Camille turned off the engine of her Maserati sports car and took a moment to breath in the cool evening air. The day, well, the day had been amazing. She could barely believe what she had achieved. Mark, Jenny’s once upon a time husband had been dumped at a hotel ten miles away and he was bound for a flat fifty miles away in London if that was what she chose. His defeat had seemed absolute. The man had capitulated to her. Not only had he not made a fuss about the fact that she and Jenny were now lovers, but he had meekly capitulated to the requirement that he leave the home immediately. He had kissed her ring, then the palm of her hand, and at last, wickedly, cruelly she had humiliated him by having him lick her bottom.
Now, within the house her prize awaited her. Jenny, curvaceous and appealing, so accommodating, was probably finishing the supper preparations. She would be nervous. Yes, Camille would deal with Mark. She was used to handling man brusquely if needs be. She was the CEO of her own company. But it was still nerve racking to wait and to wonder. It was still an anxious wait to hear whether the house was truly now their love nest. Camille checked her watch. It was almost seven. She had promised to take back a case of clothes for the hapless husband. But he could sit and stew for a while. She pictured him seated in that comfortable but emotionally bleak hotel room, staring forlornly at the wall. If she was honest with herself, she hoped that he was masturbating.
‘It’s done…and he was meek, incredibly meek’ she said calmly after stepping into their home and putting the car keys down. Jenny came to her. Her eyes were wide with wonder. This was just the most surprising day and Camille, well, dear god, she was the most amazing woman. The woman was a little shorter than Camille, a little more curvaceous in that way that excite men. She was wearing denim shorts and a tie top and a pair of severe looking laced Victoria ankle boots on her pretty feet. She wore the Cartier watch that Mark had given her at her wedding, the exact match that Jenny had given to Camille in a symbolic ending of the marriage. She kissed Jenny, moving her lips first against hers, and then when the woman submitted to her embrace, slipping her tongue inside her mouth. Jenny was relieved, she was emotionally exhausted. The waiting had been terrible. She had walked Loki Camille’s Rottweiler, but nothing had distracted her.
When Camille unbuttoned the fly of those sleek little shorts, Jenny didn’t resist. Loki was shooed back to the kitchen, and giggling Camille slipped her manicured fingers into her lover’s sex. Jenny was wet, really wet! It was as if the woman was permanently ready to fuck with Camille. It was as if she spent her life waiting and wanting what they had. When she had caught Jenny masturbating herself thinking about them and what they did, she had kissed her woman’s forehead and encouraged her. It was one thing habituating Jenny to the smell and the taste of girl sex, but it was better still to think that she, Camille, now obsessed Jenny’s very thoughts. In the end, that was how Camille needed their life to be. She couldn’t bear the idea that Jenny would ever need a man again. She couldn’t bear the thought that Jenny would look at any other woman either.
‘Can supper wait a while?’ she asked, teasing Jenny, feeling her move against her fingers.
‘Yes…..yes it can….’ Jenny whispered.
Camille led her through to the bedroom. All reference to Mark was gone. The old lifestyle photographs, his African tribal stuff from the walls. There was now a photograph of Camille by the side of the bed, the one after she had completed the car rally.
‘Take my jeans down’ she said softly, stroking Jenny’s auburn hair.
Her lover smiled, moving slowly down, planting a sweet kiss on each of Camille’s breasts as she descended. The kisses progressed below, down over her slim tummy and then to her crotch, before the jeans were undone and lowered. Jenny helped Camille to step out of first the white jeans and then her thong. All couples have little rituals, little niceties of how they make love and Camille and Jenny did too.
‘Please’ Jenny simpered.
Camille stroked her hair and feeling her pulse quicken, nodded.
Her lover started to lick her. She licked delicately but with obvious devotion, her mouth wide and her tongue fulsome in its complete regard. Camille felt the wash of Jenny’s tongue against her clitty and she trembled with the pleasure of it.
Ten miles away, in a hotel room, with the room service meal discarded uneaten and pushed to one side, Mark stared blankly at the TV screen. A soap opera was playing. He never watched soap operas. He loathed soap operas and now he was in the middle of one himself. He blinked and tried not to cry again. That was pathetic!
