Part one

It was Sunday afternoon, and Timothy had received a sudden and unexpected call from the Bishop. Then, like the obedient puppy he was, off he went on some important business. He would not be back till very late.

Alison grimaced slightly at the sarcastic tone that she had used in her mind about Timothy's sudden departure. She was never sarcastic before, well, before Tyson came along. The handfork in her hand plunged into the ground with renewed vigour. That did it! She groaned! Tyson was in her head again!

Alison was trying so hard. In her mind was a little box, well, actually a big box, as she had to fit Tyson into it. Around the box was a vast array of imaginary chains and locks. She was trying to train herself to mentally put him in that box and only take him out when she wanted to. The problem was her self-control; no matter how secure her head tried to make that box, he snuck out too often. Right now, when she was both bored and horny, thinking about him and what they might get up to was a big mistake.

Horny! Another word she would never have used about anyone, least of all herself, before "he" came along.

Unable to cope with the idea of gardening anymore. She had always hated it. That at least was not Tyson's fault, she mused.

Was that how her life was divided now, before Tyson and after Tyson?

She sighed and let out a little scream. I am a mess, a horny, frustrated mess with no self-control, she thought.

She stood up, went to the shed, put the fork back in the drawer, closed it, then pulled out her phone. Unsure if she wanted to be able to find Tyson's number or not, she scrolled through the recent calls list. Bloody phone, she thought it held a very long list, and of course, he was on it. Before she had even thought about it, she found the number and pressed the dial button.

"Mrs Townsend?" answered Tyson on the third ring. "I thought we agreed never to call each other?"

"Very funny," she replied. "What are you doing?"

"Mrs Townsend," Tyson repeated. He had never referred to her in that way before, and it sounded odd to Alison. "Is this one of those calls from a lonely, bored housewife who wants some excitement and maybe," at this point, Tyson could not disguise the hope in his voice, "is unexpectedly free?" He paused and chuckled. "I saw your husband head off, all high revs and crunching gears, and the locals moaned about my driving."

"You're such a jerk," Alison said, but she found herself smiling, so the fake indignance must have been obvious through the phone.

"So what can I do for you?" Tyson said, clearly wanting to make Alison work for it, but she acknowledged in her own mind that she was the one who had called.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm currently covered in mud and sweat, which probably would turn you on. However, I hate being dirty and gardening too. I was very bored, that's all. I shouldn't have disturbed you."

"Aww, don't be like that." Tyson's tone had softened, and now he sounded almost normal, like someone she could have a conversation with. "I like hearing from you. I am in a meeting right now, but I can finish in half an hour. It sounds as if you need a shower, so maybe half an hour works for both of us. I can promise you won't be bored if you come over." He waited just the right amount of time before adding. "I bought you a beautiful red dress."

"I don't need a dress," Alison said, out of reflex, but she could hear the way her voice softened, and she hated the way it sounded unconvincing. She knew that Tyson recognised this as a lie; she did want the dress, loving the fact that he had made the effort to buy it for her. She just knew it would be something to feel sexy in, just like the lingerie he had bought.

"You will when you see it. I'll put it in the downstairs shower room. You have the key. Put it on and come visit me in the office upstairs. I'll take my usual real good care of you."

She didn't answer for a long moment, letting the quiet hang between them until she could hear his breath through the phone, the faintest rasp of impatience. Alison tried to imagine him in a "meeting," whatever that meant for a man like Tyson, probably a call with his manager, or maybe just watching highlights of his own fights. It amused her, the idea of him at a desk in reading glasses, pen twirling in his fingers. The image made her chest tighten and her skin prickle unpleasantly. She wanted him badly.

Then she had an impulsive idea and acted on it. She hung up. She smiled for a moment and then felt a rush of fear that hanging up would create doubt that she was going to do all the things he wanted. But that was too late—no way was she calling back. All she could do was get moving.

