I have messed up, really messed up. It's been five days since we came back from Brighton – and Michael hasn’t touched me once. I think he’s in love with Carrie.

Yesterday was the worst day of my life. I couldn’t find him, searching high and low, even in the glade at the bottom of the garden. It was when I walked back to the house and passed by the outside loo and heard his voice, soft, almost whispered, that I realised he was on his phone.

The first words I caught were, “You are so sexy, I’m hard for you right now.” And he went on, “I’m playing with myself, imagining us being together. Oh, God, I want you so much, Carrie.”

Then there were the wet sounds, and I knew he was masturbating on the phone to her. I couldn’t take anymore, ran upstairs and threw myself on our bed and sobbed into the pillows. After a while I dropped off, and was only woken when he came upstairs to ask about dinner.

The tension is unbearable, and I know it’s all my silly fault. Standing in the cottage now, the silence presses in on me. He’s gone to Birmingham for the day – something to do with his old business – and I can’t bear sitting here stewing in my own thoughts.

The family who I would normally lean on for support are thousands of miles away, but maybe Nigel and Penny can help. I haul myself up, call Jasper, clip on his lead, and head out along the lane.

The fresh air steadies me. Jasper practically drags me along, nose to the ground, investigating every scent as if the world depends on it. It’s only a short walk before I turn into their drive, slip along the side path – our usual route when visiting – and knock at the back door.

“Hi, Nigel? Penny?” Nothing. Odd. Both cars are parked out front, so they must be around. I tie Jasper’s lead to the drainpipe and step inside the kitchen.

The house feels still. In the hall I glance into the lounge, then the dining room, calling a soft “Hi” each time, my voice sounding strangely small.

It’s a little unsettling, but I keep going, climbing the stairs. Their bedroom door stands wide open, as does the bathroom. The next logical place to check is the garden – but almost without thinking, guided by curiosity and by what Michael once said about a dark room with a padded bench and chains, I reach for the final door and ease it open.

I freeze, unable to process the vision across the room. Penny is standing on tip-toes, her arms stretched over her head, tied to something hanging from the ceiling. She is wearing a shiny black body with suspenders clipped onto black fishnet stockings. But it’s not her attire or stance that grabs my attention – it’s the look of horror on her face.

Then my world dissolves into darkness.

“Dora… Dora.” The words drift through the fug in my head, tugging me back. I blink, and Penny’s face swims into view, her eyes wide with worry.

A cool cloth presses against my brow. “You passed out,” she says softly. “Nigel helped me get you onto our bed.” She hesitates, her voice catching. “We were so worried. Nigel went to your cottage, but Michael’s not in.”

Panic flares again. “I have to go back, Penny. I’m so sorry for disturbing you. It’s all such a mess – my fault, every bit of it.”

But she only gives me that warm, steady smile. “No. Stay here. You need someone to talk to. Let me help.” She lifts a glass toward me. “Sip some water, and tell me what’s going on with you two. We haven’t seen you since you came back, and I told Nigel I thought something was wrong.”

Her hand closes around mine, firm and reassuring. It’s all the permission I need. The whole story spills out of me in broken pieces, tangled with tears.

Penny listens with a gentleness that steadies me, yet even as she comforts me, the truth feels heavy: her kindness can’t undo what I’ve broken. I admit to her, in a low, trembling voice, how desperately I want to make amends, how I feel I must face the consequences of what I’ve done.

She squeezes my hand, her fingers brushing a calming line across my brow. Her voice is soft but firm. “Stay here, Dora. Let me talk this through with Nigel.”

I close my eyes and hear the faint rustle of her leaving the room.

Sleep comes in fragments. When I wake, it’s to Nigel’s quiet authority. “Dora,” he says, “I’ve been thinking. I have an idea – something that might create the space for you and Michael to find your way back to each other.”

Hope stirs in me. I study his familiar features, remembering the time we shared, the way he blends strength with tenderness. “Tell me, Nigel.”