Fiddling with the remote, shaking his head in a kind of continued ritual shock Mark wondered how on earth he had done that? Lick that bitch’s bottom for her. She had bent forward like a spoilt little cow and he had licked her arse clean. He shuddered. However beautiful the woman was, he shouldn’t have done that. Whatever strategy he vaguely proposed in his bewildered head, a chance to see Jenny somehow, her way, he still shouldn’t have stooped that low!
He looked at his mobile phone again. How many times had he done that since lunch?! He shouldn’t call them. He shouldn’t call the house. It would seem like resistance and increase the dire prospect of a life alone. But he couldn’t stop himself. Not this time. He waited. He waited. The number was unobtainable. The hiatus, she managed everything. That fucking bitch controlled everything. He started to touch himself. He started to touch himself with a burning self disgust, a hatred, the like of which he could never have imagined possible.
‘Lie on the bed’ ordered Camille once her sex was lathered wet and her clitty stood out like a bulbous ripe fruit. It stood out proud, just above her engorged sex lips, the hood pushed back so that her bud glistened wet. She looked at Jenny there, lying prone, available, hers, on the bed. She ordered her to take down her shorts and to start pulling at her sex. She was to pull her cunt lips up and roll them fiercely between finger and thumb. Camille watched, watched as the woman teased herself hard. She looked the way that Camille liked to see her worked up.
When Mark ejaculated, the spunk splashed all over his trousers.
‘Fuck!’ he swore grimacing hard. It wasn’t just how fierce and hard he felt about that bitch Camille, it was that he had soiled his trousers, his only pair of trousers. Now, he looked and smelled, literally like a tosser. Shaking, feeling the utter fool, he hurried to his feet and sponging off the spunk as best he could. it rolled into little snotty gloops of sticky white mess, the consistency of glue. He swore again and sponged some more.
‘Are you happy?’ Camille whispered as they lay 69 on the bed. She teased Jenny’s sex relentlessly with her lips, the tip of her tongue, playing a soft breeze from her mouth across the quivering quim of her woman. Jenny sucked cunny like a glutton. Finesse would come, but right now, Camille was being tongued out.
‘Blissfully’ Jenny responded. It was true. She felt blissfully happy and relieved, so relieved that the awkward matter was over. She had asked Camille about how Mark had responded to her letter, and Camille had admitted that her husband had cried. But that was how it had to be. He had to hurt. That was the nature of meaningful, complete and utter change.
‘You’re pleased that I pushed Mark out?’ Camille whispered. She knew. She did, but it was really an invite to talk. They had all night to make love hard, but now there was scope for playful, sensuous teasing.
‘Yes, he had to go…he would never have accepted things’ Jenny lavished her tongue back to where Camille enjoyed it.
‘You couldn’t be bi either…’ laughed Camille. There…..you spotted it, didn’t you. In the inflection in those words, the way that she had chosen to assert it as a check question. The idea of bi sexuality wasn’t on Camille’s pretty agenda. Men were either to be dismissed or to be ground down. There was certainly no room for bi sexuality.
‘I love you’ Jenny assured her. ‘I need you…’ she whispered.
‘Lick me’ said Camille and now she started teasing Jenny so that the poor bitch started to arch and gyrate against her mouth.
Mark tried to sleep. He couldn’t. It was too early. His trousers were drying on the radiator and the TV was switched off. He had resisted the urge to ring the house twice more and failed miserably. The number was still unobtainable. The bitch hadn’t returned. She fucking well hadn’t returned. It was possible that she had abandoned him completely. No…they had abandoned him. It was fucking well gnawing at him, eating away his very soul. However much he hated it, he knew he had to do it again. He went through to the bathroom, pulling his cock over the sink and started to tug. That fucking bitch in her white jeans, that fucking bitch!
When they had done, triggering an exquisite writhing orgasm, they had suppered, finishing first one and then a second bottle of the excellent wine that Camille had bought. Camille studied her lover across the dining table, Loki waiting expectantly for scraps.
‘I can send him off to the flat, have him out of your life completely. That’s what we discussed…it’s what we agreed. But… (and she scrutinised the lovely looking auburn haired woman)…. I could domesticate him too. Avril did.’
She had told Jenny about Avril. Radical Avril. She had first excluded her husband and then brought him back on her terms. Her terms…Camille smiled, it was simply servitude. That’s all it was.