The shower was rushed; she scrubbed herself hard and then debated, briefly, whether to bother shaving her legs. She did, and then trimmed the patch between her thighs as well, the whole time telling herself Timothy wouldn't notice and therefore would not be suspicious. By the time she was done, her skin stung and her neck was blotchy. Her outfit was unimportant; its only function was to avoid suspicion if anyone saw her. She had worked out that if she left by the back gate, then used the alley, she was only at risk of being seen on Tyson's doorstep. She had her key, so there was only the briefest of moments when she might be spotted. Is that why she had a key, she thought? Did he actually understand its usefulness?

She put on jeans and a sweater. Anyway, she had nothing in her wardrobe to contribute to the sexy mistress look. She grabbed the key. Had that been a very smart move on Tyson's part?

"Do you do this with lots of women?" she whispered in the afterglow of their last fuck. Of course, he hadn't replied, offering nothing but silence, but she took it as an answer all the same.

Part two

The dress was stunning. Alison had to admit that. She would never have been brave enough to go into the sort of shop that sold this kind of outfit, let alone look at it or, god forbid, buy it. Alison had no doubt it would have cost a fortune. The heels she had worn with the lingerie were sitting beside it, too, but there was nothing else. No underwear! She lifted the dress, running her fingers against the thin cotton and admiring the ruffled hem. Underneath it was a brief note.

"Wear ONLY the dress and the heels. NOTHING else." That's why there's no underwear, thought Alison, her heart racing. She had never gone commando before, but Tyson had seen more of her than any man alive, so this was one new experience that, for the moment, she took in her stride. The dress, when on, was what she expected, only more so. She had seen the plunging neckline, but it plunged to below her breasts, and of course, she was braless. Her 36D's were safe enough, because the dress was tight, but it had gaps at the sides, so there was a lot of her flesh on display.

You're not exactly going to be wearing it for long, she told herself, knowing how quickly Tyson liked to get her naked.

The skirt had a layered hem, so it had various layers of material, one on top of the other. The problem was that it was so short and she was pantiless. The heels lengthened her legs, making the situation feel even worse, but she repeated. You're not exactly going to be wearing it for long. A small part of her was beginning to accept that she was attractive to Tyson, and the idea that he would like her looking like this appealed to her.

It was hard walking up the stairs, but she managed it, carefully ascending the stairs, then she knocked on the door, imagining that would amuse Tyson.

"Come in, Mrs Townsend," Tyson said, and she entered, but then she froze.

Tyson was sitting behind his desk, but the thing that had shocked Alison was that he was not alone; another man was in the room with him. For a moment, Alison just stood and stared. He had the same sturdy, muscular build that Tyson had.

He was slouched with alpha-casual confidence, leaning back as though the office belonged to him, hands laced behind his head. The man regarded her with a lazy smirk that twitched wider as he took in the dress, her legs, and her obvious effort. He was a little shorter than Tyson, hair close-shaved at the sides with a faint, roguish stubble, and arms as thick as fence posts. Alison realised he was another boxer. It was the way he spread his legs, relaxed but always ready to launch. She wondered nervously if he was a sparring partner she had watched in the garden with Tyson?

"I, er, didn't realise you were still busy," she muttered. Feeling very much underdressed and especially conscious that she had no underwear on.

"You're good," the other man said, "take a seat." His strong hands pulled back a chair that may well have been put there for her.

"Sit down, Alison," Tyson said, "and meet my boy Jake. Don't worry, he knows about you and the binoculars."

Alison could feel the weight of Jake's stare, like a hand on her thigh. She tried to sit with some dignity in the ludicrous dress, careful to cross her legs, but the skirt was so short it barely mattered. The red fabric clung to her, the open sides flashing skin every time she shifted. She folded her hands in her lap, knuckles white.

Tyson watched her for a moment, lips quirking, then turned to Jake.

"Didn't I tell you she was beautiful?" Tyson said, and Jake nodded, his eyes never leaving her.

