Chapter 21

Michael spent the entire workday pretending his mind wasn't preoccupied with Kate's evening plans. But it was no good. He wrote very little code, and any bugs he fixed came back worse. Every ordinary thing felt suddenly suspicious—emails, IMs, even calendar reminders seemed to have an underlying meaning.

Kate had gone out, probably to shop for an outfit for her date with Victor. He pictured her going from store to store, trying on dozens of dresses in search of the perfect one. Maybe she texted photos of them to Victor to get his approval—or maybe they FaceTimed. This thought both upset and aroused Michael.

By midafternoon, he gave up on work. Michael couldn't stop thinking about Kate and Victor's date. He tried everything. He cleaned the kitchen and then the bathroom. He made the bed. Then he pictured Kate and Victor using it, so he turned the bed down. A moment later, realizing how absurd that was, he remade it again.

By late afternoon, the house was spotless, and Michael was crouched on the edge of the sofa rocking in small, anxious motions, when Kate came through the door. She greeted him absently and headed up the stairs.

He heard the shower start a few minutes later, and he realized Kate was beginning to get ready for her night with Victor. The reality of it hit him hard. His stomach knotted, but his groin tightened with excitement.

He pictured Victor taking Kate from behind. As the scene played in his head, his body followed the thought. He instinctively bent forward at the waist, arched his back, and pushed his ass out until his cheeks parted. The surge of arousal was the most intense he'd ever experienced. He did not know why, only that the pose felt innately correct, a quiet act of submission, as if it had always been his natural position. Suddenly, he heard the hair dryer kick on, breaking the spell his thoughts had on him. 

Michael made his way upstairs to the bedroom and found Kate getting ready with the bathroom door open—she rarely shut it, even for things that usually called for privacy. He stepped into the doorway and watched her. She really was beautiful, standing there in the nude, all poised as she blew her hair back. She looked up and smiled when she saw him leaning with his arms folded. He smiled back and then walked over to watch from the bed. He sat on the edge, trying to act and feel casual.

On the surface, she seemed unbothered. It was all part of her routine: shower, makeup, hair, each step neat and practiced. Still, he thought he saw a slight tremble in how she set the brush on the counter, and how she let out her breath a bit too hard. He suspected she was at least as nervous as he.

He watched her cross to the wardrobe, still naked. She lifted the new dress from its hanger and dropped it over her head, allowing it to slide down her body.

Then she turned her back to him. "Zip?" she asked lightly.

He stood behind her and pulled the zipper up the supple dress. He recognized her perfume. She was wearing his favorite. Kate stepped away, spun, and asked, "How do I look?"

Her dress was deep red satin, with sheer lace panels down each side that revealed hints of her pale skin.

"You look..." he stammered, searching, "Gorgeous!"

"Thank you," she said softly. "You sure?"

"Definitely!" he nodded quickly. 

Then, noticing her nipples protruding through the fabric, he said, "You're not wearing a bra." He stated it with a hint of a question in the tone.

"You don't wear bras with this kind of dress."

"Or panties?" he asked quietly.

"No."

He blinked. "Because you're not supposed to, or—" he said, drawing the word out.

She cut him off gently. "Because I wouldn't be wearing them for very long." 

The words punched through him, and Michael's face went red. He nodded, forcing a smile. 

Michael decided to go downstairs to wait.

At 6:58, headlights beamed through the front windows, cutting across the living room. 

At 7:00, Kate came down the stairs with purpose. Michael stood as she did. On her way to the front door, she stopped to kiss him on his cheek. "I'll be right back," she said, and then turned and pulled the door open.

"I love you," he blurted, desperately.

She looked back over her shoulder, eyes smiling. "I love you too." The door clicked behind her.

She was gone.

The argument in his head—wanting Kate to cuck him versus fear of the consequences if she did—almost sent him after her. It stilled him for a moment, then he rushed to the window to watch her leave, but he was too late. He caught only the Bentley's taillights as it turned the corner and was out of sight.

He watched anyway, swaying a little, staring at the empty street. A shape moving in a window from the Whitmores' house across the street caught his eye. Their nosy neighbor had been watching.

His stomach dropped, and his fear of being exposed as a cuckold took root. Did she see Kate stepping into a limousine in a sexy dress without him? Did she see Victor? Did Kate and Victor hug—did they kiss! He wished he hadn't missed the moment, so he could know exactly what the neighbor saw.

Then it hit him: he could check the doorbell camera.

Michael quickly dug out his phone, opened the app, and scrubbed back to 7:00 p.m.

The Bentley's headlights blew out the camera until it adjusted to the overexposure. Then Michael could make out the chauffeur getting out and holding the door for Victor, who stepped out and waited.

Kate came into view with her back to the camera as she ambled to Victor. He tipped at the waist and offered his hand. When Kate extended hers, he kissed it slowly, helped her into the limo, and followed her in.

