Chapter 80: The Six-Way Phone Call
The first sensation was not wakefulness, but fullness. A deep, stretching pressure that bloomed in the hazy twilight between sleep and consciousness. Sandi’s eyes fluttered open to the muted grey light of dawn seeping through the linen curtains. She was on her side. A firm, hot weight was pressed against the backs of her thighs.
François’s arm was a tight band across her ribcage, his hand splayed possessively over one breast, thumb idly brushing her nipple. His other hand gripped the curve of her hip, fingers digging in. And he was inside her. Already moving. A slow, insistent glide that had her body, still soft from sleep, opening for him with a shocking, wet ease.
“Mmm…” The sound was a drowsy vibration in her throat.
“Quiet,” he whispered into the nape of her neck, his breath warm. His hips pulled back and pushed forward again, a long, deep stroke that rubbed every nerve ending inside her. “This is your training now. Learning to take cock without warning. Without preparation. Your body welcomes it. See? It’s just a hole, waking up, remembering its purpose.”
The crude words, delivered in his calm, cultured tone, sent a pulse of slick heat between her legs. She was wet. Already. From nothing but the invasion itself. Her mind fogged with sleep, all that existed was the thick slide of him, the scrape of his pubic bone against the swell of her arse, the heavy, rhythmic push.
He fucked her like that for what felt like an eternity, a languid, almost lazy claiming. Each stroke stoked a low, gathering fire in her belly. Her own breathing grew ragged, matching the soft, wet sounds from where their bodies joined. She pressed back against him, seeking more, and he rewarded her with a sharper thrust that made her gasp.
“Good,” he murmured. “Your cunt is getting greedier.”
Then his hands shifted and he withdrew, and rolled her onto her back. She quite naturally let her legs fall open to not just welcome him back into her, but to entice him, should his only purpose be to deny her and cruelly stare down into her face and smile at her anguish. The morning air felt cool on her exposed skin as she saw things moving the way she wanted them to. He got over her, looked down at her face, her flushed breasts, the glistening proof of her arousal smeared across his cock, but he didn’t re-enter her immediately. He rubbed the broad, weeping head through her slick folds, circling her clit, watching her hips jerk off the bed.
“Look at you,” he said, almost to himself. “Soaked for a cock you were barely awake to receive. This is the baseline, Sandi. This constant, low-grade hunger. We will cultivate it.”
He positioned himself and sank into her in one relentless, bottoming thrust. This was different from the side. Deeper. More direct. The angle forced a choked cry from her lips. He braced his hands on the mattress by her shoulders and set a hard, driving pace. No more languor. This was purposeful, a measured brutality.
His balls slapped against her, a percussive, obscene rhythm. The bed-frame gave a faint creak in time with his strokes. Sandi’s hands flew up, scrambling for purchase, finally clutching at the taut muscles of his forearms. Her head tipped back, her mouth open, every gasp pulling in the scent of their sweat and sex.
“You will wear the Sheath today,” he grunted, never breaking rhythm. “For Caleb when we phone him. All day at the office. You will suffer the ache. The emptiness. You will remember this stretch. You will sit in your meetings with a phantom cock in your cunt and you will be desperate for a real one to fill it.”
The image, coupled with the relentless pounding, coiled the tension in her core to a breaking point. Her inner muscles began to flutter, a frantic, involuntary clenching around the hard length of him.
“I’m… I’m going to…”
“Come?” he asked, his voice harsh. “You want to come on my cock? You don't need it badly enough yet... Are you prepared to beg?”
“Yes,” she groaned. “I'll beg... I'll do anything...”
“Then let your need consume the thinking you Sandi,” he said, stopping his movements but staying inside her. “You control your need by relieving it... By satisfying it... You keep it in check and retain your dignity... At work... In social situations... But today your need it going to take over... Whereas before you were quite naturally conscientious, diligent, with a phenomenal ability to focus and argue your case... You will find that slipping away as the morning wears on... Don't worry... Don't panic.. Just come to me... Admit it... And we will move into the next phase of our relationship... Where I give you very short-term, bite-size, goals that you should be able to manage, and I reward you with sex when you achieve them...”
He then withdrew, leaving her physically and emotionally bereft - and in a mental panic – for the moment to save herself and say no to his plans was slipping away. He drew her out of the bed by the hand and led her to the shower. He had her don a shower cap to keep her hair dry and he washed her all over, then dried her with a big white fluffy towel and led her back into the bedroom and to her dressing table, where he instructed her to spend no more than ten minutes quickly putting her hair up and applying the minimum makeup. He then shaved and dressed himself before laying out her things for the day.
