Matched Pair: 7 – Showers

A Honda GX160 5.5 HP. pressure washer in action.
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

He came out of the barn trundling a pressure washer and a reel of electric cable. He unwound  the heavy-duty extension lead and plugged it into the yellow pressure washer. Hauling a hose from another reel on the barn wall, he screwed that into the side of the washer. He pressed the trigger. The motor started and  a second later the jet hissed out of the nozzle. He motioned to three to stand by the low barn wall, under the eaves.

He walked the jet across the drive, letting her see its power, swirling the gravel out of its way. He lifted the lance over the truck tailgate and flushed the remains of three’s vomit off the floor and swilled it onto the gravel. He swirled the jet around again, so the solid fragments disappeared into the drain.

He let go the trigger. Silence.

“Against the wall”. She did, feeling the grain of the ancient oak weatherboarding through her blouse.

“Face me”.  She turned. There seemed no reluctance.

Wood Grain
Wood Grain (Photo credit: Chrstopher)

“Very well. Stand quite still”. He pulled the trigger again and the washer jet hissed out, its tone changing as he lifted it to drum on the wooden barn wall beside her. Within seconds, she was soaked from the spray.

He dropped the lance and let the jet play on the brick courses of the wall, just above ground level. She could see the lime cement liquefying and dripping from between the bricks. She gasped and gratefully recognised why he had not pointed the lance straight at her body. He moved the jet across and opened the nozzle, making the spray more diffuse. He let it play on the platform soles of her shoes. Gravel and stinging water suddenly burned her legs. She skipped away.

“Don’t dance” he said: “Do you trust me?” She whimpered, but nodded.

“Time for a hair wash, Ready? Stand quite still” Three breathed in, closed her eyes.

“Open your eyes”. Three did. The shiny brass tip of the washer’s black lance was a metre from her forehead. The man’s finger curled on the trigger. And he lifted the lance, spraying the jet into the soffit above three’s head. A great cascade of freezing water and thatch debris cascaded upon her. She flinched, cowered and then stood straight. He opened the spray nozzle wider, lowered the jet a tad and let clean water fall on her.

“Rotate” he said. She did – grinning, laughing and pirouetting, for all the world like the plastic, pink ballerina inside the lid of her first jewellery box. But that didn’t last. She had to put up her hands to bat away the debris ceaselessly falling on her. The rush that had hit her with the shock of freezing, blasting water was replaced with nothing but numbing cold. Her lips were blue, she shook ceaselessly, she cowered now, she could hardly stand. She crouched, her head In her hands and hid in the corner of the wall. She wept. He opened the nozzle as far it would go and let the  mist, most of it’s power gone, soak her.

The pressure washer stopped: “how useful are you now?” He asked. “Could you serve anyone? Does this make you useful to me?”

“Is there a service I can give?” she wept. Then she tossed her hair and looked straight at him, a little pride in her voice: “And have I not given service now?”.

He said “Follow me”.

Last: Accommodation

Next: The Basement


Matched Pair 6 – Accomodation

They’d swung about in the back of the car for, Minnie thought, 20 minutes or so.

Miss Lawyer had tried to break the ice but the male voice in the passenger seat asked her to be silent. He even said please – which Min found surprising.

It was an apprehensive silence, Min thought: She was no longer sure she was safe. She felt flushed and empty – nervous and a little out of control:  Her mouth was dry but a little musky dribble had escaped into her knickers. She had thought she’d feel panicked or scared when it came to this moment. The truth was she was sick with excitement.

When she woke that morning she’d decided that she wasn’t going to make the journey. Her leg, she’d told herself, was enough to make this whole thing too much of an ordeal. But she kept looking at the envelope on her dressing table with the outward part of a return rail ticket. She kept telling herself that this would change her life even if she failed and it was just the one exotic, crazy, erotic weekend, And, if she was chosen, it was still her choice. She could say thanks for the ride and walk away.