Jenny stared at her. She hadn’t anticipated that. She hadn’t! Mark would be there then gone. He would simply disappear and Camille would keep him away. She had no doubt that her influential girlfriend could manage that! Jenny had persuaded herself that she would easily forget Mark. That stage in her life was over and she was emerging into something more wondrous, more honest and free.
‘Mark is malleable. He is malleable. I can make him do what I want. I can make it that we are his mistresses’ Camille whispered. This was a change, she knew it was. It was a change from the narrative that she had whispered into Jenny’s ear as they made love. It was different to what she had suggested as she ran that exquisite dildo into Jenny’s quim.
‘I love you Camille…I want what you want…’ Jenny answered, her eyes fixed on the slate blue of Camille’s.
‘It’s what we want darling’ Camille said and kissed her fingers. ‘Its what we are confident controlling. I want you, and you want me. We are together, like super glue. If we are confident, we can own Mark. We can make sure that he is simply our support. You would be a bitch, but such a sexy bitch. Do you know how that would make me feel?!’
Jenny kissed her fingers in return. Of course she did, of course she knew. It was so stirring, so urgently, needfully stirring that she could seem that way to Camille. The stronger the harder she was, the more it turned Camille on. She leaned across the table and kissed Camille. They should talk, they had to talk.
It was just after nine the next morning when a knock came at the hotel bedroom door and Mark found Camille and her fucking monstrous dog beside her. He blinked at them. First there was the ridiculous thought of a Rottweiler trying to skulk in the footwell of a Maserati, then there was the realisation that she might have brought the fucking mutt with her for a purpose. Mark caught sight of the small carryall, presumably full of his clothes. It was something.
‘Thank you’ he said and let them in, his eyes bleary. He knew, he looked like a mess to the bitch. Now she looked fresh and just as haughty. She wore a little leather bolero jacket, white blouse and leather jeans. She had leather ankle boots on with a ring pull gold zip own either side. The look, well it was considered chic, and chic with an attitude. Camille dumped the bag on the bed whilst Loki patrolled the modest domain. There was, the dog seemed to conclude, nothing of merit.
Mark fell like falling at the woman’s feet and starting to beg instantly. He needed to see Jenny, on any terms, just any! But the bitch had fixed him with a cool look and it was as if it held him upright, open to inspection.
‘Did you try to ring the house last night?’ she asked.
It was a trick question. What to say? Perhaps the bitch had a way of monitoring missed calls? If he lied and she knew different what could that trigger? You can’t imagine what unknowing does to your soul. It twists it up like a sheet of paper and kicks it down into the darkest cellar.
‘Yes Miss’ he said and bowed his head. Perhaps that mitigated the sin. Mark didn’t know. He could only hope.
The bitch nodded. There even seemed a look of quiet satisfaction on her pretty face. It was no trouble. She had simply disconnected the phone when she got home and left Jenny’s mobile to rung ineffectually in the art studio at the rear of the house. Mark hadn’t dared to try his wife’s mobile. That would leave an immediate trace.
‘Let’s walk Loki in the wood’ Camille said. The dog had to be walked and in any case she wanted to test the husband in a new way today. She wanted, she admitted it to herself to cripple him. She watched Mark get ready. He seemed eager. He was eager to hear anything that offered terms. Anything bar ‘fuck off’ was something.
They followed a path beside an indolent stream. The weather was mild and there was a pleasant breeze. Camille led the way, Mark followed after and the fucking Rottweiler seemed to cut off the escape back down the path. It didn’t romp through the woods, it simply prowled like a fucking great cat.
‘Did you sleep’ she asked without a hint of concern.
‘No Miss’ he admitted. Miss sounded stupid. It sounded really stupid, but he calculated now that it might create a possibility. It might offer something. Anyway, Camille seemed to accept it. He’d looked the bitch up on the hotel internet and found just how powerful she was. What funded a fucking Maserati and designer clothes was a personally owned company that wasn’t adverse to eating up rivals. He guessed that her employees called her something like Miss…at least to her face.
‘You’ve been thinking’ she observed, inviting a confession.
‘Yes Miss..’ he admitted. She glanced back at him, demanding his thoughts. He stared down at her arse in the tight black, immaculately cut and stitched jeans.