"You weren't exaggerating." He leaned across the desk, close enough that Alison caught a whiff of his cologne, something spicy and sharp. "I hear you and The Beast here have moved on from just watching." This revelation hit Alison like a thunderbolt. Tyson had told Jake that they had been fucking. Her anger boiled to the surface.

Alison shot Tyson a look of pure betrayal, but he was already grinning, and it was clear Jake couldn't take his eyes off of her. Alison forced herself to turn the glare on Jake, but he didn't seem to notice or care. He just kept smiling, completely at ease as though this was an ordinary business meeting and she was not sitting across from them with her legs on display, wearing nothing beneath her scrap of a dress.

She heard her voice falter before she could steady it.

"I see. Well, that's..." She ran out of words and hated herself for the way her cheeks flushed.

Jake leaned back, eyes crinkling. "It's okay, Mrs Townsend. Tyson tells me you're very good." Just the way he said her name, formal, in a tone of expectancy, made her heart race. Tyson's gaze narrowed, assessing her reaction.

"She's the best fuck I've had in a while," he said.

Alison's fists went tight in her lap. The hem of the dress threatened to ride up every time she moved. Did her thighs look clammy? Was she already sweating? She tried to focus on Jake's face, not the way his T-shirt clung to his chest, or the casual spread of his knees, or the growing fear of what Tyson might want her to do with Jake in this room.

"Why am I here?" she asked, voice a little rough.

"Because you wanted to come over, because you were bored," said Tyson. "Me, I just lay on the entertainment, and as you know, when you are here, you do as you are told.

I hear you like being told what to do." Jake said with a smirk.

The word "told" stuck in her head, and she shifted awkwardly in the chair, trying to keep the hem in place. Alison could feel her heartbeat picking up, a pulse she could feel inside her inner wrist. She tried to remember the last time she'd felt so acutely observed, so unsettled by the simple act of being looked at. Not even on her wedding day, she realised. She pressed her knees together, but the effort only made the dress ride up further, and she caught herself smoothing it down, instantly furious at the frantic, girlish fidget.

"You expect me to just fuck anyone that you want me to?" said Alison, struggling to believe that even Tyson would treat her that much like an object. He got up, and she held her breath as he came around to her side of the desk, stood behind her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. At the same time, he gently turned her chair so she faced Jake. To Alison, it felt like an attempt to keep her there, but equally to make her feel safe.

"For a start, Jake is not 'any man,'" Tyson said. "Secondly, I don't expect you to fuck just him. I expect you to fuck both of us."

Alison's mouth opened, then closed. She felt her throat constrict, a tightness rising into her cheeks and ears. Of course, this was why Tyson had made such a show of the dress, the heels, the 'meeting.' A performance, yes, but not just for himself. He wanted to see what she would do, what she would allow. The knowledge rolled through her, and she hated the way it made her thighs tingle, her body pressed into the hard seat. The memory of the first time she had sucked Tyson off in this very house, on her knees, returned to her. At least then, it was just the two of them. This, this was something else. She could not decide if she was more scared or more aroused.

Her tongue felt numb as she groped for words. She considered many answers, especially, "Is this... is this a joke, you can't be serious?"

But Jake rose in front of her before any words came out. Tyson's massaging of her shoulders became slightly more forceful. The sense that they were there to hold her in place instantly exceeded the sense of safety.

Jake slowly pulled out his penis. Alison would have been impressed before she had seen Tyson's, for it was large, just not the huge dick that Tyson possessed.

Jake stroked his shaft lazily, the motion oddly casual, as though he was only demonstrating for a class. The sight of it, swollen and dusky, made Alison's breath catch. She felt the heat rushing up her neck, settling behind her ears as her face went red. She tried to keep her face impassive, but her body betrayed her. Her shoulders hunched, her thighs pressed even harder together. She looked first at Jake and then at Tyson, and smug smiles were on both of their faces.