He nods once. “First – do you know what time it is?”

I shake my head. Time has slipped from me entirely since I left home. “It’s five‑thirty,” he says, checking his watch. “When does Michael usually get back?”

The simple question grounds me, tethering me to the ordinary world I’ve drifted so far from. “I’m not sure. He normally texts me his ETA once he’s on the way.”

Nigel exhales thoughtfully. “All right. Then we’ll be ready when he returns. You want to make things right, to face what happened – so we’ll give you a chance to do exactly that.”

He outlines the plan: how they’ll prepare, how Michael will be brought into the situation, how the three of us navigate the wreckage I’ve caused. It all sounds measured, almost elegant.

But as he speaks, questions stir inside me. Will this be enough? Can it truly mend what I’ve broken?

._.

Nigel’s phone bleeps, the message from Penny is short and precise – He’s back. He extends a hand, “Come, it’s time.”

We walk across the landing into the dark room, and just as we practiced earlier, I lie on the top of the padded bench, my arms and legs dangling down. The clink of metal accompanies the shock of cold steel wrapped around each ankle and wrist in turn.

Nigel’s bulk fills my view. “Test the locks, Dora.” I pull at the chains, it feels as if my limbs can only move a few millimetres. “Good, are you comfortable?” 

I lift my head, give it a shake, and settle down again, then lightly tell him, “As comfy as can be expected.”

Penny’s voice cuts in, “I’ve left the front door ajar. All set? You okay, Dora?”

The waiting is tense, the seconds drag, everything depends on Michael behaving as we expect. I am quite comfortable, the bench padding soft enough to lie on for a long time. The steel clamps dig into my skin, but they are not too heavy. 

Externally I look calm, internally a maelstrom, my mind drifting back to a house in Scotland a year ago, when Hamish beat me with a strap. I was naive, trying to divert his wrath away from Maddy, unaware she was a pain slut. It hurt, but everything changed when I realised she craved the pain of the strap and my submission was arousing her. I think about how my body reacted then – my juices flowing freely, aroused and ready to take him. The question haunts my mind - will it happen again?

Finally, Michael’s voice carries up the stairs. “Nigel, Penny are you there. I can’t find Dora, she’s not at home, nor is Jasper.”

I hear Penny’s footsteps tap across the landing. “We’re here with Dora, come on up.”

I cannot see behind, but sense when Michael enters the room, and hear his loud gasp when he sees me laid out on the bench.

Nigel’s voice is firm and authoritative. “Dora’s here because she feels guilty that she has messed up and damaged your relationship. She wants to atone, to accept responsibility and the consequences.”

From Michael there is just a soft “Ah, ha.”

"The atonement she has chosen is twelve strokes of the cane, which she has agreed I will administer."

There’s a pause, I feel my skirt being pulled up my back, exposing my panty-clad cheeks, then I hear the swish of the cane twice. Nigel is practicing, as he said he would. Then, softly, “Are you ready, Dora?”

My teeth are chattering, but somehow I squeeze out a shallow, “Yes.”

The cane taps twice against my buttocks – experimental, testing the angle – and Nigel's voice comes quiet behind me: "Count them properly, Dora, or we start again." The first stroke cracks before I can steady, hot and precise, and my "One!" is little more than a gasp.

My whole body jerks as the second stroke lands – sharper than the first, splitting the air like a rifle crack before biting into already tender skin. My knuckles go bone-white around the bench legs, but Nigel is merciless. “Count!” he orders.

The silence stretches until my feeble "Two."

Swish, crack. My composure breaks, and I descend into a pit of pain, sobbing madly, squirming on the bench, my limbs vibrating in agony.

“Stop. Enough. Out, both of you.” Michael’s voice cuts through everything. I hear Penny and Nigel retreat, the soft click of the latch marking their exit.