Lost in the Dark (Halloween horror story)
Photo credit: tommyscapes

Min had one hand on the icy top rail of the Land Rover‘s side and the other wrapped round Number One, who had tried clinging to the sticks supporting the canvas roof, before realising they were anything but rigid. Number One was now pushing herself back against the side and clutching the bulkhead between her and the cab. The slab sided seats, the lack of safety restraints, the restraint attached to their legs that was anything but safe – and their lack of anything but tiny glimpses of metal and canvas from the corners of their eyes – forced them all to push themselves together and hold on to each other. It felt like the worse sort of white knuckle ride –  the engine was rumbling noisily, but in a restrained fashion. Min thought they probably weren’t going that fast.

They braked and  swung right and the drone of tarmac changed to the crunch of gravel. The vehicle slowed and the girls found themselves bunching together even tighter. Number Two slipped off her seat  on to the aluminium floor. Branches and leaves slithered over the canvas’s sides and top as they negotiated a bumpy, narrow driveway. They slid to a stop a little too suddenly and Min found herself with a head in her lap, a sudden wet heat, the feel of chunky, stinking fragments trickling down her leggings and the sound of retching.

She tore her glasses off – it was the barging blonde. “Jesus”. “shit”.

The tailgate came down and the man stood there again. He pushed his flat cap onto the back of his head, revealing curly greying hair and a wrinkled brow. Which furrowed. He said nothing.

Behind her Min  heard the sound of the heavy canvas fume curtain being pushed to one side and the driver, a buxom, tall blonde woman in her late forties or early fifties, looked round. Her beaming smile disappeared but her lilting, Welsh voice came, confident and caring: “Oh dear, oh dear. Don’t worry, we’ll sort you all out. Darling, let’s get them inside and cleaned up”.

The man looked grim. But nodded. he unlocked the end of the chain securing them all that was nearest the tailgate and handed the keys to number one, gesturing. The remaining padlock was swiftly removed.

The man zipped up his Barbour and gingerly helped Min -and then the others – down. The chains jingled as they slid between them and onto the ground. They were still all linked together.

“Keep those shades on”. “If you were mine,” he said “I’d hose the car down and then hose you lot down for the inconvenience. But you aren’t”.

“Darling girl, take them in and get them showered will you”. He stomped off.

“Please sir.” The blonde, bargee stood there, eyes downcast, vomit dripping from her chin and down her denim mini skirt and over her thighs and knees.”Please sir, if it would please you, you can hose down this girl sir. It was this girl’s fault, please sir”.

Min turned her head so she could just see the girl, to her right, in the gap behind her opaque spectacles. The man stopped. Looked at the speaker. “Why?” he asked: “Does the idea excite you, number three?”.

“No sir.” The blonde shivered and not just, Min thought, from the cold. The blonde tossed her spattered hair but said nothing more.

“Darling, it would make you so much feel better” broke in the man’s partner, perfectly seriously and without a trace of mischief or distress for Number Three’s situation: “Besides, it’s beastly out here – can’t I get the others in out of the cold?”

“Very well. Unshackle yourself and follow the car, Three. Give my girl your glasses”. Three bent and unbuckled her ankle cuff.

They waited as the Land Rover trundled off. Min could see her two remaining comrades were, like her,  twisting and turning their heads to get a glimpse of events. The car moved toward a barn-like building a few metres off, the blonde followed at an ungainly trot.

“Dears – do come on, we’ll all catch our deaths” bubbled the man’s partner: “Lets go in and get clean and warm. I’m The Girl by the way, but you can just call me Girl”.

Still shackled and wearing their darkened glasses, the three shuffled off toward the left hand corner of the large stone and brick-built house that they sensed more than saw. It was unlit and there was little twilight left.

They followed the beam of the girl’s torch. Minnie was hobbling and Number One’s stride pulled her forward with each second step. She cursed as she almost toppled. ‘The girl’ stopped and tutted, not unpleasantly: “Girls I’m so sorry, I can’t unshackle you or let you see. You must co-operate with each other. Being in step might help.”.