She ran over the ten minutes but he'd know she would and was thus pleased when it only took her twenty. She got up from her dressing table, naked, and turned her attention to the things laid out on the bed. He sat in an armchair studying her as she picked up the butt-plug and he saw that all resistance had been subsumed by her new logic – for her primary goal was now the satisfaction of her sexual desires, after the emotional ups and downs of the weekend, featuring Caleb, Pierre, Henri, and of course he himself.
“Would you like to...” she asked, holding out the butt-plug to him, and asking with her eyes if he would like to participate in what she saw as her total sexualisation.
“Of course,” he beamed, remembering the essence of what Caleb had said the evening before – that there was no need to dominate her and that collaboration would bring more reward for all involved, meaning not just him and Sandi, but Caleb too – and Henri as well down the line.
She bent over, spreading her feet wide, and using her dressing table stool for support. He touched the cold metal to her puckered anus and eased it in a little. To not just his relief but his deep satisfaction it started slipping into her quite easily. It confirmed that it was a joint enterprise, that they had an agreed goal, and though they would benefit in very different ways each saw the other as a means to an end they would not be able to achieve on their own.
She then started getting herself into the Contour Sheath with Francois standing by holding the dildo. After his earlier attentions both knew that it would slide in to her very easily and so it proved. Just before pulling the Sheath up over her bottom and hips she presented herself for its insertion the execution of which was quite a profound moment for both of them in very different ways. Thus, when the Sheath was fully in place and zipped up, so that her pelvis was encased and the two implants were locked in place, and her breasts were presented and her nipples offered, they fell into each others arms and embraced like two breathless lovers.
“Oh Francois,” she breathed in his ears, “it's unbelievable”.
He kissed her hair.
“What you have to remember today, as you give yourself up to it, is that your job isn't just safe, but your career is assured,” he whispered. “Your secondment can be extended indefinitely... If you succeed in allowing your sexuality to dominate your persona, with the executive functions of your remarkable brain still able to function, then I will buy Ryan's company and put you in charge of it...”
“And if I fail?” asked Sandi.
Francois had to compose himself before speaking.
“I don't think you will,” he started with. “But there are two ways that you might fail... One, your executive brain regains control... In which case I'll just send you back to Ryan, with a glowing reference... And two, your sexuality takes over so totally that you cannot function intellectually in the workplace... Such that Ryan doesn't want you...”
“What will happen then?” she asked.
He smiled.
“I'll keep you on as my plaything,” he said. “On your current salary... With full executive benefits... Healthcare... Care... Share options... Generous pension scheme...”
“So I can't lose,” smiled Sandi into his eyes.
“No... But come on... Let's get you dressed for Caleb...” he said.
He first passed her the black hold-up stockings and then the black patent stilettos, but not the blouse or skirt. She understood why and smiled at the thought of him wanting to present her to her husband dressed as she was.
He led her by the hand from the bedroom, the cool oak floors resounding under her high-heels. The kitchen was bathed in the sharp, clean light of a Parisian morning.
He placed her phone on the counter, propped against a carafe. The video call connected, ringing once, twice. Caleb’s face appeared, his expression one of focused calm. The camera angle showed him seated at their own kitchen table in Wimbledon. Ian was beside him, dressed for work, fork paused over a plate of eggs. In the background, Maya and Imogen fluttered like exotic birds in silk robes, their faces eager, leaning into the frame.
“Good morning,” François said, his voice smooth as he moved behind Sandi. His hands settled on her bare shoulders. “I owe you an apology, Caleb. My outburst last night was unworthy. Counterproductive.”
Caleb took a sip of coffee, his eyes assessing the screen. “Noted.”
“I’ve reconsidered your… philosophy,” François continued, his fingers tracing Sandi’s collarbone. “The partnership model. It has more strategic value. So. A demonstration of our new collaborative approach.”
He turned Sandi gently, positioning her so the camera captured her from the thighs up. The morning light glossed her skin, highlighted the subtle sheen of the restrictive Sheath at her hips, the dramatic lift of her breasts within its structure. Her nipples were taut, pebbled in the cool air.
“You see the presentation,” François said, his tone becoming instructional. “The architecture is for constant sensory feedback. But the core mechanism is internal.”