He drops to his knees beside me, his face appearing level with mine. An arm settles across my shoulders, warm and steady. His voice is barely a breath. “What’s this about? Why do you doubt me?”

Salt burns my eyes as I try to speak. “It’s not you. I’ve messed everything up. We never should not have gone to Brighton. Now you’re in love with Carrie – having phone sex – telling her how you want her.”

He shakes his head slowly, almost sorrowfully. “No, Dora. I’m in love with you, not Carrie. I think you overheard me fantasising; talking while I pleasured myself. And I only did that because you’ve been so distant with me lately.”

The truth hits like a cold shower. Shame floods me. “But it is my fault. I created all of this.”

His hand moves in slow circles on my back, seeking my dress zipper, running it down before finding the exposed spot he knows unravels me. Then he hesitates, actually stutters, something I have never seen from him. Words jam in his throat before they finally break free.

“D-D-D-Dora… will you marry me? Be my wife?”

I feel myself rise from the pit straight into the light. “Yes, Michael. I want that more than anything.” Tears spill freely, warm on my cheeks.

He leans in, kisses the tears away, and whispers against my skin, “I love you.” 

His hand slides down my back, over the bunched material of my dress, until his fingers brush the waistband of my panties and slip beneath; gentle, reassuring, intimate.

It is perfect – until he touches the welts. Pain flares, and I cry out.

“I’ve got you all to myself, utterly defenceless,” he murmurs, resting his forehead lightly against mine. “So, my darling fiancée, you’re safe with me, completely safe, and I’m going to take you. But I’ll be very careful – especially around those welts.”

The chains bite into my wrists as I shift slightly. Michael's breath is warm against my ear, his voice low, as his fingers trace the curve of my hip. "You know I won't rush. Not with you like this."

I feel his lips tracing a damp path across my shoulder and down my spine while his fingers slide beneath the cotton of my panties again, warm and deliberate. His touch is slow, testing the way I tense when he grazes the raised lines of fresh welts.

"Michael?" My voice is a half-plea, but he shushes me with a kiss to the corner of my mouth. 

"Easy," he breathes, fingers teasing the crease where thigh meets cheek. 

I whimper when his fingers go further, tracing the damp line of my slit through my panties. Michael groans, his breath wafting across the small of my back, a sound I know well, his hunger for me.

"Mmm," he mutters, hooking the cotton aside with a finger. His breath makes me shudder as he leans in, lips brushing the sensitive swell of my buttocks.

"Tell me," he murmurs to me, "do they still hurt?" His tongue flicks out, barely there, just grazing the edge of a welt.

I jerk against the chains, gasping. "Ah! It does," I pant, twisting my fingers in the restraints.

His tongue soothes the fresh sting before his fingers slide lower, slipping through slick folds with a satisfied hum. "God, you're wet," he growls, circling my clit, rubbing until my thighs shake.

"Michael, please!” The words dissolve into a moan as he thrusts two fingers deep, curling them just right and fucking me with slow, relentless strokes.

"Tell me what you want."

I swallow hard, trembling under his touch – his thumb brushes my clit again, feather-light, and I release a sob. "You know what I want."

His fingers, slick with me, trace slow circles around my clit, close enough to tease, never enough to satisfy.

"Ask properly," he says, voice dropping to a growl. "Beg."

"Please," I whisper. His thumb presses down hard, and I gasp. 

"Please what?" His fingers slowly drag through my swollen lips. 

"Use me," I cry out, hips jerking against the bench.

"Good girl," he murmurs before his fingers plunge back in, curling deep inside me. The chains rattle as I try to twist against the deep, deliberate strokes. 

His thumb circles my clit faster now, and my vision whites out for a second. A moan tears from my throat as the tension snaps, my body shuddering under his relentless touch. He doesn’t let up, dragging out the aftershocks. 

His free hand slips under my hips, tilting me higher, exposing me completely. Cool air drifts over my bare tummy, but his breath is hot and close as his tongue licks a slow path up my slit.