Tyson bent down, his breath warm on her cheek.

"Show Jake what you have learned," he said.

She knew both men's eyes were on her right hand as it slowly reached out. Her eyes were on it too, and like so many times with Tyson, she wondered who was controlling her limbs. Her fingers wrapped around Jake's cock.

For a while, she just slowly stroked it; she desperately wanted to show she knew what she was doing. She looked back at Tyson. His hand cupped the back of her head, and with the same gentle guidance he always showed, he brought her mouth down onto Jake's cock. She paused to kiss the head and then slipped it between her lips. She began to blow him, still keen to show Tyson had taught her well. She felt the need to impress both men. All the time, Tyson continued to massage her shoulders.

She didn't want to look at Jake, or at Tyson, or at herself reflected in the glass of the bookshelf. She focused on the mechanics using her tongue and lips, with her teeth kept well away. She bobbed her head and worked her hand at the base, just like Tyson had shown her, using both motion and pressure to please Jake.

Suddenly, Tyson was pulling her to her feet, but this was only to move her away from the chairs. Immediately, she had taken a step forward, his hand, its constant presence on her head, feeling almost familiar now, lowered her to her knees. She automatically took Jake's cock in her hand again, but stopped as she went to suck him again, realising that Tyson was taking his dick out too.

In front of her face now were two big, beautiful cocks.

She gulped. Her mind, always so quick with words and judgments, seemed to abandon her, replaced by a static hum behind her eyes. She had never been with two men before, not even in a fantasy. The closest she'd come was reading a passage in an old, tattered paperback she'd found in a charity shop, and she'd blushed so fiercely she'd hidden the book at the bottom of the donations bin. Now, here she was: in a bright red fuck-me dress, kneeling on Tyson's office carpet, two huge cocks at eye level, and a searing, queasy heat spreading from her scalp to her toes.

She reached for both at once, almost as if not to favour one over the other. Tyson's cock was heavier, familiar, its veins and girth well-known in her grip. Jake's was new. She couldn't help but compare them, the way a person might automatically compare two flavours of wine. Jake's was smoother, less intimidating, but still demanding. She looked up, and both men were watching her, smiling in the way men smile when they think so far so good.

Now both men's hands came into play; a hand would guide her head onto its owner's dick, but letting the other man's hand take her back whenever he wanted. Consequently, her head moved back and forth, serving each cock, her hand always made to stroke the cock she was not blowing.

She went back and forth for a while, then she was made to give each man a longer turn with both mouth and hands while the free person stripped off his clothes.

When both men were naked, they pulled Alison to her feet, and her dress was pulled over her head.

Alison was made to stand, stroking a cock in each hand.

Jake's gaze lingered on her breasts, then swept down, pausing where the plane of her belly dipped into her hips. He gently ran a hand across her ass.

"Fucking gorgeous," he said in a tone that suggested he was thinking out loud rather than saying something for Tyson and Alison to hear.

"Get over the desk," Tyson whispered in her ear as he kissed her neck, and Jake swept the stuff on the desk onto the floor with his hand.

Tyson moved her as Jake stepped back, making her lean over the desk, one leg on it, one on the ground, and he entered her from behind.

The desk was cold against her hip, the varnished edge digging in. She tried to stay balanced, one heel skidding on the carpet, the other braced against the polished wood. Tyson slid in all the way with a single motion, his grip locking around her waist, pulling her back into him. The fullness was shocking, even now, and the sensation nearly buckled her leg. She thought she might cry out, but instead, a strangled gasp escaped as Tyson began to fuck her, slow at first, then harder, each thrust shoving her hipbones against the desk.

Jake, she'd nearly forgotten about him in the blur of Tyson's assault, circled in front, his cock level with her face. She assumed that he would make her suck him, but instead, he stood and watched, stroking his own dick, a few inches away. Jake fucked her for a while, so much harder than usual, showing off to his friend Alison realised, and then he suddenly withdrew.