“Hands on shoulders?” suggested two. “And I’ll call left-right” said girl one. “Good”, agreed The Girl: “hold my hand one and I’ll lead”. They shuffled on, more confidently.

Behind them a bright, yellow security light went on, throwing huge shadows, and  they heard the sudden hum and sputter of a pressure washer.

Last: Journey

Next: Showers


Matched Pair: 5 – Journey

The five women stood, not looking at each other. A car door slammed. It didn’t clunk. It just banged: It wasn’t the limo. It was the passenger door of a green Series II Land Rover with a canvas tilt. It had seen better days.

A dark brown Labrador fussed around the driver’s feet. He gestured at the dog and she sat at his heel, tongue-lolling. It was the guy in the cap. He hadn’t been on the train.

“Welcome ladies, I see five of you made it. Well, it could have been worse”.

He reached into the pocket of his well patinated Barbour and pulled out a number of plain red lanyards, each linked through a swivel to a plain white card.

“For the remainder of the time you spend here you are a number. Not a name. This is for your anonymity and my pleasure. I do hope none of you have introduced yourselves yet. If you have, try to forget”.

Minny looked down, the number pressed into her hand was five. The man went on down the line, looking at the girl, giving her a number. Until he came to the woman in black.

Land Rover II2 series 88
Land Rover II2 series 88 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“You brought luggage. It’s bad enough that most of you have brought bags. The letter you received said bring nothing”. He looked up at the woman, tottering on her heels: “You may think yourself a vision of submissive loveliness. But you are disobedient and you think you know what I want.

“Here is your return ticket. The next train is also the last train. It leaves here (he glanced at his watch) at 20:15. Quarter past eight”. He passed on and gave the last woman. little miss Lawyer, a lanyard.

“Come with me…”, he dropped the tail gate on the faded bronze green Land Rover and gestured them forward. “Not you” he raised his hand to the woman in the corset. “You have your ticket home”.

She protested: “Shit man – you can see I’m the best here”.

“You assume you are. Which means you are not”. He gently pulled Minny forward: “Which leg is it – both?” he asked. “My right said” Min, biting back “you just have to bloody look”. He took her crutches and opened the driver’s door, handing them to someone inside the cab. He took her arm and escorted her to the rear of the car.

“What about me” weedled the princess. “Get your train” said the man. “I’ll freeze” she said. “Here take this”. He grabbed a dog blanket from the truck bed and threw it at her, not ungently. “have it as a souvenir or leave it on the platform. Digger will miss it”. She let it lie on the damp shingle and stared at him, red-polished nails on one black lycra-clad hip. “You won’t get better” she bawled.

Minny cursed her ankle. One vodka and coke too many and a frozen front step on the way out to the takeaway. A phone that was out of credit and a housemate who couldn’t, at first, be bothered to see what her shouts were about. An evening in casualty and a week in bed. Her leg was damn sore now and she cursed it as one more thing that set her apart from these pretty, confident women.

“Number one” he barked “give number five a hand.” He motioned the pretty woman with the plait and, Minny noted, no bag, into the back and together they hoisted Minny onto the tailgate. The inside smelt of damp canvas, motor oil, and dog.

“The rest of you – in and secure yourselves”.

There were rudimentary black vinyl benches running along each side of the back of the truck but no sign of any seatbelts. Instead, along the centre of the milled aluminium floor lay a heavy galvanised chain padlocked to a a u-bolt at each end and running through another in the middle. Four smaller chains extended from this laterally, with a brown, well-dubbined, cuff at the end of each. The chains weren’t long enough to extend up to the girls’ wrists.

Number one took off one of her soft brown fleecy boots and attached the cuff to her ankle. Gently she leaned over and motioned to Min to raise her leg. Min did, her left, and soon she was “secured” too. The man looked on silently whilst numbers two and three did likewise.