I jerk against the chains with a strangled cry, oversensitive and trembling. 

"Too much?" he taunts. His fingers curl inside me again, coaxing out another weak whimper. "Or do you want more?"

His thumb circles my clit lazily, just enough to make my hips twitch. "Answer me."

"Michael? Please!" My voice cracks when his tongue flicks over my clit, then he pulls away instantly, leaving me clenching around nothing.

I groan into the bench, my skin sticking to the surface. "Use your mouth," I gasp. He chuckles darkly as he spreads me wider. 

"Since you asked so nicely." His tongue drags through my pussy in one long stroke, then circles relentlessly and faster. "Almost there," he mumbles, then my legs tremble violently as he orders, "Come for me. Now."

I scream, the chains rattling as my body convulses under his relentless mouth. Michael doesn't let up, drinking me in, his fingers pumping through the aftershocks until I'm whimpering from overstimulation. Only then does he pull back and he surveys me – a mess of sweat, spit, bodily fluids and shaky limbs. "Beautiful," he murmurs, tracing a welt tenderly.

I moan, deep and happy, "Fuck me, darling!"

He climbs off me, then unhooks the chains that have been my prison. The unexpected freedom makes me gasp. Then, he helps me roll onto my back, and pulls my panties off.  My legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he settles between them.

"You asked for this." He smiles, lining himself up before sinking into me with one slow, relentless thrust. The stretch feels delicious. My fingers grasp his flanks as he begins to move with deep strokes that leave me moaning with every touch. 

His rhythm halts for just a moment when I clench around him, and the way his eyes close sends a thrill through me. I pulse my muscles, tightening and slacking around him again and again.

Soon, my thighs start to tremble violently, pleasure coiling tight throughout my body. "Michael, I'm, ahh." The words dissolve into a moan as his hips thrust forward in a constant rhythm.

"Look at me," he demands. My eyes open wide, meeting his gaze just as he thrusts deep against my clit, sending me over the edge. My scream echoes off the dark walls as I come, my nails scoring deep into his shoulders as I clench around him.

He doesn't slow, riding out my orgasm with uneven strokes, his breath ragged against my throat. "I’m not done," he growls.

"Feel me take you," he orders, and the hunger in his voice makes my breath hitch. He powers into me, slamming against my pelvis for almost no time at all before his hips stutter, and with a great groan, he shoots into me. The heat of his juice hits my walls, and the sensation sends me into another welter of orgasmic shudders.

"Darling, beautiful," I mutter, and he chuckles, pressing a kiss to my temple before rolling off with a groan.

He looks at me tenderly, standing, smiling beside the bench, and lays his hand on my tummy. “Don’t move, there’s something we need to do first.”

Michael steps across to the door and opens it wide, then calls out, “Okay, you two, we’re done.”

Nigel and Penny appear immediately, obviously from their bedroom. I wonder how much they have heard. I suspect a lot because they look very relaxed as they come in.

Michael moves to my side, standing over me, holding my hand. “The good news is Dora has received all the punishment she will ever need. The even better news is I asked for her hand in marriage, and she accepted. So, I present you with my new fiancée. Nigel, will you be my best man?”

Nigel grins. “Delighted.”

“Good, now your first duty is to lick my future bride’s pussy clean. And my future wife’s first official duty is to suck me clean.”

Nigel kneels between my legs, and Michael’s soft, sticky shaft touches my lips. Then Penny pipes up, “And me?”

My reply is instant. “My chief bridesmaid. And your first duty is to suck off the best man while he attends to me.”

I know, in my heart, they are good people and I am lucky to have all three close to me. And they can all enjoy my body. Nigel is almost as good at pussy licking as Michael, I can feel him now. Perhaps I’ll have another come. Perhaps Michael will shoot into my mouth. Perhaps I will lick Penny to orgasm. The evening is still young – two couples, four people. Lots of opportunities.