[Author’s note: Alice is married to James, a professional football player who has found himself at a loose end after retiring from the sport. After attending a charity auction in which she was outbid for her own husband, Alice and James have been blackmailed into service by Jodie and her upper-echelon friends. They have no choice but to do her bidding, otherwise she will release the videos she took.]
—
THE FIRST TIME
I remembered little bits of it all: pulling on my jeans and my top, giving Jodie the car keys, getting into the back of my car. I remember James getting into the passenger seat, and Jodie’s hand on his leg while she drove us home.
I remember Jodie telling me to strip off and get into bed, snatches of conversation, James lying next to me. I remember movement, and a sound of satisfaction, bodies moving in time as I lay on my back to one side, with my eyes fixed on the wall, because I’d been told to. In some part of my brain, I knew that Jodie was fucking my husband while I laid next to him, using him to bring herself to climax in our bed.
I knew all of this, but none of it seemed to matter, because Jodie told me it didn’t. She said we’d had fun, and I believed her. When she told me to go to sleep and not worry about it, I was relieved to be finally able to close my eyes and drift away.
Next morning, I woke with the sun in my eyes and a terrible hangover.
Next to me, James was still fast asleep, snoring. That was what had wakened me, and I rolled onto my side watching him. James was stretched out flat on his back, mouth open, covered only by a sheet. In the back of my head, there was something important I needed to ask him, but I couldn’t remember what. My eyes drifted down his covered body, coming at last to the tented folds between his legs, and I reached out without really intending to, placing my palm softly on top of his erection, feeling his firmness.
For some reason, it made me horny, just touching him without him being aware of me. I traced a finger down, feeling his rigid shaft through the sheet, stroking him gently. James stirred, snorting, but didn’t wake up, mumbling something. I continued to caress him softly, marvelling at his solidity, feeling my husband responding unconsciously to my touch.
Very gently, I slipped under the sheets. I moved with glacial slowness, trying not to disturb James, sliding down to the bottom of the bed, approaching his hard-on. I stretched forward, over him, and brought my lips into contact with his shaft, just a delicate little kiss. James grunted, shifting in the bed, rolling towards me, pressing his erection into my face, unexpectedly. I hesitated for a moment, then found myself parting my lips, drawing him carefully into my mouth.
I was absolutely silent, taking in just his head, letting my tongue do the work. For some reason, the idea turned me on powerfully, of such intimate contact with my husband while he remained oblivious to me. I imagined him weaving the sensations into a dream, reconciling the feeling of my lips wrapped around his manhood with whatever fantasy was playing through his head. I took him in further, with excruciating slowness, amazed at how firm he was. My lips slipped down his shaft until my nose brushed up against the tight curls of his hair.
I detected the musk of sex there, lingering. It began to stir memories from the previous night, bringing back visions of James sprawled on the couch and me watching as a woman straddled him. I tried to concentrate on it, feeling the recollection slipping from my memory as if I was trying to hold on to a dream. I swallowed reflexively as I felt James make contact with the back of my throat.
I remembered that James had rolled the woman over and then slid into her while I watched, pounding away until she came. It felt much more real than a dream, accompanied with an unquenchable desire on my part to see him perform, to watch him fuck her without mercy, like a rutting, mindless beast. I felt the moistness between my legs, a tingle of heat building up in my core.
The scent lingered in my nostrils, connecting with the recollections, triggering a flashback. I gagged, needing to pull away as the memories came back. I began to withdraw, but a hand pressed against the back of my head, keeping me in place. Suddenly, James began to move, thrusting his hips in little motions, sliding in and out of my open mouth. In bewilderment, I froze, struggling as the memories resurfaced from last night. He pumped his manhood between my lips a half dozen times and then I felt him twitch and tasted his cum on my tongue, pumping into my mouth as he emptied his balls before finally removing the hand from my head and letting me withdraw.
I pushed my way up the bed, emerging from the covers to see my husband looking at me, grinning.
“Well, good morning to you too,” he said.
I swallowed hard, clearing my mouth, feeling suddenly disgusted with myself. The heat between my legs began to fade as quickly as it had appeared.
“Yeah,” I muttered, “Morning.”
“That was a wonderful way to wake up.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.”
James slid across to cuddle me, but I rolled over onto my back, folding my arms across my breasts. Yes, my naked breasts; James was nude too, which was unusual. Even after a night of serious passion, I’d usually slip into a nightie afterwards, unless it was the height of summer. A cold, empty feeling began to take hold.
“How’s the head this morning?” James asked.
“Terrible.”
“Me too. Shit, I don’t know what I drank.”
I hadn’t had anything to drink last night. Then, I remembered: a sip of cognac. I searched through the haze of my memories of last night. Yes, only that, nothing else.
“You okay? Want a cuddle?”
James wrapped his arms around me, pulling himself close, but I pulled away, sliding out of the bed.
“I need to pee.”
I padded into the bathroom, closing the door behind me and flopping down onto the toilet. Between my legs, there was still a little evidence. I’d had sex, and the memory came back to me vividly, making me roll suddenly up into a little ball on the toilet, as if I had just been gut punched.
James had pulled himself out of her, out of Delilah, tearing my fingers away from inside my own pussy as I frantically stroked myself, plunging into me, his cock slick with his own seed and Delilah’s juices. I remembered the orgasm, feeling him twitching inside me, as he still came down from his own climax, after erupting inside the elegant older woman in her lingerie, pressed up against me.
