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Not many minutes ticked by before you moved back to your desk. "Well,... ?" You were looking directly at me. What was expected of me? Well, what... ? I looked from one masculine face to the other and back again. I felt awkward, confused, lost. What? What was he expecting of me? Oh. I took a step forward and kneeled before you. I have to confess I did wonder as to my husband's reaction, but at that moment, I wasn't going to ask; nor to even look his way. Obediently, I completed my kneeling pose and looked up at you, feigning patience as I waited to hear your next command."Your wife makes for a very good slut, Dave." I couldn't believe what you said, Master. My ears were burning in embarrassment. "You wouldn't believe what she was willing to do for me on our first meeting." You looked down at me with lust in your eyes. I couldn't believe it! You were going to tell about how the truck driver fucked me with that damn baseball bat, weren't you? I'd spent all these weeks trying to forget. It was the sort of place that the tourism board would describe as a ‘quintessential, English market town’. She could see suited men scuttling off to work, Range Rovers and Nissans sweeping around the central square taking their owners to important business meetings. Shop owners - the market square was dominated by small tea shops and the kind of quaint trinket shops that looked pretty but didn’t sell anything that anything would want to buy - arrived wearily, unlocking their doors and disappearing from view.The alleyway connected the market square to the Black Swan, an ancient coaching inn that once served highwaymen and well-to-do travellers alike, but now was the pub known most famously being the only one in town that would sell alcohol to the local school’s pupils. She knew the pub well, she knew the alley way outside it even better.She finished her cigarette and stood, humming to herself as she opened the door to the long cupboard that spanned the far width of bedroom. She.
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