Michael replayed the clip, this time watching the Whitmores' window. Their light had been on, but the silhouette only appeared when the Bentley arrived. He was sure the figure was Susie Whitmore. She could often be seen watching things through that window. He and Kate disliked her because she was nosy and very judgmental, and now she'd seen Kate leave with a tall Black man in a limousine.

It could have been worse, he told himself as he paced the kitchen. Victor had only kissed her hand. Yet panic insisted Susie could somehow deduce everything else—the gym, the Echelon house, even him watching Victor shower—things Susie Whitemore could not possibly know.

"Get a hold of yourself," he said aloud at the sink, splashing cold water on his face.

It helped—a little. Still, he did not know how to pass the time. He had already cleaned the house, and he was too distracted to work. 

He paced the floor until it was no longer helping.

He went upstairs, opened his laptop to cuckold porn, and pushed his pants to his knees. He was hard immediately. Then he set the computer aside. He could not masturbate. Not for lack of arousal, but because he thought it might cheapen the night Kate was having.

He pulled his pants up, sat on the edge of the bed, and stared at the carpet.

At 8:15 p.m., Michael's phone buzzed.

"We're at the restaurant now. I'll keep you updated," Kate texted.

Then the three dots that indicate the other person is typing appeared and then vanished. After a few seconds, they appeared again.

"He's a really good kisser. ❤️"

Michael stared at the screen until it dimmed and then locked. He unlocked it, typed "Love you," and then deleted it. Then he typed, "Have fun," and sent it.

He set the phone down and kept staring at it. Then he slid his pants again to free his aching erection. He wanted to stroke, wanted so badly to come. He told himself it wouldn't cheapen things—maybe it would even heighten them. But the fear cut in: if he orgasmed, his arousal could vanish, and panic would rush in, leaving him with nothing to hold onto while Kate was out with Victor.

Absently, he stroked the tip once, and the sudden pleasure startled him into stopping. He yanked his pants back up and pressed his hands flat to his thighs to avoid temptation.

When Michael awoke, he had drool on his chin and a small headache. He didn't remember falling asleep on the couch and had no idea how long it'd been. He sat up to check his phone, but the battery was dead.

Panic flickered in his chest, and he rushed upstairs to plug it in. He waited through what seemed like too many slow minutes to be working until the phone's lock screen finally showed 11:18.

Michael unlocked the phone and opened the Messages app. The last message was still his. Kate had not called or sent a text in over three hours. He sat there, staring at the Messages app, trying to will a text from Kate to appear. 

He debated sending her another message. He told himself he wanted proof she was all right, but the truth was he was anxious and wanted to know if they'd already had sex.

He set the phone on the nightstand, picked it up again, and set it down once more. The quiet pressed in. He wished he had someone to talk to, to discuss this with, but could not imagine telling anyone the truth of the situation.

At 11:33 p.m., Michael received a text from an unknown number.

"Here you go," the text read. 

The message puzzled Michael until an image slid in beneath the words.

It was a photo of a woman's bare ass. From the angle, it appeared she was bent over on a bed. Resting along the crease was a long, thick Black cock. It covered the crack entirely and reached past her waist.

Michael typed in response, "Is this Victor?"

No reply.

"Is that Kate?" he messaged.

Nothing.

He studied the photo. It looked like her, but the crop was deliberate and left just enough doubt. The only thing he was certain of was the size of the cock. It was enormous.

Part of him wanted to believe it was not Kate, that Victor had sent a photo of him with another woman to torment Michael. Yet, another part wanted it to be Kate. He wanted to know she had taken him. He wanted it to be real.

At 12:43 p.m., Michael received another text from Kate.

"On my way home."

"Everything ok?" he messaged. 

Kate sent a reply immediately, "Yes."

At 1:17 a.m., car lights washed through the open blinds. A door thumped. Then silence. A long one.

A minute passed. Then two. Michael opened the doorbell camera on his phone. He saw Victor and Kate embracing on the front stoop, and then they kissed. In the corner of the frame, he could see the Whitmores' window glowing. Two shapes watched.

The front door opened. Kate slipped inside quietly. She did not greet him. She did not look his way. She moved up the stairs and vanished into the bedroom. 

Michael registered, dimly, that the Whitmoors had just watched Kate kiss another man, but he pushed it aside and went after her. By the time he reached the landing, the shower was running and the bathroom was locked.

This hit him. She never locks the bathroom door. She rarely even closed it. He stood there, unsure what to do, when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

It was a new text from the unknown caller.

"Let her have the night.

She will talk to you in the morning."

Michael swallowed hard, "Why? What happened?" he typed.

No response.

Michael lowered the phone. Water was hammering behind the bathroom door. He turned, walked back down the stairs, and sat on the couch. He placed the phone face down on the coffee table and folded his hands.

Moments later, the phone vibrated, causing it to jump on the table.

The unknown number had sent another photo.

