of her sister's, a tiny G-string, and sheer black nylon stockings that bristled as she walked across to David.

‘May I?' he asked, pointing to her minuscule panties.

Richard nodded.

David knelt in front of her, his face inches from her warm sex, and eased down the flimsy black garment to reveal a second smooth mound. Her lips were fatter than those of her sister's, and so the gold labial rings were thicker and heavier. He pulled them playfully, making her groan as tiny waves of pleasure immediately shot around her body.

‘Does she enjoy fellatio?' he asked, wondering what her mouth would feel like on his growing erection.

‘She enjoys anything and everything. She will accommodate whatever I require.'

David turned her round and couldn't help but notice the stripes of a freshly administered cane on her lovely buttocks. Running his fingers along the slightly raised flesh he asked if Richard meted out the punishment personally.

‘I do,' he replied. ‘Just to remind her who's boss. She hardly ever needs it since she came back from the training school. Craig never straps Stephanie – says she's so obedient she doesn't need it any more.'

It was evident that Richard was extremely proud of Kimberly, as Craig was of Stephanie, and as the drinks continued to flow they started telling David in increasing detail how they often stripped them both for the pleasure of their friends at the club…

The girls were expected to stand in front of the audience while their husbands ceremonially unbuttoned their white blouses and took them off, as though unveiling two beautiful pieces of priceless art. They would then unzip and lower their skirts in order to reveal their underwear, which was always, as ordered, tight-waisted basques, black silk knickers, stockings and suspenders. After a period of time, during which the audience savoured their beauty, the men would relieve them of their restricting basques and panties, leaving both standing with their shaved mounds and full breasts on show. Their husbands would then stand behind them and spread their legs, opening their sex-lips to display the labial piercings while they were told to hold their breasts out for admiration. Often Richard and Craig would finger their wives' denuded lips until they each reached a climax.

They enjoyed bending them to show off their bottoms, opening them for the audience to gaze upon their wetness. The final display would see the sisters placed side by side on two leather armchairs. They were expected to keep their backs straight and push their ample breasts out. Their legs were draped over the arms of the chair, which resulted in their wet labia being displayed to their best advantage. Each honoured guest was then invited to caress and explore the girls' bodies. Two men at a time sucked and pulled at their nipples and fondled their breasts. The sisters' vaginas would be examined; many men opening their outer lips, spreading them wide to smell the sweet aroma that floated from the inner passage. Often it would be inquisitive tongues that did the exploring, darting in and out and around the sensitive lips, lapping the cream the women were producing with each new tongue and each fresh set of digits.

This was as far as audience participation was permitted, as the sisters' delicious delights were strictly reserved for Richard and Craig. The men were allowed to satisfy their own lust, however, and would kneel in front of the girls, their erections only tantalising inches from the soft female flesh. They would bring themselves off with bulging eyes glued to the two matching beauties. By the time they all left the sisters' thighs and bellies would be glistening from the male emissions, and Richard and Craig would drive them home with two erections ready to burst…

‘It really is the only way for a man and woman to live,' Richard concluded.

For a while the right of a man to train his wife as Richard and Craig had done dominated the conversation.

‘Neither of us were forced into it.' offered Stephanie, now fully recovered and reclining next to her sister on the sofa. ‘It was our decision; we both chose to do it. We knew it was the way our husbands wanted to live. They both love us, care for us, and look after us. They work hard to give us all we have, and in return we give them what we can, and if that means giving them complete control of our bodies to do with as they desire, then so be it.'

Kimberly supported her sister's opinion. ‘When Steph suggested we give ourselves totally to our husbands I was all for it. But I wanted to do it right, and that means proper training. We told the boys of our decision and they were delighted, although they did say to wait a while to be really sure it was what we both wanted. We discussed it further, and we both decided we could live no other way, and so arrangements were made for us to go to the training school.'

‘Training school?' asked David. ‘What training school?'

‘It's not quite a school as you'd imagine,' cut in Craig with a smile. ‘Not a school at all, really. Someone at the club whose wife went there for a while put us onto it. It's up in Argyll in a small castle. We took the girls up for a look one day and ended up leaving them there for three weeks. When we went back to collect them they were fully trained and prepared to do our bidding.'