‘I can’t read people, I can’t read sex, I can’t manage relationships…’
‘You offered not the slightest security to Jenny, did you. You didn’t know what you thought, what you wanted, you just fumbled on.’ The bitch judged him pat as she walked. She didn’t even bother to look back at him. She knew that was what he would be like. Honestly, that was what Camille thought a lot of husbands were like. They bumbled along like jerks.
‘Yes Miss’ he said honestly. the bitch was right.
‘Jenny knows what I want and what I offer. She knows that love making is part of the fabric of our lives. That’s why you are here, waiting in a hotel room…to be moved on.’ This time the bitch paused, and turned to him. She dropped her hand to her side. Loki slobbered it, panting, black and tan like a muscular thug. She held the same hand up to Mark, the palm showing. She waited. He kissed it. She waited again and he started to lick what the fucking dog had licked.
‘Loki is a one woman dog, but you know about that don’t you Mark’ she observed calmly.
He nodded. the inference was clear. Any command and the fucking animal would bite.
‘Please Miss…’ he whispered, staring into her eyes, at her perfectly shaped nose and her prim mouth, ‘you’ve won, please don’t send me away. I’ll be a dog for you.’ He looked at the Rottweiler. Well, shit, he was hardly something that menacing.
‘I’m teaching Jenny to despise you. Whether you are sent away or not, that is what is required. I won’t have her go back to something like you’. Camille spoke the words as if they were bile, sneering as she uttered them.
‘No Miss’ he whispered and dropped his gaze again. It seemed required. No challenge, no contest.
‘You are nothing. You are worth nothing…’ The young woman spoke slowly decisively. She seemed like an empress expressing her dictate.
He nodded. he nodded feeling his ears burning with shame. The beautiful young woman studied him. She looked at the dog and then across the stream to where a path ran parallel. Blinking in the sun as it barred in shafts of life through the trees, Camille unbuttoned her jeans. She watched him. He was staring like an idiot at her crotch. He was staring like someone hypnotised.
Somewhere back across the woods the other side of the stream there were voices. They were distant yet, but they rang through the ferns and bushes. She unbuttoned the rest of her fly and edged the waistband down a little.
The voices grew closer. Parents, perhaps teenagers, Camille wasn’t sure. A surge of pleasure raced up within her, her pulse quickening, her breathes catching inside her throat.
‘Kneel’ she whispered.
Mark looked furtively about. Christ no! Still, the woman persisted with her look. He knelt before her.
‘Put your hands behind your back’ she ordered and watched him comply. There, the supplicant.
She pulled her jeans down and turned her rear to him. Voices, yes, but not people as yet. She eased a cheek open a little so her pretty little bottom taunted him. Loki looked on as if this was the natural way of things. The man was shaking his head. The shame had him, it had him in its horrible grip.
‘You will lick’ she said firmly, ‘otherwise hope has gone.’
He started to lick her bottom. She tasted and smelled as she had the day before, totally woman and completely the bitch. She aired a little gas but still he licked her. His tongue rolling and teasing around her botty hole.
‘If I shit, would you eat it?’ she asked. It was a terrible thing to say. It was truly depraved.
‘Yes Miss’ he said, hating himself passionately. the voices were coming closer. The people whoever they were were having an argument.
‘Would you lick Jenny’s arse, if I told you?’ she mused. It seemed a curious interest only, the way that she spoke.
He nodded enthusiastically and returned to his adulation of her.
Across the stream, some fifteen yards distant, a couple passed along the path. They stared at the woman her pretty rear bared, the man tonguing her bottom, the Rottweiler watching them amongst the silver birch. Their own differences were gone. They stared for a moment and then embarrassed they moved on.
Camille looked back. Yes, he was still licking her. He was still lapping no matter what the strangers had thought. His licking was delicious. It was different, powerful having him sniff and lick her rear. Did one need paper any more, she wriggled and mewed, pressing herself back against his face.
‘Lick it hard’ she said. Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow, she would buy a cage for his cock. This was really rather nice.
Lutheran Maid
[The continuing tale of Camille (see ). Its interesting finding the right length of story to build and deepen arousal. I’ve written a cuckold novel, The Intimacy of Three and that brews and builds over time. The mind connects the events, that is how it works I think. I’m currently working on four novellas in one book, Four Bedrooms. All comments on Camille welcome!]