It was a woman on her knees, gazing up at the man standing over her. Both her hands were wrapped around what looked to be the same thick shaft from the earlier photo. She was guiding it into her mouth. Her lips were stretched wide around it, impossibly so, as she struggled to take him deeper.

There was no mistaking her. It was Kate.

Chapter 22

Kate woke with a start before dawn. The room was still except for the slow spin of the ceiling fan overhead. Michael was snoring softly beside her, and for a long minute, she allowed herself to feel her entire body, stretching her legs slightly to wake her thighs and calves.

Tonight she would see Victor, and she lay flat, the weight of it humming under her skin. It was not fear exactly, but more anticipation, like a thread that pulled at her hard behind her navel.

Kate slid carefully out of bed and descended to the kitchen. Coffee did not settle her nerves. She rinsed the mug and wiped the counter.

In the bath, she shaved carefully and very deliberately. She ensured her ankles, knees, and thighs were smooth and nick free. When Kate got to her bikini area, she thought of Michael shaving himself bare, and wondered if Victor would want her that way. In fifty-eight years, she'd never shaved her pussy bald. She'd also never been waxed. She opted to leave her pubic hair, thinking one thing at a time.

Kate pulled on a pair of jeans and a cute top. She put on some simple jewelry and stepped into red-and-brown wedges. She told herself she was running errands—groceries, dry cleaning, etc., but in the back of her mind, she knew that wasn't accurate.

By nine, she was already in a dressing room. The black dress she was trying on fit like a rubber glove, pushing her breasts nearly to her chin. She took one look in the mirror and decided it was too slutty. She tried on three more dresses before moving on to the next store. Victor had said to dress to impress, and she meant to do exactly that.

Store after store, dress after dress, Kate had spent the entire morning in search of the right one. On a typical outing, she would have called a girlfriend or two and made a circuit of the city. But it was Thursday and they were all at work, so she decided to break for lunch.

While sitting outside of the bougie café where she ordered her salad, Kate spotted a little boutique shop with cocktail dresses in the window that she had not tried. She'd go there next.

A small bell chimed as Kate stepped into the shop's foyer. The air smelled of orange blossoms, and the store felt quiet, catered. Beyond the foyer, several dresses stood on display, framing three intimate seating areas. Each had cushioned chairs gathered around a small table, all facing a dressing room and a low stage with three full-length mirrors. The arrangement seemed designed for groups, making Kate feel a bit awkward about being alone.

A very tall, slender Black woman glided forward in a charcoal suit. She was strikingly beautiful, with a presence that could easily grace the cover of Ebony magazine. 

"Welcome to Salon Marais," she said, "I'm Sera. What are we shopping for today?"

Kate paused. "A cocktail dress," she said. "Something simple, maybe in black."

"That's a perfect place to start," Sera said. "Come sit and tell me about the night." She led Kate to a seating area. "Water, a spritzer, or a glass of wine?"

"Water is fine."

Sera lifted a hand toward the front. "A water for Mrs—" she said, glancing at Kate's wedding ring, and then paused, and looked at Kate, prompting for her name.

"Delaney. Kate Delaney"

"...for Mrs. Kate," Sera called, then settled across from her, crossed her legs, and folded her hands on top of them. "Okay, tell me about your event."

Kate took a moment to gather herself, then began. "It's tonight," she said, fidgeting, "with a man I've never been out with before."

"Hmmm... Is it a business meeting?"

"No. I'm retired."

"A date, then?" Sera said, intuiting the situation.

Kate hesitated, then nodded. "Uh, Yes. A first date."

Understanding immediately, Sera said, "We are very discreet," smiling. "Whatever you share stays here."

"Thank you," Kate said, and she breathed a little easier.

"Do you know where he's taking you?"

"I don't," Kate admitted. "He only said to dress to impress." 

Her water arrived. She took a sip and sat straighter. "I do know he's wealthy. Last week, my husband and I went to his mansion for a dinner party of sorts. It was very fancy. He sent a Bentley limousine to pick us up."

"Impressive," Sera said. "Did he say anything other than how to dress?"

"He didn't say it. He sent a letter," Kate said. "He's been sending letters to me and my husband for a little while now."

Sera thought this was unfolding into a fascinating story, but she kept her tone even. "What's his name?"

"Victor."

"Describe him for me," Sera said, leaning in. "What did you notice first?"

Kate thought for a second. "His voice," she said softly. "It's calm, but with authority. He doesn't have to try." She looked down, then continued, "He's older, but he's aged well. He's tall and very handsome." She glanced up, unsure, and added, "He's Black."

Sera's expression didn't change; she simply nodded for Kate to go on.

"He owns a gym, and he's the lead trainer, so he's in excellent shape," Kate said, meeting Sera's eyes again to show she was finished.

"Sounds like a catch," Sera said. Professional, but curious. "Should I think of tonight as new territory, or something you've navigated before?"

Kate blinked, then understood. "Oh. I've never done this before."