The man reached into another pocket and brought out pairs of cheap sunglasses which he passed up to Min. “Put a pair on and pass the rest around”. Min did so, finding that the inside of the lenses were sprayed matt black. She could see stuff out of the corners of her eyes, but she was sure none of them could have any clear idea of where they were going.

The guy slammed up the tailgate and secured the tarp. The light was still on in the cab behind her and, looking down and to the left, Min could see that his hands weren’t those of a young man. They heard the passenger door open, shut and then the engine start. The fume curtain was down, but, squinting, Minnie was certain she could see wisps of long blonde hair blowing around the back of the driver’s seat.

They drove away into the winter gloom.

Min could hear the woman they’d left shouting obscenities as they rolled away. They turned left. Gravel turned to tarmac.

Last: Arrival

Next: Accomodation

Matched Pair: 4 – Arrival

Minny gingerly stepped off the train and took her crutches from the conductor. She thanked the woman, who’d helped her when she transferred to this little branch line and had been solicitous ever since. She cursed her accident and the grey plastic boot she had to wear. Bang went any chance of making an impression.

English: Craven Arms station from the footbridge
Photo credit: Wikipedia

There was no ticket barrier at this small, bleak Shropshire station. The wind whipped across the almost empty platform and the car park beyond. No-one was there to collect tickets.

The journey had seemed endless. Stops every ten minutes and just one or two people getting on or off each time. There was no buffet car and she’d been too nervous to have breakfast. She’d made do with a Mars Bar pocketed at Temple Mead’s branch of WH Smith. She’d never stolen anything before. But she hadn’t felt hungry for breakfast at all (anxiety? excitement?) and waiting for the early afternoon train she’d given in to temptation. The instruction had been “come in the clothes you stand up in. Bring your phone and nothing else”. She had taken that literally.

She looked down the platform and hobbled toward the gap in the chain-link fencing. She wasn’t the only person who’d got off this far from anywhere. There was a guy in a cap with a dog and four other women. One she’d shared a carriage with. She’d looked up from her phone several times to notice the other woman staring at her.  She’d been texting her boyfriend.

She explained she’d be out of touch for a few days. He’d seemed relieved rather than anxious, or even interested. He’d been like that for a while. Since his last visit to Bristol back in November she thought: things had cooled pretty quickly since he went back tolive with his mum and dad after uni. ended.

The other women who’d got off the train she’d not seen before – well not since Bristol, where one, an untidy blonde in a short denim skirt had barged past her, shoving Minny into an old guy overburdened with his wife’s clothes shopping.

They were all looking at her though – and at each other – The guy strode off, his dog tidily at his heel and she was left with, she presumed, her competitors. “No chance” she thought.

A pair of ugg boots
Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The girl who had spent the journey watching Minny looked a little older than her, maybe late twenties. Minny thought she was genuinely beautiful. Dark denim skinny jeans, Ugg boots and the longest hair Minny had seen in a while. Brown, but not drab like hers, glossy, shiny, it hung in a single rope plait over her left shoulder, as thick as Minny’s arm at the top, the plait descended past the girl’s waist. She was playing nervously with the end of it. Minny saw that, like her, but unlike any of the other women, she had no bag of any sort.

Teetering on the highest of platform heels was the barging blonde – who now towered head and shoulders over Minny. She swore that woman had been in flats when she’d sent Minny skittering. She had – she could see the leopard print toes peeking from the top of her bag. She was still a barger – she shoved past Minny and the third woman, who could have passed for a junior solicitor, but perhaps from a few decades ago. Her suit looked like it had come out of a 40’s movie: Minny watched the woman very deliberately sashay in front of her, each buttock rising and falling. The seams of her stockings descending below the hem of the nayy blue pencil skirt were impeccably straight. Her stilettos were black, patent courts of a conservative height. But, boy – could she move. Minny found herself wanting to see the lingerie, at least, under the suit and blouse. She inadvertently licked her lips.

English: A pair of high heeled shoe with 12cm ...
Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The third woman was the oldest there.