Alison looked back at him in surprise and then to Jake.

Jake smiled a look of 'my turn' on his face.

"Get on your back," he commanded, legs in the air and open nice and wide for me."

Alison didn't have to do much. Jake, just like Tyson would, took over and sorted out her limbs on the desk, stealing the chance to kiss her at the same time. The kiss distracted Alison from a sense of not liking the way she was being arranged like a prop. The cool air rushed up her thighs and over her exposed cunt. She shivered, half from cold and half from the rawness of the moment. Jake pulled back, and his hands slid under her knees, levering her ankles high into the air. She watched his biceps flex, saw the little scar on his wrist as he pinned her legs back, exposing her completely.

Jake lined himself up, pausing to spit in his hand and stroke it along his shaft. Not that it mattered; Alison was already slick and aching for him, the anticipation clawing at her insides. He pushed in slowly, the head of his cock catching for a moment and then sinking home. He wasn't as thick as Tyson, but he was still large, and Alison's body adjusted with a jolt of pleasure. She gasped, clutching the edge of the desk, the lacquered wood biting into her palm.

"Fuck," Jake muttered, as though surprised. "She is tight." As though Tyson had warned him of this already, but the extent still surprised him.

"You want it good and hard?" he asked her.

Alison felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She tried to answer, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She managed a nod, barely perceptible, eyes flicking to the door as if escape was even possible. Jake laughed quietly, a sound that vibrated through the desk and into her spine.

"That's how you are going to get it," Jake chuckled.

Tyson took the opportunity to remove her heels and then, positioning himself behind Alison's head, he held her legs open wide as Jake's finger circled on her pussy, and then he began to fuck her. Pounding into her so hard the desk rocked beneath her ass, the surface hard and uncomfortable under her back. The sensation of that cock pistoning in and out of her and his finger circling on her clit, robbed Alison of any capacity to feel self-conscious of how exposed she was.

"You like the way Jake fucks you?" Jake said, looking down at her and referring to himself in the third person.

Alison tried to look away, but Jake's body blocked out everything except the flush on his chest, the veins on his arms, the satisfied curl of his lips.

"Yes," she heard herself say, and the sound of it, ragged, broken, needy, made her shudder. She came hard, as hard as she had come for Tyson. Her hands flailed for a moment, and then she found Tyson's wrists.

It was not over. There were two men to satisfy, and this time they took her the way she thought they might at the beginning. A spit roast, although Alison did not know the term. Also, it was on the floor, on all fours.

Jake was the one fucking her, but this time from behind, while Tyson made her fuck his face. His hand was holding her hair much more tightly than he had before, and moving her head with much more force, coupled with the thrusts from behind.

She clung to Tyson's thigh for support, the carpet rough against her knees, the world reduced to the two men and their relentless demands. Tyson forced her mouth open with the practised ease of a man who knew her limits better than she did herself. His cock hit the back of her throat; she did her best to breathe through her nose, to endure, to take him as deep as she could before he pulled out to let her gasp. Jake's hands were on her ass, fingers spreading her open, and then he was inside her with barely a warning. She nearly buckled at the shock, but Tyson's hand on her scalp kept her steady.

Her own body, unpredictable and traitorous, clenched and spasmed around Jake's cock as it drove into her. The heat and friction, the steady slap of his hips against her, the helpless way her mouth and pussy were filled. She had no words for it, not even in her own mind. There was only sensation, a thick, overwhelming tide that swept her thoughts away and left her panting, drooling, and desperate for more.

They swapped, taking the opportunity to put her kneeling onto one of the chairs, and if Tyson fucked her from behind as hard as Jake had, Jake was thankfully not so rough with her mouth, and he backed away the moment he sensed she was going to come again. The sensation building inside her robbed her of any chance to concentrate on sucking Jake's dick.

She couldn't hold back: this orgasm was a wild, shattering rush, her body folding over the chair's arm, but there was no respite.