"Got it. Now, tell me how the dress should behave. What matters more—appearance or function?"

Relief slid in as the conversation returned to fabric and fit. "I'm not sure," Kate admitted. "It should be sexy, but not awkward like a formal gown. I want to sit, bend, get in and out of a car without a fight."

She hesitated, then lowered her voice. "I may need to kneel, if you know what I mean." She turned her face away, blushing.

"I do," Sera smiled, wryly.  "Okay. I think I have enough to start with. Just wait here, and I'll bring out a few selections for you to try."

She returned with three dresses—two black, one deep red with lace panels down the sides.

Kate tried the first black. Sera circled, had her sit and stand, then shook her head. "Not this one."

Kate pulled on the red. The fabric slid cool over her skin; the front was modest, the back had a clean plunge. She stepped out.

Sera walked a slow arc. "Walk. Turn. Sit." The dress obeyed.

"Hang on." Sera fetched a small pillow and set it at Kate's feet. "Okay. Let's see how well it kneels."

Color rose in Kate's cheeks, but she lowered herself. The dress moved without pulling.

"How does it feel?"

"It feels right," Kate said, "This is the one."

"Wonderful," Sera said. "I'll box it up."

Kate paid, took the garment bag, and headed home.

Kate walked through the door to a house that smelled faintly of citrus cleaner. The counters shone, and the pillows on the couches were squared. Michael must have been cleaning, she thought. He did this sometimes when he was stressed. He was sitting on the couch and looked up when he saw her. She gave him a quick hello with a smile and headed upstairs. 

When she entered the bedroom, she hung the dress on the wardrobe door before going into the bathroom to prepare for her date.

She showered and washed her hair well. She ran her hands all over her body to ensure she was both clean and smooth. She put lotion on her legs and arms. She thought carefully about which perfume to wear and deliberately chose Michael's favorite.

Kate was blow-drying her hair when she saw Michael leaning in the doorway in the mirror. She could tell he was nervous. She turned and smiled, hoping it would help. He smiled back and continued watching her while moving to the bed.

When she was done, she stood up straight and took one last look at her naked body in the mirror. She turned to the side, then to the back to take in her rear, and finally faced forward again. She inspected her pubic hair, then gently tucked her labia into place.

Michael was sitting on the bed when Kate crossed the bedroom to the wardrobe. She didn't try to cover herself. She wanted Michael to see her nude body, knowing that he knew Victor was going to see it later.

She slipped the red dress over her head and let it drop into place. She turned her back to Michael to get his help.

"Zip?"

Michael obliged. She ran her hands down the lace panels, smoothing them into place. Kate turned to Michael. 

"How do I look?" she asked, already knowing. She wanted Michael to picture her like this with Victor.

Michael pressed her about not wearing underwear. Since he had been fantasizing about being cuckolded, she decided to lean into it and told him she wouldn't be wearing panties because she didn't expect to be wearing them for very long. It made her feel naughty.

At 6:58, the headlights of the shiny black Bentley limousine washed across the living room. 

When Kate heard the car pull into the driveway, she looked at the clock, and her stomach was suddenly twisted with anxiety. It wasn't too late to back out, she thought, and she began considering it.

At 6:59, she decided she wouldn't go. It was just too strange and far too risky to chance. She just needed to walk outside and inform Victor that the date is off.

At 7:00, Kate mustered the needed courage and trotted down the stairs. She kissed Michael on the cheek, promised him she'd be right back, and headed out the door to tell Victor.

The Bentley was idling in the driveway when Kate stepped out. The chauffeur opened the rear door, and Victor slowly stepped out with the confidence of a man who never had to rush for anyone for anything.

He was wearing a dark jacket with matching slacks. Underneath was a gray silk button-up with a big, open collar and no tie.

"Good evening, Katherine," he said, bowing his head slightly.

"Good evening," she said, her voice trembling.

Victor offered his hand, and she presented hers, allowing him to kiss it.

"You look stunning."

Kate was transfixed. She couldn't remember exactly what she'd come out here to say, but suddenly it seemed unimportant.

Victor guided her into the car, followed her in, and the chauffeur closed the door with a deep, cushioned thunk.

As they pulled away, Victor noticed she seemed distant.

"What's on your mind, Katherine?" he asked.

Kate hesitated, trying to formulate what she wanted to say, then said, "When I came outside, I intended to cancel, to send you away."

"Because?" His tone did not rise. It pressed.

"I'm afraid of how this will affect me and my marriage."

"Look at me," Victor demanded.

She did.

"You are in my car because you want to be," he said, "No other reason."

He held her gaze and nodded, expecting her to nod with him. She did.

"I will never force you to do anything. If you wish to stop at any time, I will return you home," he stated. 

Kate nodded as she listened.

Victor continued, "However, if you choose to stay, you will follow my lead. You will eat what I order, you will go where I tell you, and you will do as I say," he instructed, "Do you understand?"