Descending from the other end of the train and already almost opposite the gap in the fence, she wore black from head to foot. A mane of artfully curled “this just ain’t natural” jet black hair framed a tanning shop addict’s face with lips red enough to spot the pout from a considerable distance. Her leather jacket was open and no bra was being worn: the woman’s breasts lay pert on the shelf of a black velvet under-bust corset with a row of chrome fastenings across the busk. She twisted and Minny formed the view that there was probably nothing being worn under the leggings either, the way Ms Black’s buttocks were displayed, curved and separate below the neatly laced corset. Patent ankle boots, again with considerable heels, made her small, globular buttocks even more emphatic. Minnie appreciated the constant effort it must take to keep a body like that. Long red nails curled round the handle of a pull-along vanity case. Even the barging blonde stopped to let her through. As the sound of the departing train fell away all you could hear was the sound of her heels, and her wheels, trapping and trundling over the gravel towards a big black Jaguar, one of only four or five cars parked there, all of which appeared driverless.

The woman Minny thought might be candidate number five had stepped off the train and lit up a cigarette straightaway. She looked as nervous as Minny felt. She also looked about sixteen. She wore trainers, black leggings and a grey hoodie. One ear glinted with silver studs curving right round the lobe. She had another in her nose. The cigarette was a roll-up. She blew a thin stream of smoke at the grey sky.

A Vox-y 5-inches
Photo credit: Renée S. Suen

Minny knew they must all be there for the same reason as her. She wasn’t going to be what this guy wanted, she could see that straight away. Not compared to them. She thought of getting the next train back to Bristol – even though that meant a cold December afternoon kicking her heels on this uncovered platform in the middle of nowhere. But she had no money and no ticket. She had no choice. She told herself she’d learn something, she’d get fed, she’d get (she’d been told) put back on the train on Sunday night. Maybe she’d get laid. Maybe she was screwed.

With the others she walked off the platform and into the car park.

Last – The Application

Next – Journey

Matched Pair – 3: Application

email logo

From: 16:59 9 November 2014 To:

Hi (what do I call you, sir?, sir and madam?), I saw the personal ad. you posted  on some BDSM websites. Are you serious? Is the – whaddya call it job? position? appointment? still open? Can you tell me more about the job? What do I do to get it?


From: 21:02 11 November 2014

Dear girl,

The position is still open. For the purposes of shortlisting you should download this file ( Belasarius_BDSM_dashboard_4.01 ), fill it in and return it to me. It”ll tell us (and maybe you) a bit about them kind of kinkster you are. Also you should tell me why you want the job and why you want what will be a highly demanding position and one which will change you (and the way others see you) permanently.  At this time you do not need to know anything more about the job other than that which I have published already.

From: 21:04 11 November 2014

Err, yeah OK. I just really want to know what you expect from me – I mean, I’m just a girl – nothing special to look at, a bit overweight – not fat you know just ordinary. No one thinks I’m sexy I’m no blonde sex-bomb.

Yours sincerely,


From: 08:16 12 November 2014 To:

I don’t expect anything from you. Our ad. makes it clear what I hope to do with you. If you want that to happen to you and know it will involve irreversible change (and want that too) then you’ll have fun. If it stops being fun, you can stop too.

From: 17:01 12 November 2012

OK, I’ve done your form. Here it is. I expect that is the last I’ll hear isn’t it.


From: 23:59 4 December 2012

Shits. Not even a reply.

From: 08:00 5 December 2012 2012To:

You’d have had an acknowledgment if you’d done as I asked. You didn’t bother. Why should I?

From: 17:59 5 December 2012

Hah – it’s just a bloody fantasy anyway isn’t it. Well, I don’t want a fantasy. so you can fuck off.


From: 18:01 5 December 2012 2012To:

Your choice. Carry on living your life or tell me why you want to change.