His hand slid down, cupping her mound through the sleek material. The pressure was direct, firm. Sandi’s breath hitched, a sharp, audible gasp that carried through the speaker.
“There is a medical-grade silicone dildo seated fully in her vagina,” François explained, his gaze on the phone’s screen, watching his audience. Ian had stopped eating. Maya bit her lip. Imogen’s eyes were wide. “And a companion plug in her anus. They are locked in place by the garment. They are not passive.”
He moved his other hand, pressing firmly against her lower abdomen, just above her pubic bone. The internal pressure shifted, the dual fullness making itself acutely known. A low groan was torn from Sandi’s throat, her head tipping back against François’s chest.
“Fuck,” Ian breathed, the word barely audible.
“Now,” François said, looking directly at Caleb. “The application on your phone. The one linked to the implants. Please activate it. A low frequency. Let’s say, setting two.”
Caleb didn’t hesitate. He tapped on his own phone, his thumb moving to the buttons on its side. His expression was one of detached curiosity.
The vibration began deep inside Sandi’s core. It was a low, pervasive hum, a relentless thrum that resonated in her bones. It wasn’t an aggressive pulse, but a constant, maddening presence. Her knees buckled. François’s arms tightened around her, holding her upright for the camera.
“Oh, god,” she whimpered. The sensation was less about immediate pleasure and more about inescapable stimulation, a direct wire to her nervous system.
“Setting three, Caleb,” François instructed.
The pitch changed. The hum gained a sharper edge, a rhythmic pulse that seemed to sync with her heartbeat. Sandi’s body jerked. A fine tremor ran through her thighs. Her hands flew back, gripping François’s forearms, her knuckles white. Her mouth fell open, but no sound came out, just ragged, desperate pulls of air.
“See the physiological response?” François murmured, his voice clinical despite the intimacy of his hold. “The autonomic system is engaged. The fight-or-flight response is being hijacked by sexual stimulus. She can’t compartmentalize this.”
“Christ,” Maya whispered, her face flushed.
Caleb watched, his own breathing slightly deepened. “Setting four.”
It was a buzzing, insistent demand. Sandi cried out, her back arching, her body bowing against François. The vibrations seemed to multiply, echoing through the channels filled by the implants. Her vision spotted. Pleasure and overwhelm blurred into a single, terrifying need. She was panting, her breasts heaving, a sheen of sweat now visible on her chest.
“Enough,” François said, and Caleb’s thumb must have moved because the sensation ceased abruptly.
The silence was louder than the buzz. Sandi slumped against him, trembling, her body humming with residual energy. The emptiness was a new kind of ache.
“We all have work,” François said, his voice returning to its normal, pragmatic tone. “But first, Sandi. Tell Caleb what we agreed this morning. Tell him your new understanding.”
Sandi swallowed, forcing her eyes to focus on the small image of her husband’s face. His gaze was steady, waiting. She drew a shaky breath.
“My career… it’s secure,” she began, her voice unsteady. “François has promised me... Whatever the outcome... My future is set...”
She paused, gathering the words that made sense of the chaos in her body. “I understand now. Why he restricted me. Why he wants me in this… this thing. It’s not punishment. It’s the means via which I drown my thinking mind, my ego, in sensuality...”
Caleb said nothing. He just listened.
“My sexuality… it’s not just a part of me any more. It’s becoming the engine. The main thing.” The admission felt like a physical release. “The woman who used to worry about school runs and quarterly reports... or more recently spreadsheets and forensic accounting… she’s receding. What’s left… driving things... is this need... this pure, fucking want...”
Imogen let out a soft, shuddering sigh.
“He’s going to help me transition,” Sandi continued, her voice gaining a sliver of strength. “He’ll set small, manageable goals at work. Bite-sized. And when I achieve them… the reward will be sex. Real sex. Proper orgasms. And when my ego has been subsumed I won't have to wear this Sheath. Open-cup bras like this, yes, I hope... But nothing encasing me below...”
She paused and ran her hands down over her hips.
“I'll be naked beneath my skirts Caleb,” she sighed. “In the state I now believe you've always wanted me to be... Oh so totally available... Oh so utterly accessible... Like that time on holiday a decade ago... When I walked through the hotel up on my highest heels in that most skimpy of bikinis... Smouldering... My consent an irrelevance... So my goal is to walk the corridors of the corporate world... Sit in their boardrooms... Stand giving them presentations... While smouldering... Sending out the subtle message that my consent is a given... That all I want is...”
At that point Francois snatched the phone away. He laughed.