Kate's breath shook as she stammered out, "Yes."

"Good. Give me your hand."

She offered it, but Victor took her wrist instead. He wrapped his large hand around it, settling his thumb and forefinger on the underside to feel her pulse.

"Breathe," he said, "In. Hold. Now out." He watched her chest rise and fall. "Again."

Kate's panic loosened, but his control caused the heat between her legs to amp up.

"Now that we are here and everything is out in the open, I want you to decide again, so there is no doubt: Yes, we continue with our evening. No, we turn around."

She swallowed, "If I say yes, what happens?" she asked, "Do we have sex?"

"If I decide," Victor replied. "Again, you can stop at any time, but I need your answer now. Yes or no."

Kate hesitated, then nodded.

"I need you to say it," Victor insisted.

"Yes." The word came out quietly. 

He released her wrist and said, "Good girl." He settled back into the leather seat. "You will enjoy this evening. We are going someplace nice." 

Then he added, much softer, but without losing any authority, "For now, collect yourself. You will need your focus."

After a twenty-minute ride, the Bentley slid smoothly beneath a low awning. A host stepped forward and opened the door. 

"Good evening, Mr. Marston," he said.

"Good evening," Victor said, and then turned to Kate, offering his hand. 

The restaurant was ritzy without being stiff. Its walkways were dark, lit only by candles from its small, intimate booths that lined them. Each booth was tucked away, offset so one could not see another when seated.

The host escorted Kate to her seat and stepped out of the way. Once Victor sat, the host said, "The menu, sir," and handed Victor a muted black binder. He did not offer one to Kate. 

"Enjoy," he said before withdrawing.

A server stepped to the table. "Good evening, Mr. Marston," he said, then turned and tipped his head to Kate, saying, "Ma'am." She was impressed that everyone seemed to know Victor's name.

"Water?" the server asked. 

"Yes," Victor began, "Still, please and a bottle of Barolo, say the '15."

"Very good, sir," the server said, and quickly departed.

Victor opened the heavy menu and perused it briefly. As soon as he'd put it down, another server arrived.

"Good evening, Mr. Marston. I'm Charles."

"Hello, Charles," Victor said. "We will begin with the crudo," he said without consulting the menu. "The lady will have the lamb, and I will have the braised beef." Then he said, "As for the sides, just dress it up nicely."

"Excellent choices, sir," the server said, "I think sautéed vegetables and a creamy Polenta would accent those meals nicely." 

Victor thanked the server and handed him the menu.

Victor turned his attention to Kate. "You look beautiful in red," he said once they were alone again. "It suits you."

"Thank you," she said, surprised at how well the compliment steadied her. "Everyone seems to know you."

"It helps the nights go easier," he said calmly.

The wine came. It was dark and aromatic. Victor nodded for the pour and lifted his glass. "To a pleasurable evening."

"To a pleasurable evening," Kate echoed, as he clinked her glass with his.

The first course arrived. Translucent slices of fresh fish were delicately positioned on a chilled porcelain tray. 

Kate looked at the dish, then up at Victor, unsure of how to eat it.

Victor picked up the small three-tined fork, stabbed a piece of fish, and pointed it at Kate's mouth, saying, "Close your eyes and open your mouth."

She obeyed.

Victor placed the fork tenderly on her tongue just inside her mouth and held it there.

"Close," he whispered.

Kate closed her mouth on the succulent fish, but it wasn't the taste that sent her reeling; it was him—his presence, his control.

The rest of the meal kept a similar beat. Things would go on normally, but then Victor would find unique opportunities to exert authority. Though they were never overt—just subtle reminders of who is in control.

Instead of announcing she was going to the restroom as she usually would, Kate found it natural to ask Victor for permission to excuse herself.

The elegance of the main dining room continued into the bathroom. It was an intimately sized room, but not so small that it felt cramped. The lighting was muted, but not so dark that it felt like it was hiding something.

Once the door was latched, Kate placed her palms on the small sink and opened her eyes wide into the mirror.

"What are we doing, Kate?" she asked herself as if she and her reflection were a team.

Her thoughts went to Michael. What did he really want her to do? Of course, he said he wanted her to fuck other men, but did he really mean it?

Kate pulled out her phone. She felt that if she texted him, it would allow him the opportunity to tell her to stop.

"We're at the restaurant now. I'll keep you updated," she texted.

She waited with bated breath. The response she expected didn't come. 

Maybe she needed to indicate, somehow, that sex was inevitable. Maybe that would trigger a response.

She typed, "You were right, his cock is very big," but then deleted it. 

If he thought she'd already gone through with it, he wouldn't have the chance to stop her, and she definitely wanted to give him that chance.

So she typed, "He's a really good kisser." Then thought for a second, added a heart, and sent it.

She hadn't actually kissed him, but she supposed it was a good message. It would signal that things were getting serious, but were not beyond the point of no return.

