Chapter 8: The Preparation
The fluorescent lights in the office hummed a flat, dead note that matched the grey expanse of Rory’s cubicle. He was staring at a spreadsheet, the numbers blurring into a meaningless grey stream, when his personal phone buzzed against the fake wood surface. The screen displayed an unknown number. A cold trickle, part dread and part something else entirely, traced his spine.
He answered, his voice low. “Hello?”
“Rory. It’s Fabian.” The voice was smooth, confident, devoid of the usual social pleasantries. It was the voice of a man stating a fact.
Rory’s grip tightened on the phone. The ambient office noise—the chatter from marketing, the whir of a distant printer—seemed to recede, replaced by a high-pitched ring in his ears. “Fabian.”
“I’ve been thinking about Sarah,” Fabian said, the words dropping into the silence like stones. “About that tight little arse of hers.”
Rory’s mouth went dry. He could see it, the image branded into his memory: Sarah spread in the armchair, describing it, her voice husky with want.
Fabian laughed, a short, dismissive sound. “tonight. I want her at my place by eight. Clean, shaved, and ready to serve. You’ll make sure she gets here. You know she wants to. i've been chatting to her, she knows what i want.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an instruction relayed through a subordinate. Rory said nothing, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.
“There was toy in your bedroom when i was fucking your wife last weekend,” Fabian continued, his tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. “That pink tentacle thing, the silicone one with the suckers. make sure she brings it, and put a nice fat plug in her arsehole before she leaves.”
The crude, clinical orders, delivered in that calm voice, ignited a fire in Rory’s gut. It was humiliation, but, coiling low and undeniable, was a throbbing arousal. His cock stiffened against the seam of his trousers, trapped and straining.
“You’re asking me to—”
“I’m telling you to prepare my whore,” Fabian interrupted, the veneer of casualness gone, replaced by cold steel. “You get her body ready for my fucking big cock. That’s your job now. Do you understand?”
Rory closed his eyes. He saw Sarah’s sated, smirking face from the other night. He heard her whispered ‘I’m going back for more.’ He was merely a stagehand in her fantasy now. The realisation was a bitter pill that dissolved into a strange, complicit heat.
“yeah,” he heard himself say, the words ash in his mouth.
“Good.” A pause, filled with the faint sound of Fabian’s breathing. “ And Rory?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t bother coming with her. You’re not invited. This is between me and my property. I'll send you pictures if youn prepare her well.”
The line went dead.
Rory sat frozen, the phone pressed to his ear until the dial tone buzzed. He slowly lowered it. He was painfully hard. He adjusted himself under the desk The spreadsheets on his monitor were now utterly incomprehensible. All he could see was the tentacle dildo and the cold, heavy glass plug they’d bought
The drive home was a blur of traffic lights and his own thumping heartbeat, the ghost of Fabian’s voice still echoing in the silent car. He found the front door unlocked.
Sarah was in the kitchen washing a plate. She didn’t turn around. “Did he call you?”
Her voice was excited, almost singsong. Rory stood in the doorway, his bag hanging from his hand. “Yes.”
She put the knife down and finally turned. Her eyes were bright, lit from within by a feverish excitement. “And? I’m going tonight, right? Tell me everything he said.”
Rory recited the instructions like a grim report, his voice flat. The time. The preparation. The toy. Her smile widened with each specific detail. She bit her lower lip.
“Eight o’clock,” she breathed, wiping her hands on a towel. “Perfect. I need time to get ready.” She walked past him, her hip brushing against him. “He told me you have to put your cage on. Then kneel. Naked. While o get ready”
In their bedroom, the air still felt charged from the previous weekend. He retrieved the small brass key from his dresser, his fingers fumbling the familiar lock. The cold steel encircled him once more, the click of the padlock a period on his masculinity.
He knelt on the carpet beside the bed, the fibers scratching his knees. Sarah moved around the room with a focused, ritualistic energy. She laid out garments on the bed: a harness of black leather straps, a bra that just held her breasts up to display them , fishnet stockings.
She applied her makeup before the mirror with an artist’s concentration. The foundation, the blush, the heavy kohl that lined her eyes into a predatory swoop. She painted her lips a violent, glossy purple.
