Chapter 103: Double Humiliation
The darkness behind the blindfold was absolute, but Rupert’s other senses were screaming. He could smell Margot’s perfume mixed with the salt of her sweat and the musk of another man. He could hear the soft, satisfied sighs from the bed, the rustle of movement as bodies untangled. His own heart thudded a frantic, trapped rhythm against his ribs.
Gentle fingers found his chest, tracing the line of his collarbone before circling his nipples. He flinched.
“Shhh,” Margot soothed. Her voice was husky, spent, intimately close. Her thumbs rubbed slow, deliberate circles over the tight nubs, the sensation a bizarre cocktail of arousal and humiliation. “That was incredible, darling. Absolutely earth-shattering.” She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. “And the best part? You’ll never know. You saw everything, and yet you know nothing. Was it the postman? That cheeky barista from the coffee shop in town? The vicar’s new youth group leader?” She pinched a nipple, not hard, but with enough pressure to make him gasp. “It could be anyone. Every man you shake hands with, every bloke you share a pint with at the Red Lion… you’ll always wonder.”
Her words coiled around him, a psychic barbed wire. The garden centre worker. The image was now permanently seared alongside the sight of the green hood.
From behind him, Julia’s crisp tone cut through Margot’s whispers. “Such a generous gift your wife gave you, Slave Blue. Such a spectacle. I think she’s earned a little something extra, don’t you? A stocking-filler, if you will.”
Before Rupert could process the statement, strong hands—Julia’s—unlocked his wrists from the cuffs behind the sofa. The relief to his shoulders was immediate, but it was short-lived. She guided him forward, his bare feet whispering on the rug. He heard the soft clink of metal, the sound of straps being adjusted.
“Step up,” Julia directed.
He fumbled blindly, finding a low, padded step with his foot. He was guided down onto his knees onto a thickly upholstered bench. The leather was cool against his skin. Julia positioned him with efficient hands, bending him forward so his chest lay flat on the inclined pad, his rear elevated and exposed. She pulled his arms forward, securing his wrists into cuffs attached to the front legs. Then his ankles were spread and fastened to the rear legs. He was immobilized, displayed, a living offering on what he recognized from prior, less intense visits as the “fucking bench.”
The vulnerability was total.
Margot’s hands left his body. He heard her light footsteps, the murmur of low conversation. A cabinet opening. The clink of glass.
Julia’s voice came from directly above him. “Since it’s the season of giving, we thought we’d expand the repertoire. Margot deserves to unwrap more than one present tonight.”
The blindfold was untied.
Rupert blinked, his eyes stinging in the low light. His limited field of vision, face pressed against the leather, was of the room’s far wall and the empty bondage bed. Then Margot stepped into view.
She had donned a sheer black robe, belted loosely. Her curls were still wild, her skin flushed. And she was not alone.
A man stood to her left, naked, muscular, wearing a hood of bright, sunflower yellow. Another stood to her right, also naked, his body older, leaner, with the softness of age around his middle but still holding a quiet power. His hood was crimson red.
Two of them.
Margot grinned, a spark of pure, unrepentant devilry in her eyes. She slung an arm around each man’s waist, pulling their hips against hers. “Surprise, darling!” she chirped, her voice lilting. “Meet the rest of the festive committee. Yellow’s been ever so patient waiting his turn. And Red…” she patted the older man’s stomach, “…is a venerable classic. Like a fine port.”
Red Hood placed a gnarled, age-spotted hand on Margot’s hip, his touch possessive. The sight of that aged hand on his wife’s skin sent a different kind of shock through Rupert. This wasn’t the anonymous threat of youthful vigor; this was something else, a deep, unsettling taboo.
“You remember the calendar, Rupert?” Margot continued, as if discussing a WI baking roster. “Julia’s inspiration. Well, we’re making up for lost months. A double feature.”
Julia moved into his sightline, holding a small, polished wooden box. She opened it. Inside, nested in velvet, lay a series of gleaming metal implements. She selected one—a thick, weighted ring—and knelt behind Rupert’s exposed rear.
He tensed, a cold dread pooling in his stomach.
“A little preventative measure,” Julia said conversationally. “We can’t have you getting distracted, can we?” The cold metal touched him, and with a firm, practiced motion, she slid the ring onto the base of his scrotum, behind his cage. It was a snug, inescapable anchor. “There. Now everything’s on display, and nothing gets in the way.”
Margot released her two bulls and sauntered over to the bench. She trailed a finger down Rupert’s spine, making him shiver. “You just watch, my love. Enjoy the show. It’s all for you, really.”
She turned, dropping her robe in a single, fluid motion. It puddled at her feet. She walked back to the center of the room, her posture one of regal entitlement, and knelt on the deep rug. She looked first at Yellow Hood, then tilted her head back towards Red.
“Who’s first?” she asked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that Rupert could still hear. “Or shall we not be so conventional?”
Yellow Hood moved, his youthful energy palpable. He positioned himself behind her. Red Hood, moving with a slower, more deliberate grace, stepped in front of her. Margot’s hands reached up to cradle Red’s aged hips, her mouth already parting in anticipation.
Rupert’s breath stopped in his throat. The simultaneousness of it. The brutal geometry.
Julia’s hand rested on the small of his back, a constant, heavy reminder of his observation post. “Watch your wife become a feast, Slave Blue,” she murmured, her voice rich with dark amusement. “A communion.”
Yellow Hood entered Margot from behind with a single, deep thrust that pushed a choked gasp from her lungs, just as Red Hood guided himself into her waiting mouth. The sounds that followed were wet, rhythmic, and profoundly obscene. Margot’s muffled moans vibrated around Red, her body rocking forward and back between the two men, a perfect, pleasurable piston.