“I won't let her go too far, should that all come about,” he said quickly. “There has to be professional propriety... So I won't let her blatantly abandon decorum... But, Caleb, do you want me to get her to that point, where she has no conscience inhibiting her, no shame limiting her, no guilt or relationship loyalties constraining her... Where either you or I let her know what's inappropriate, with a look, or a shake of the head, and she responds accordingly, knowing that it's in her own interests, and they by following our lead she will get more of what she wants in the long run...”
“Is it what you want Sandi?” asked Caleb.
“It's a trade,” she said. “I'll be swapping the intellectual reward of giving full expression to my abilities... to assimilate data... to rationalises it... to organise it into structures... and formulate plans that produce the best outcome... So I have to set that off against all that I get from sex... Pleasure and exhilaration of course... But much more... For it goes so much further than the mere physical or even emotional... And into the spirituality of connecting with both something deep within myself and, at the height of it, something deep within the men... And back down on the merely intellectual, or psychological, level, there's the reward of assessing the man, of communicating subliminally with his sexual self, of taking things forwards in small steps until like an avalanche all restraint is abandoned...”
Caleb stared at her face on his phone's screen with a look of wonder on his own. Similarly, in Paris, Francois stared directly at her in rapt fascination.
“So is it what you want?” asked Caleb of his wife, with Francois, in Paris.
“Yes,” she said. “I can't lose can I... For it's what you want me to do... And I know you'll always be there for me... That it's my destiny... With my own hope being that I can do both... Like now... With my intellect in the ascendency and my sexuality subordinate to it... I want to let my sexuality take over completely, so it fills me, with my intellect being subsidiary but able to muster the focus and concentration needed to do my job, and preventing my real nature becoming a means via which men can manipulate or exploit me,...”
The kitchen in Wimbledon fell utterly silent. Caleb finally nodded, a slow, deliberate motion.
“And the end goal?” Caleb asked, his voice quiet, and his real question being were he stood in her plans.
Sandi looked from the screen to François’s hands, still possessive on her body, then back. “The end goal is that the need never switches off. That the wanting is constant. That my public persona is just a shell I use to navigate the world until I can get fucked again. That’s the partnership here in France. That Francois manages the shell. And I live for the fucking he gives me... Gets for me... Or allows me to get for myself...”
So no mention of Caleb – but he put it down to her not thinking beyond the short-term transition period, or the two-month secondment. Buy Maya came to his rescue and grabbed the phone.
“Francois, if I may call you that,” she started.
“You may,” he said, “and I'd very much like it if your friend Imogen did so too ...”
“Well that's good, thank you,” said Maya, concluding that all was forgiven and that she need not apologise for her own outburst the evening before. “So can I ask if you'd swap Sandi for a night with Imogen and me?”
“How do you see it working?” asked Francois, curious, but smiling.
“Well I'm thinking that the four of us would get the train to Paris,” said Maya, encouraged by the fact that she could see Francois nodding into the phone's camera. “Imogen and myself sleep with you... While Caleb and Ian sleep with Sandi...”
“Show him what he'd be missing,” said Caleb, jumping on the opportunity to show Sandi the true nature of his relationship with both girls, and to offer Francois a deeper collaboration involving not just his wife but these two nubile young women.
In response Maya handed the phone back to Caleb and slipped out of her robe. She then made her way round the breakfast bar to relieve Imogen's of hers. They stood their holding hands. Caleb understood Francois being happy to simply stare at them but jumped on his silence as if it meant he needed further persuasion.
“Turn round,” he said. “Bend over... Show him properly...”
They did as he said and when Caleb squatted and directed the phone's video camera at their bottoms they pulled their buttocks open to reveal all to the Frenchman. They Maya grabbed the phone.
“Francois,” she breathed into the phone. “You won't believe how exiting it would be for me to bring myself to you in Paris... Meaning my pussy of course... Wearing whatever you want me to travel in...”
“Would you blindfold yourself outside my apartment door?” he asked. “So I can explore the pure you, Maya... Get to know you slowly... But deeply... Looking for signs that you truly do want to emulate Sandi...”
“I'll go further,” said Maya. “I'll wear just a coat over my stockings and heels for the journey... And let is slip to the floor outside your door... Before blindfolding myself... And surrendering to my fate at your hands...”
“And Imogen too?” asked Francois, pushing his luck.
Maya looked at Imogen, who nodded, and then Maya nodded at Francois.
“Yes, Imogen too...” she said.