She stared at her phone, waiting to see if Michael would tell her to stop and come home.

Her breath caught as she saw the three dots indicating he was typing. Then they vanished. When they reappeared, she steadied herself.

"Have fun," Michael texted.

And there it was. He wanted this. 

She was a little upset by this. She was very turned on by Victor and was trying to get her husband to stop her from giving in to her desire. 

Then she thought, if he wanted it, then why shouldn't she?

Kate pushed her phone into her clutch and clicked it shut. She looked in the mirror one more time, checking herself, and then walked back to the table, leaving her doubts behind her.

Victor had ordered espressos and Tiramisu for them both. Their conversation settled into an easy rhythm after that. She asked how he "got so rich," and he explained that he had been fortunate in his tech ventures and investment opportunities.

"What about Echelon?" Kate asked boldly.

"I opened Echelon because bodies and discipline interest me more than spreadsheets," he said, "It's fairly new, but it already knows what it is."

The maître d' approached the table. "Hello, Mr. Marston," he said, then, in a lower voice, he added, "Your room is ready."

"Your room?" Kate said, louder than she meant to.

Victor met her eyes. "This restaurant is attached to a small, very select hotel," he explained in a calm and level voice. "It's mostly used by business executives, but I keep a suite here for when I want to entertain."

Before Kate could react, he said, "We can go up for a nightcap and see where things lead, or if you would like to end the evening here, we can do that as well."

Kate knew this was the moment of no return. She could end things here as easily as she could agree to go forward. She pictured Michael's text: Have fun.

"Nightcap," she said definitively.

The mâtre d' extended his hand to Kate, and she took it and stood. He presented his arm and she rested her hand in its crook. He escorted her through the small maze of the restaurant to the elevator of the hotel, Victor in tow.

When they reached the room, the mâtre d' opened it, walked Kate inside, and left her in the foyer to tend to the Champagne that was icing in the bedroom.

The suite was exquisite. It had a sitting room with tables, several chandeliers, and a large arched picture window next to the king-size bed that was covered in rose petals.

Victor thanked the mâtre d' on his way out and shut the door behind him. He stepped behind Kate and put his hands on her shoulders. She turned and looked up at him.

He tipped his head, bringing his lips to hers, and pushed softly until her mouth opened.

Kate wrapped her arms around his neck, and her whole body relaxed. She had built up to this moment for so long that her body just released all its tension at once.

Victor guided her from the foyer into the sitting room, walking her back step by step until their kiss broke. He slipped his fingers beneath the thin straps of her dress, traced them to her shoulders, and let them fall. Without their hold, the satin dress gave way and slid to the floor.

For the first time in decades, Kate was standing naked in front of a man who wasn't her husband. Victor took her hands in his and eased their arms straight, taking her in.

Her curls fell onto her shoulders that were dusted with freckles. Her breasts hung apart naturally. They were modestly sized, and the freckles from her shoulders spread down between them. Kate's nipples stood proudly in the middle of her pebbled areolas. 

Her belly curved gently to her hips. Her pubic hair was neatly trimmed. Her legs were long and slender.

Her body was neither a model's nor a gym-sculpted one, but rather that of a mature woman. Beautiful on its own terms.

He let his gaze travel down and back to her face, then smiled.

Kate was nervous and self-conscious. "I wasn't sure if you wanted me to shave like Michael," she stammered.

"You are perfect the way you are," he said reassuringly.

Then, glancing away, he said, "Michael shaved because he needed to learn obedience." Then he added, "And also because he has a boy's body. Boys do not have hair."

He looked back at her, slid his hands around her, and lifted. Kate wrapped her legs around his waist without thinking. She had seen this in films and never imagined doing it herself.

He laid Kate on the bed, then stepped back to stand beside it. She rose onto her elbows and watched as Victor moved, unhurried, to the closet to undress.

He took a hanger, set his jacket on it, smoothed the lapel, and hung it. He emptied his pockets and put his wallet and phone on the nightstand. He slipped off his watch and placed it on the dresser, then loosened his cufflinks and set them beside it, aligning them like two small coins. He unbuttoned his shirt from the collar down and hung it beside the jacket. He stepped out of his shoes and peeled off his socks, lining the shoes heel to heel and tucking a sock neatly into each.

He unthreaded his belt in one clean pull. He folded the belt in thirds, set it with the watch, and stepped out of his trousers, turning them once in his hands before hanging them with the crease intact.

He paused with his hands on his hips. His chest was broad and defined. His abdomen lay flat with a quiet line down its center. The muscles along his shoulders and arms looked earned rather than sculpted. His cock pressed long and heavy to one side beneath his close-fitting briefs, leaving little to the imagination.

Kate sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. Victor picked up his phone from the nightstand and stepped to her. Without a word, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his briefs and drew them down his thighs. His cock fell free, long and thick, and swung heavily toward her. She stared at it in awe, and her breathing quickened as she watched it thicken and lift, growing even larger before her eyes.