From: 18:33 5 December 2012

I’m ordinary, I’ve spent my life being ordinary, I’ve spent my life being the fat friend (but I’m not fat, see). I get to tag along. And up to now I’ve done everything my mum and dad wanted, I went to uni and I wind up in this fucking call centre. It’s only worth doing if I drive more than twenty people mad every hour otherwise it’s just minimum wage.

I’ve always dreamed of being special. It sounded like you’d make me special – cos I’m not going to ever be special if I carry on like this. I am just going to be me. Part of me thinks I want to be someone people look at. Part of me wants to be pushed to be like that. Otherwise I am someone’s daughter who is going to be someone’s wife and someone’s mother and never ME.

I live in Bristol and my mum and dad and my boyfriend are in Leeds. He doesn’t bother with me much either. After Christmas no-one would miss me for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months. If you are real that is enough time for you to show me I’m doing the right thing, isn’t it?


From: 08:00 6 December 2014 To:

If you get through I’ll use you for my satisfaction. If that suits you and you like it you’ll do well. If it doesn’t you can leave.

I’ll interview you. Joining instructions shortly,

 Last: The Advertisement

Next: Arrival

Matched Pair – 2 The Advertisement.

She hit return. Reluctantly. The laptop let out a small important bong . He patted her shoulder. He grinned. Her smile was less enthusiastic.  He’d been precise about what he wanted. She’d put his ideas into words. They’d spent the afternoon worrying those words into shape. This was the third and last fetish website they’d put it on.

She wasn’t convinced this was a good idea. A great fantasy, yes. And when he’d talked about it in bed that morning she participated eagerly, thinking it was just a game. It was the kind of game he played – “Desert Island Doms” he called it.

But he made it clear he was serious. And that he’d thought it through. He’d been clear about risks and pitfalls and thought them worth it. She was far less sure.

“I’m not looking for someone new for us to love” he said “I’m looking to please myself by making us a toy. Someone who is happy to be changed by me and who goes into it with her eyes fully open. I don’t care if you don’t like it. But I do care if you think it is going to change what we have. I’m going to do all I can to make sure that doesn’t happen. And that no-one involved feels more used than they want to be”.

Her pledge to him meant that this choice was his to make and that she had no choice but to help him make it possible. Well, she could say no. He’d been very clear about that from the beginning. Nothing for her hurt or shame and a no from her would always mean no: But it was up to her to make their shared dreams possible through compliance and obedience. Too many limits, they both knew, made what they were feel less than real. What he proposed was not designed to hurt her she knew, and he was sincere about hoping it would make her feel more, not less cherished.  But she felt a touch of jealousy already, just knowing that he wanted to make a reality of being a D/s household, rather than just him and her. Worse, he was planning to do to someone all the many things they’d agreed he couldn’t do to her. she was scared he’d put more effort into the new toy than he did into making herself uniquely his: She fought the idea – but knew she’d need to face him with it soon.

They looked at the screen:

We will rebuild you.

Established D/s couple require a girl to join their dynamic. You will have few or no tattoos or piercings at the moment but will want with all your heart and mind to take part in an extreme body modification programme over which you will have no control once we all agree your limits.

Initially this will be a one year contract, extendable by agreement, subject to a one month trial during which no permanent changes will be made to you. You will be paid a generous salary, plus free clothing, grooming, furnishing, board and lodging. You will have no cash at any time. Your salary will be paid into a trust fund that only you can use but which you will only access when you decide to leave or we let you go.

You will be able to agree limits on what is done to you but we will have no interest in anyone who does not have the widest possible boundaries. Nothing will be done to you without your full informed consent. Your consent will expect to extend to things (other than anything that is a permanent change to you that you absolutely agree you have consented to but may not wish to do at the time when they are demanded of you.

You will help with the running of the household, undertaking domestic duties and taking charge of the principal submissive’s personal grooming. You will be be sexually available as required and accept physical chastisement in the event of non-performance of any duty.

Persistent disobedience or lack of effort will end the contract.