Then she began to dress. The leather hissed as she tightened straps. The sharp, impossibly high heels made her legs look endless and dangerous. She stood before him, a fetish sculpture come to life. The sweet, floral perfume she usually wore was gone, replaced by something muskier, more animal.
“Look at you,” she said, her voice different now, lower and coated in velvet mockery. “My good little husband. Are you ready to help your wife?”
She turned and walked to the foot of the bed, placing her hands on the carved footboard. Slowly, deliberately, she bent over. The leather of the harness strained. The high heels kept her feet rooted. She presented herself to him,
Her bare arsehole was a tight, pink pucker above the black leather strap that bisected her cheeks. “You know what to do,” she said, her voice muffled slightly by the position. “Lick it. Get it nice and wet for the plug. Do a thorough job, it's vey thick.”
He shuffled forward on his knees. The smell of her soap, and beneath it, her essential scent, filled his head. He leaned in, his heart hammering against his ribs. He pressed his tongue flat against the tight rosette.
Sarah gasped, a sharp intake of breath. “Yeah. Just like that. Use your tongue, babe. Open me up.”
He licked and probed, his actions mechanical at first, then becoming something else. Saliva coated the sensitive skin, making it glisten under the bedroom light. Her muscle relaxed incrementally under the persistent, wet pressure.
As he worked, she reached for her phone on the bed. He heard the dial tone, then the connection. She put it on speaker.
“Fabian? It’s Sarah.” Her voice was a breathy, excited purr, even as she pushed back against Rory’s face.
“Tell me.” Fabian’s voice filled the room, intimate and commanding.
“I’m getting ready for you,” she moaned, and the sound was partly for the phone, partly from the sensation. “My husband’s preparing my arse for you right now. He’s on his knees, licking my hole, getting it all wet and loose.”
Rory froze, his tongue still against her. Her hand reached back and fisted in his hair, holding him in place. “Don’t stop,” she hissed, then spoke back into the phone. “He’s being so obedient. He’s making sure I’m ready to take you.”
“Is he now?” Fabian’s chuckle was dark and rich. “Tell him to use his fingers. I want you stretched.”
Sarah pulled Rory’s head back by his hair. “Did you hear him? Use your fingers. Now.”
His hand was trembling as he brought it up. He pressed one saliva-slicked finger against her. With the constant licking, it gave way, sinking into the tight, incredible heat of her. She cried out, a genuine sound of sensation.
“Oh god, yes!” she panted into the phone. “He’s got a finger in my arse, Fabian. He’s fingering his wife’s asshole for you. I’m so fucking eager for you. I want your cock tearing me open.”
“Add another,” Fabian ordered, his voice casual.
Rory worked a second finger in alongside the first. The stretch was significant, her body resisting then accepting. Sarah was panting now, her knuckles white on the footboard. “Two… two fingers… fuck, it’s so full…”
“Now the plug,” Fabian said. “The big one. Let me hear you take it.”
Sarah released Rory’s hair. “The glass one. On the dresser. Now.”
He retrieved the heavy, cool plug, its bulbous end gleaming. He coated it thickly with the saliva from her body and his mouth. He positioned the blunt tip against her stretched opening.
“Do it,” she whispered, then louder for the phone. “He’s putting it in, Fabian! He’s plugging your whore’s ass!”
Rory pushed. The widest part of the plug strained against her. Her body fought the invasion, a tight ring of muscle clamping down. Then, with a wet, soft pop, it yielded. The bulb sank inside her, and the narrow neck seated deep. A low, shuddering moan vibrated through her.
The thick base sat flush against her, a constant, filling presence. She was breathing hard, her head hanging down. “It’s in,” she gasped. “I’m so full. I can feel it, deep inside. My ass is yours, Fabian. It’s ready for you. It’s begging for your black cock.”
“Good girl,” Fabian’s voice came, thick with approval. “Now get over here. I’m hard just thinking about wrecking that pretty little hole.”
The call ended. Sarah straightened up slowly, wincing slightly at the foreign object within her. She looked down at Rory, still on his knees, his mouth and chin wet. Her expression was one of pure, unadulterated triumph.
“Thank you, darling,” she said, smoothing her harness. She picked up a black bag and put the key and the pink tentacle toy in to it. “Wait up, so i can tell you all about it.”