Kate's nerves paralyzed her. 

Her hands hovered, unsure. She could not seem to make them move.

Then she heard Victor's voice. "Breathe."

She drew in a breath, held it a moment, and let it out. Then another.

"Good," he said. "Now, touch it."

She wrapped her fingers around him, surprised by the heat and weight. The skin felt smooth and taut. Victor flexed it, causing it to pulse in her hand.

"Look at me," he commanded.

She lifted her eyes, and her head felt a little dizzy.

"Do you want to taste me?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," she answered in a small voice.

"Tell me."

Kate looked down to ready herself, but Victor corrected her.

"Up."

She looked up, and he held her eyes.

"I want to taste you."

She'd said it, and now all there was left was to do it.

Kate leaned forward and kissed the crown first. She pressed her lips softly against it. The scent of him filled her nose. She parted her mouth and took him in just past the head, her tongue gliding along its underside. 

Victor made a quiet sound that encouraged her, and she felt her nerves loosen a notch. She stroked with one hand while she learned the weight of him with her mouth, slow and careful, finding a rhythm she could hold.

"That's good," he said. "Very good. Take some more of it."

She did, and her nerves eased a bit more. He rested a hand on the back of her head. He didn't push; he only held it there. When she glanced up, he was watching her with an expression that calmed her.

He lifted his phone and angled it down his torso to frame his length and her mouth around it and said, "Let's capture this moment for your cuck." Kate winced slightly at the term.

Victor took a single photo. He pulled his cock from her and then touched her chin with his fingers.

"On your knees," he said, grabbing a bed pillow and handing it to her.

She dropped the pillow at his feet and knelt. The pillow caught her weight. She grabbed him in both hands, guided him back to her mouth, and took a little more. His cock thickened even more against her tongue. She breathed in deep through her nose and began to move her head, taking him in and out until she found a pace she could keep.

"That is it," he said, his voice low. "Yes."

Victor lifted the phone once more. "Keep your eyes on me." Another click, this time wider. Kate's lips were around him, and her hands were stacked along his shaft. Her eyes had begun to water, but her gaze was steady as she held his cock to her mouth. 

He looked down at the image and smiled broadly. "This is the one," he mused, "He will jerk off to this photo for years." 

He slid his phone aside, then met her eyes again, and said, "You're beautiful." 

He held her gaze, paused for a moment, then said, "You know, if I make you mine, you will no longer be allowed to fuck poor Michael."

She released him and drew in a breath through her mouth. A thin string of saliva broke on her lower lip. 

He thumbed it away, smiled, and asked, "Should I make you mine?"

Kate was intoxicated by the fact that she had been sucking on a dick that wasn't her husband's, and it was sexy and big and black.

Kate wrapped her hands around him again, gliding her hands slowly from base to crown. After a few strokes, she stretched her lips around his bulbous head and took him in again. Victor sighed. She felt the sound more than heard it. Her nerves were gone now. In their place was a steady hum and a sense that she had crossed to the other side of something and discovered that the ground there was solid.

Kate decided. She paused, flicked her watery eyes up to him, and, with Victor's cock filling her mouth, nodded in agreement.

"Say it!" Victor commanded sternly, loud enough to be heard outside the room.

His volume startled Kate. She swallowed shallowly before reluctantly pulling her head off his massive organ. 

A tear streaked from the corner of her eye. She blinked away another tear and said, "Victor, please make me yours." 

He smiled broadly, nodding. "Back in," he said softly.

She opened and took him again, deeper this time, finding the angle that let her throat relax. He made another quiet sound. Kate found the rhythm again and rode it, her fingers working in time with her mouth, her shoulders loose, and her body calm but alive.

Suddenly, Victor yanked his cock from her and took a step back.

"On the bed," he demanded.

Surprised and slightly nervous, Kate wiped the drool from her mouth with the back of her hand, got up from her knees, and started to lie back on the bed.

Victor grabbed her leg, flipping her over, saying, "Like this."

He positioned her with her knees on the bed, bent over, and her face pushed into the bedding.

Victor smacked her ass hard. Then he rubbed his hands around her cheeks, spreading them so he could see her anus and glimpses of her hair-covered lips.

He reached over to the nightstand, grabbed his phone again, and aimed it as he positioned his very long, very thick cock over her ass and snapped another photo.

"What's Michael's cell number?" he asked.

"What?" Kate murmured, not knowing exactly what was happening.

"I want to send this photo to your cuck. What's his number?"

It hit her all at once. Michael was a cuckold now. He wanted it, and she had seen to it. She told Victor his mobile number and waited.

Victor typed, "Here you go," and then sent the photo.

He set the phone aside for the last time and returned his focus to Kate.

He picked up his heavy cock and slapped it down on her ass.

"Tell me what you want," he instructed.

"I want you," she said.

"Not good enough. Try again."