"Come the fuck here," she heard from Jake, and he kissed her and then lifted her, and suddenly she was in the air, one arm trying to hold onto his neck as she was leaning so far back she thought she might fall. Her other hand was gripping one of his arms, that were holding her sides and supporting her knees. He speared into her with a ferocity that she would have thought impossible.

Being fucked that hard, even for these men, was never going to last long.

"Shall I pass you back to Tyson?" Jake gasped.

Alison didn't answer. She couldn't. She had never been lifted like this, taken, used, in this way? Not even close? Tyson's head appeared under her arm, and he held her up high for a moment. She was now the other way around, looking outwards, her back against his chest. It was like she weighed nothing as he held his dick and dropped her onto it. His hands now under her thighs, he bounced her up and down, and he walked her to the mirror so she could watch herself.

She watched as Tyson pounded into her. Aware of Tyson's focus on her reflection and Jake's eyes studying her from the side. Her hair swung in a loose mess around her face. Her tits bounced, full and flushed, and she looked wild, not at all like the disappointed, careful woman she saw in the vicarage mirror every morning. He gripped her tighter, so tight her thighs trembled, and she saw her own face clench and then open again, mouth wide, teeth bared. She saw herself gasp, blink, then the focus went soft, vision streaked and watery with tears she hadn't known were there.

She'd never been so exposed. If anyone in the village could see, if somehow one person walked by the house and happened to look up through the window, she'd be finished. The thought should have terrified her, but it only made her wetter, made her want to meet her own eyes in the mirror and see how much further she could fall.

He was fucking her so hard it made her back ache, and it occurred to her there was no way she could ever tell anyone about this without sounding completely insane, like a woman who had been possessed. She had never expected to enjoy being used like this, held up, bent open, watching herself be taken. She caught a glimpse of Jake in the background, stroking his cock and watching her as if he were at the cinema. The image of herself, legs splayed obscenely, drove her to the edge. She shuddered and came hard.

For a moment, she thought he might drop her, but she was not ready for what happened next. Tyson took her back to the desk and placed her on top of Jake, who was lying on his back, ready to take over, his cock held upright, ready to slide into her. They fucked together until Jake could hold on no more, and with a gasp, he exploded inside her.

She sprawled over Jake's chest, his huge arms wrapped tight around her ribcage.

"Thanks, baby," said Jake to Alison, but she was already being pulled down onto the desk, and Tyson's cock loomed over the top of her head. He was pumping it wildly.

He finished, warm and thick, painting her lips, cheeks, and chin as he shuddered above her. Some landed just inside her mouth, and she swallowed automatically. Alison watched, dazed, as Tyson slid his cock along her face, smearing the mess in slow, deliberate circles. His hand was heavy on the back of her skull, but gentler now. She felt like a rag doll, limp and used, her arms trembling as she braced herself on the desk, but she had loved it so much.

"Clean him up, baby," Tyson murmured, and she licked the head of his cock, gathering up the salty slickness with her tongue.

Jake was already dressed and clearly leaving.

"Thanks, man," he said to Tyson. The two men shared a celebratory fist pump.

"The best obedient slut so far for sure," Jake said, and there was another triumphant fist pump.

Then both men were gone. Jake presumably was the one who went out the front door, and Tyson the one who fired up the shower.

The term "obedient slut" seared into Alison's brain, along with anger that Tyson knew she hated being immediately abandoned after he had finished with her. Then the broader sentence struck her: "the best obedient slut so far." The implications of that were clear, and the question he had avoided before came back to her.

"Do you do this with lots of women?" she had whispered.

She had to know. If only because while she did not fear Jake telling anyone, she did fear another woman blabbing. So she dressed, but instead of leaving, she went to find Tyson, ready to let rip. One about abandoning her the moment he had finished, and the other about the need for secrecy. And to find out what competition I have, popped into her head. No, she told herself firmly, it's about secrecy, lying to herself once more.