Chapter 54: Trick and Treat
For a long moment, there was only the soft hum of the projector and the image of Margot, radiant and utterly in command, smiling from the screen. The wink had been for him, Rupert knew. It arrowed through the dim barn and struck him right in the center of his chest.
Then her voice filled the space, smooth and rich as honey, emanating from hidden speakers.
“Hello, darling.” A playful lilt. “Surprise.”
In the chair, Rupert jerked against the cuffs. The leather groaned. He couldn’t look away.
“Treat and trick,” Margot continued on screen, her head tilting. She took a step closer to the camera, her figure dominating the frame. “Did you really think you were the only one with surprises tonight? I’ve been planning this for months.” She gave a little shrug, the lace shifting over her skin. “I understand you’ve already… unloaded your little savings account into Julia. Very generous. Now…” Her smile turned wicked, triumphant. “Now it’s my turn for a release.”
The camera, on some silent command, began to pull back. It widened the view of the luxurious room. And there, seated casually in a low armchair in the corner, previously just out of shot, was a man.
He was young, perhaps in his early twenties, with a lean, muscular build that was obvious even through his simple black t-shirt and trousers. His face was covered by an elegant, minimal black mask, leaving only his jaw and a composed mouth visible. He sat perfectly still, watching Margot with an unnerving, focused calm.
A sound escaped Rupert’s throat—a strangled, disbelieving gasp.
From her podium, Julia’s voice cut through the tension, clear and explanatory, as if she were presenting a rare artifact. “For those wondering, the feed is live. This is happening right now, approximately… oh, twelve miles from here, at The Rowan Tree Hotel. Suite six.” She paused, letting the reality settle over the rapt audience. “Margot has her own Christmas gift. This handsome young bull is all hers to enjoy. And we…” she gestured around the room, “…have the unique privilege of watching. As voyeurs. Or,” she added, her eyes finding Rupert’s, “as cuckolds. Depending on your particular seat.”
A low murmur rippled through the Women’s Institute members. It wasn’t shock; it was fascinated, approving intrigue. Felicity leaned over to Charlie and whispered, “Good for her.”
On screen, Margot turned her back to the camera and walked slowly towards the masked man. The view was perfect, framing her from behind—the cinch of the corset, the sway of her hips, the dark lace contrasting with the pale skin of her upper thighs. She stopped before him and placed her hands on her hips.
“You’ve been very patient,” Margot said to him, her voice lower now, intimate but picked up perfectly by a microphone.
“It’s my pleasure to wait for you,” the young man replied. His voice was calm, deeper than expected, with a quiet confidence that made Rupert’s stomach clench.
Margot reached out and ran her fingers through his short, dark hair. It was a gesture of possession. “I know it is.”
Rupert felt a dizzying storm of sensations. A hot, unwanted lance of arousal at the sight of his wife, so powerful and so sexually charged. She looked incandescent. The most beautiful she had ever been. It warred violently with a cold, sinking humiliation that seemed to pool in his restrained limbs. He was trussed up in velvet, forced to watch, while she… while she…
He’s so young, was the stupid, trivial thought that circled. So fit.
Margot turned her head, looking over her shoulder directly into the camera lens, into Rupert’s eyes. Her expression was a complex cocktail of love, challenge, and unapologetic lust. “Watch closely, Rupert,” she murmured. “Learn what I really want.”
She then bent forward, placing her hands on the arms of the young man’s chair, bringing her face close to his. The camera angle held, unflinching. They kissed. It was not the sloppy, dominant kiss Julia had given him. It was deep, searching, and prolonged. Margot’s fingers tightened on the chair. The young man’s hands came up to cradle her face, his touch seeming both reverent and sure.
Rupert couldn’t breathe. The barn felt airless. The only sound was the wet, soft sound of the kiss from the speakers and the crackle of the fireplace. He was hyper-aware of every point of restraint, of the cool air on his exposed skin, of the dozens of eyes flicking between him and the spectacle on screen.
Julia walked slowly towards his chair, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. She stopped beside him, a silent commentator. “She’s remarkable, your wife,” Julia said quietly, for him alone. “Such clear intent. Such appetite. You should be proud. And terribly, terribly excited.”
He was. God help him, he was. The evidence strained against the front of his briefs, a brutal betrayal of his confused pride. The humiliation was a dark, rich spice making the arousal sharper, more unbearable.
On screen, the young man’s hands moved from Margot’s face, down her neck, over the lace of her corset. He found the clasp at the front. With a deft, quiet click, it loosened.
Margot straightened up, the corsate falling open. She shrugged it off, letting it drop to the floor. She stood before him, before everyone, in just the lace bra, stockings, and heels. Her skin glowed in the lamplight. She was utterly unashamed.
She took the young man’s hand and pulled him to his feet. He towered over her. She led him the few steps to the bed and pushed him down to sit on the edge of it. Then, with that same mischievous glint, she knelt on the plush carpet between his spread knees.
Rupert’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird in a bone cage. He knew what was coming. The image of her, of his Margot, with her head dipping towards another man’s lap, was at once the most devastating and most electrifying thing he could conceive.
In the velvet chair, bathed in the flickering light from the screen, Rupert closed his eyes. But it was worse. The sounds were clearer—the rustle of clothing, a low, appreciative male groan, Margot’s soft, satisfied hum. He opened them again, compelled, a prisoner of the scene.
His final, chaotic thought before the visual consumed him entirely was that she had never, ever looked this alive. And he had never felt so completely and utterly owned.