The end of term was approaching rapidly. What with end-of-term exams, reports to write and next year’s timetable to organise, I totally forgot about tackling Lizzie the Lezzie about her mysterious purchase and her equally enigmatic companion.
School broke up for the summer, and Richard and I spent a wonderful month at a Caribbean resort for swingers and fetish lovers. No-one knew us there, and we were able to walk around without any clothes on, getting a fabulous tan and eyeing up potential lovers for me. Richard wore his chastity device constantly, and no-one saw anything unusual in it. He wasn’t the only cuckold present, and he enjoyed fluffing strangers and eating the cream pies that they left in my cunt.
Isaac came out for the last ten days of our holiday, and we picked up our fucking straight away. I’d only ever heard of ‘Sex on the Beach’ as a cocktail. Before we flew home, I’d experienced the actual deed, although it isn’t something I would hurry to repeat. Don’t get me wrong. The sex was fantastic, but by the end it felt as if I was being fucked by a cock wrapped in sandpaper. It took my poor clit a good three days to recover!
And soon it was almost time to begin another school year. August was drawing to a close in a blaze of warm, sunny days and September, and the autumn term beckoned. My tan was still quite prominent, but the Caribbean sun and the clear sea water had played hell with my hair. It had grown during the summer holidays, and I decided to keep it at its’ present shoulder length. But it would need tidying up. I rang the salon a week before school was due to open again for the new term.
It was Lizzie who answered. She was uncharacteristically reluctant to give me an appointment, and when I asked why, she was equally reticent.
“You’d probably do better to speak to Cheryl,” she said eventually, in answer to my barrage of questions. “It’s Thursday tomorrow. Half day closing. Come to the salon at about two o’clock. Cheryl will be here then, and she’ll explain everything.”
I had little choice but to do as Lizzie said. I was going to give her a piece of my mind when I saw her face-to-face the following day, I decided.
I walked to the hairdressing salon the following day, arriving as scheduled just on two o’clock. The door was closed and a sign to that effect hung from a sticker in the glass panel, which was covered with a roller blind, thus preventing passers-by from seeing inside. I knocked loudly on the glass door, and after a few seconds, the blind was moved aside and I saw Lizzie’s familiar features.
She replaced the blind and opened the door.
“Thanks for coming,” she said gratefully. “Cheryl’s in the salon. She’s in a hell of a state.”
Puzzled, I followed Lizzie into the salon. What greeted me was a sight that normally would have made me smile with pleasure, but as I approached her, Cheryl put down the cigar that she was smoking and burst into tears.
“Oh, Mrs. Simpson. Thank you for agreeing to see me,” she sobbed. “I’ve made a dreadful mistake. I’m such a failure. Lizzie says if anyone can help me, you can. Will you, please?”
I looked at Lizzie, who merely shrugged, and picked up her own cigar from the ashtray. She puffed on it and exhaled through her nose, making her look like a fierce little dragon. I grinned.
“Whatever you’ve done can, I’m sure, be rectified ” I said, taking Cheryl’s hand and patting it reassuringly. “Now, why don’t you dry your eyes and tell me what’s bothering you?”
She did as I suggested, and smiled weakly at me.
“It’s an awful cheek getting you involved in this,” she began, her voice trembling and tearful. “But when I remembered seeing you and your little group down in the club last month, it suddenly occurred to me that you might be able to help.”
I looked at her in total ignorance. I had no idea what she was talking about, and I told her as much. Cheryl picked her cigar up from the ashtray, and puffed on it. Then she got up, and went into the little room at the back of the salon, where I assumed she kept all her stock. She returned a few seconds later, leading a middle aged man, who smiled shyly at me. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but I couldn’t recall where, if at all, I’d seen him before.
Cheryl made the introductions.
“Mrs. Simpson, this is Don, my husband. Don, this is Mrs. Simpson, who used to teach me. She’s also a Hot Wife.”
I looked at Cheryl sharply, and then transferred my glare to Lizzie. Only she could be the source from which Cheryl had learned my most trusted secret. Lizzie just shrugged and continued to smoke.
“Oh, don’t blame Lizzie,” Cheryl blurted out anxiously. “It wasn’t her who made me aware of your lifestyle. As I said, we saw you and your cuckold down in the club last month.”
The look on my face was enough to stop her nervous chatter. So it had been Cheryl who was the mysterious masked woman that had accompanied Lizzie in the club that night. And this Don; he must have been the slave that Lizzie bought. I was confused. Did Cheryl just say that Don was her husband?
I cleared my throat and spoke up. My voice sounded sharper than I intended. I’d automatically gone into ‘teacher mode’.
“You’d better explain yourself, young lady,” I said sternly. “I don’t like what you are inferring. Come, on, get on with it. I’m waiting.”
Cheryl smiled and smoked her cigar insolently.
“That’s the Mrs. Simpson I know,” she said with that old familiar smirk on her face. “Well, here’s to nothing, I suppose.”
She dropped the butt of her cigar into the ashtray and looked at me with a nervous grin.
“I met Don about eight months ago,” she began, “and I knew straightaway that he was the man for me. We are both head-over-heels in love, and we got married six weeks after we met. My parents are disgusted and they’ve disowned me, but they are both terrible snobs. I love Don, and he loves me. And to be fair to him, Don let me know from the very start that he is a man with particular needs..”
“That doesn’t bother me. As I’m sure you remember from my school days, I can be somewhat of a flirt. I thought that I’d be able to provide for my husband’s needs without any bother at all. It turns out that I can’t.”
I shook my head in confusion.
“Cheryl, all you’ve told me so far is that you’re married to this man,” I said. “What you and he get up to as man-and-wife is no-one’s business but yours. I fail to see how I can help you.”
“I want to be a cuckold,” Don blurted out, blushing deeply as he spoke. “I want my darling Cheryl to become my Hot Wife, and to receive the sort of loving that I can’t give her. That’s what she’s trying to tell you.”
I looked at Cheryl, who bit her lip and nodded.
“Pathetic, isn’t it?” she whispered hoarsely. “Cheryl the wild child rebel of her schooldays can’t provide for the man she loves.”
Fat tears spilled out of her eyes, and rolled silently down her pale cheeks. I felt dreadfully sorry for her. Once again, I reached out and took her hand.
“Now then, you silly girl. There’s no need for tears. Wipe your eyes and let’s see if we can’t set about sorting you out.”