Kate tried again. "I want you to fuck me," she said.

"How?" he asked, demanding an answer.

Kate wanted Victor so badly now. She felt wetness seep onto her inner thighs. She drew a breath.

"Hard," she answered, "and deep."

Victor guided his cock to the crease of her ass, pressing just enough to part her cheeks. He slid along the slick line, circling her tight rim before gliding down over her lips, slow and deliberate.

"Is this what you want?" he asked.

"Yeeeessss," Kate breathed, the word pulling long.

"I think," Victor said, punctuating the words with a slap of his cock on her ass, "that we," another slap, "should wait." A final slap, then he left it there for a moment, warm on her skin. Then he rose from the bed and stepped back.

This caught Kate off guard. She turned over, her eyes searching, "Why?" she asked pleadingly.

"Michael needs to witness the moment I take what's been his," Victor said, calm and certain.

Kate's disappointment engulfed her. She wanted this, and now she needed this. She opened her mouth to argue.

"Stand up," he commanded.

She stood.

"Let me look at you," he said, taking her hands and easing her arms wide so her body was open to his gaze.

Her face was flushed, and her mascara streaked from her eyes. Her pale skin was marked warm with pink. Her breasts hung naturally, and her pubic hair glistened where she was wet.

"Don't worry, little kitten," he said, the endearment soft in his mouth. "You will have plenty of opportunity to feel me inside you."

The ache did not vanish, but she held onto his promise.

He stepped closer and tipped her chin. "For now, I will leave you wanting. You will remember it when you are home. You will let it build."

She nodded, swallowing.

"Good." He kissed her once, slow and thorough, then guided her back to the bed to sit. He lifted his briefs from the floor, dressed himself with the same calm precision as when he undressed. He picked up Kate's dress and shoes, offered his hand, and asked, "Will you follow me?"

Looking a little confused about what he meant, she nodded slightly and slipped her fingers into his.

He turned and stepped toward the front door, pulling her along beside him.

Realizing he was going to take her out of the room without letting her dress, she pulled to a stop, "Wait," she said, urgently.

"Will you follow me?" he repeated the question, more directly than the first time. 

Victor looked hard into Kate's eyes and held there until he saw her surrender.

"Good," he said, and opened the door, walking them through it.

They did not encounter anyone on the way to the elevator, but when its doors opened with a ding, the faces of the two business-dressed men inside showed their astonishment with a hint of delight at seeing the nude woman before them.

Victor inclined his head to the two men. "Gentlemen."

He walked her inside without another word. Victor pressed the button to a floor that was not the lobby. He turned her to face him, close enough that his body and the angle of his shoulders hid her from anyone glancing in.

"Eyes on me," he said, quiet and warm.

She held his gaze. The doors closed. The car hummed down. She felt the cool air on her skin, the pulse in her throat, the heat in her cheeks. He did not smile, but he looked pleased.

Ding. The doors opened to the lobby, and the two men got out, and no one else got on. Then the doors closed again, and the elevator car resumed its descent.

Ding. The doors opened to a private service level. They stepped out. No one else was there. He led her into the alcove and stopped.

"You followed," he said.

"I followed," she said, a little worn.

"Good girl."

Victor knelt to set her shoes on the floor. Standing again, he lifted the dress and shook it once so the satin fell open. He lowered it over her head and eased it down, being careful with the lace. He took her hands, steadying her as she slipped into each heel. He turned her, zipped her up, smooth and sure, then adjusted a curl at her shoulder.

"There," he said. "You are composed."

"Thank you," she said, her breath almost normal again.

He took her hand. "Ready to go back up and finish our evening?"

Kate nodded.

Inside the elevator, he turned to her. "You learned something tonight," he said. "Discipline makes desire brighter."

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

He brushed his knuckles along her cheek. "Let's take you home."

The elevator carried them to the lobby. In the corridor, she walked beside him, her dress quiet over her hips, and her skin still singing.

The Bentley was waiting under the awning. The driver opened the door. Victor let her enter first and followed.

As the car pulled away, he laced his fingers with hers and rested their joined hands on her thigh. "You did well," he said.

Joy rose in her, unexpected and bright. Joy at pleasing him. She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder.

They turned into her driveway. The chauffeur stepped out and held the door. Victor escorted her to the front steps, then turned her gently and traced her cheek with the backs of his knuckles like before. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. He pulled her tight, prolonging the kiss. 

When they parted, he said, "When the time comes, I will not make you wait."

"Thank you," Kate said, small and sincere.

She opened the door and stepped inside. A moment later, she was staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, unable to recall how she had gotten there. Michael's footsteps sounded on the stairs. She reached over and turned the lock. The click felt louder than it should have.

She turned on the shower, let the dress fall, and pulled the curtain back.

She stepped into the spray before the water warmed. Cold struck her face and ran down her throat. She braced a palm on the tile and closed her eyes.

She had just changed her marriage forever. And she knew it.