Personal qualities should include a voracious sexual appetite, a desire to excel, diligence and an eye for detail. You won’t be content in this role if you do not have strong exhibitionist tendencies. You will enjoy formality in your personal relationships.

Replies to this advertisement within the next week will be considered for the post.There will be an assessment centre and interview before appointment.

Next: The Application

Last: The Lottery Win

Matched Pair: 1 – The Lottery Win

He’d bought the house. He’d bought the boat. The Aston was on the drive. The world tour was over.

She was busy redecorating or furnishing the place (or supervising same) and her long-lost baking skills had returned swiftly enough to make her friends and enemies at the local WI.

He had taken over an outbuilding and was building a boat. A 25 foot strip-planked yacht to be based on Windermere (her motion sickness wouldn’t put up with anywhere with more of a rolling swell). He’d allowed himself five years to finish it.

She and he spent a couple of days each week deciding how to give away some of the winnings and taking part in the projects they helped fund – and that felt like enough of a job.

They’d moved away from the city and found somewhere remote enough to be who they wanted to be all day, every day. That was mostly good. Friends came and stayed – and that led to lots of intense good times, they loved hosting chums – whether those friends shared their lifestyle or not.

They were sociable people and were enjoying settling into the rural community they had moved to. But they were incomers and would be seen as such for time to come. They’d thrown the necessary parties but they hadn’t yet paid their dues.

They were building a new, big life. A busy life too. They were both contented. The future looked good: Philanthropy opened many doors and created opportunities for involving, exciting things and good relationships that came from them.

But, he was bored. He feared she was bored.

Most of all he feared that having everything they could ever  wish for had taken them further away from having everything they ever needed.

The relationship they had was not one that could be explained easily with their new friends in the worlds of big charities and small, close rural communities.  Their new found, unearned fortune had made it possible to live life as who they wanted to be, equal but opposite, as dominant and submissive. pillared on respect, responsibility, strength, service and obedience. What hadn’t been possible in a Didsbury flat was easy in a Herefordshire country house with neighbours too far away to hear her consenting screams.

But they’d reached a plateau. It seemed they couldn’t do more to be who they wanted to be. And that hadn’t brought contentment. Well, not for long anyway. Their new public life continued to grow and to bring new surprises. That was immensely satisfactory but, for once in all the years they had been together, it made the private life they shared seem – as they had always said they wished it to be – normal and unremarkable. For him, that wasn’t enough.

They talked. She clearly revelled in the opportunities the jackpot had brought. But she too felt that they’d lost something. Or, rather, that they’d not used the luck of the win to bring something new to the dynamic that had, up to now, driven who they were to each other.

He’d had an idea for years. In fact it had been a strong, well developed fantasy since they’d first met. One he had never shared. One he wasn’t going to share with her now. He was going to take then both on the biggest ride of their lives and he was going to watch her. His thrill would be seeing her react to every twist and turn of the coming months. Hers would be to wonder what was around the next corner. His objective was to make real what he’d always imagined – a household with her at it’s centre.  A household designed to make her service to him as much of a joy as it could be. A place where fantasy was real.

It wasn’t without risk. Risk that it could become public and that their new life would fade away. Risk that it could become too absorbing and too introspective. But, most of all, risk that it could change the nature of their relationship. True, others had often played a part in deepening their relationship either as consenting toys or as friends whose friendship did not stop at the bedroom door. But other people had their own lives. Involving others was always a risk.

This could destroy all that their luck had brought them. Or it could make them the happiest they’d ever been.

He told her that evening:

aveburysarsenTN“I’m having the cellar tanked and putting a shower and kitchenette down there. I’m afraid the playroom will be smaller than I’d planned. But it will still be adequate. It’ll be screened off from this bedsit and there will be a lockable door between.

“The rest will be accommodation. Cells. With wrought iron grills. A bit like the cellar at Townhouse”.

She pouted: “I don’t want to move down there. It is going to feel dark and cold whatever acc2_be22you do”.

“You won’t be. You are getting staff”.


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