Oh fuck, oh really, what had he done? Panic seized me, and I froze. Doubled over, naked, I sat on the toilet for what felt like an age, gradually piecing together the memories of the night before.
We’d made love on Delilah’s couch, stripping naked, oblivious to the fact that we were being watched. I remember talking, or at least Jodie and Delilah talking, then Delilah in lingerie, James fucking her before then fucking me. I remembered everything. Seized by the need to confront my husband, I found myself suddenly in motion, flushing the toilet, standing up. It seemed inconceivable. We’d never even talked about a threesome; I would never have agreed. I would never have wanted to share my husband with anyone.
There it was, in the pit of my stomach, a tingling feeling. Standing in the middle of the bathroom, it came back to me again, and instead of returning to the bedroom I lurched towards the shower, turning it on as hot as it would go, standing underneath the spray and letting it cleanse my body of the remnants of the previous night.
There it was. I remembered the glow, the strange, twisted pride, watching my husband slamming into the elegant blonde woman, burying himself in her willowy body, demonstrating how good it felt to be fucked by James, what he could do. I hadn’t paid attention to her because my eyes had been fixed on my husband, the way his body moved, watching his muscles clench and ripple as he took his pleasure from her body. It had been infidelity, it had been betrayal, but at the same time it had been so pure and so very, very hot.
I found myself gasping at the recollection, my head pressed against the shower glass, the scalding water pouring over my body, and a different kind of heat between my legs. My head was throbbing, my mouth dry, my emotions in turmoil. I needed to talk to James.
Killing the water, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around me. The bedroom was empty, so I went in search of my husband, finding him standing in the open air in the back garden with a coffee in his hands, clad in a pair of sweatpants. He heard me and turned.
“Coffee’s on the side, babe. I made you one.”
He looked tired, his eyes sunken, but his tone seemed genuine.
“I, uh,” I stammered.
“Still warm. God, I feel like shit this morning,” he continued, turning away towards the garden.
I stared at the back of his head, fuming silently. The words were out before I had time to think.
“Do you remember last night?” I asked.
James didn’t turn around. “No,” he replied, shaking his head, “Not after, I guess, after you turned up and we started drinking again.”
James let out a long sigh.
“Fuck,” he gasped, “I feel like dogshit.”
“You don’t remember a thing?”
“Nah, uh, I guess. It got kinda hazy.”
Without meaning to, I found myself wandering back into the kitchen, on autopilot. The coffee he’d made me was steaming gently on the table and I drifted over to it. It tasted good, and I cradled it in my hands for a moment, trying to piece everything together. I needed my phone.
I hunted through the house, finally discovering my phone in the rumpled pile of clothing discarded in the corner of the bedroom. I switched it on, and a message flashed up from Jodie. I tapped on it and read two words: call me.
I called, before I could really think it through, and Jodie answered almost immediately.
“Alice, good morning.”
Her tone was light and friendly, engendering the opposite reaction in myself.
“What the hell happened?” I snapped.
“When?”
“Don’t play games,” I fired back, “Last night.”
“You’ll have to be more specific. Or do you want the entire thing?”
“Jodie, don’t mess with me. What fucking happened?”
There was a pause, and then I actually heard her laugh.
“Yes, you’re right.”
“What?”
“Fucking happened. Fucking certainly happened.”
I gasped, stunned by the blatant admission. I felt part of my brain shutting down, going blank.
“What?” I repeated.
“Well, let’s see,” Jodie continued, breezily, “You remember in your bed, after I brought you both home?”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Jodie continued relentlessly, and I could hear the amusement in her voice.
“James and I? I think you went to sleep. He certainly didn’t.”
Slience. I could sense Jodie was waiting for a response, but I was unable to form the words, rendered mute by a sickening feeling.
“What do you remember Alice? Do you remember that?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Do you remember just going to sleep?”
“Yeah.”
“You heard us fucking next to you and you just went to sleep. What did you think about it?”
My guts were churning, struggling to make sense of the conversation.
“I,” I stammered, “I guess I didn’t.”
“How about earlier in the night? What do you remember from then?”
“Delilah,” I blurted.
“Yes, but what about Delilah?”
“James.”
I could only express myself in monosyllables. I couldn’t get my words out.
“James and Delilah,” Jodie prompted, “Doing what?”
“On the couch, right next to me.”
“Yes, and how did that make you feel?”
I managed to stop myself in time, clamping my jaws shut, avoiding the admission even as the memory of my husband’s perfect body replayed in my head, thrusting into Delilah.
“You remember it, then?” she prompted.
“Yes.”
“How about James? Does he remember?”
“No,” I hissed.
There was a pause on the line, and when Jodie spoke again, her tone had changed, becoming more businesslike.
“I suspected as much. I did give him a larger dose.”
I gasped, and my world seemed to stop. An awful, dreadful feeling gripped me.
“What?” I growled, “What the hell did you do?”
“Ah, Alice, it’s what you did that matters. Here, let me help you remember. We should talk later.”
The call ended.
I stared at the little screen, my hands shaking. Her tone had been so nonchalant. What had she done to us? The phone vibrated as three new messages came in. I tapped on the first one, seeing the video that Jodie had sent.
I don’t know how long I’d been standing there in the bedroom, but eventually I began to move again, shuffling through the house like a broken thing, looking for James. I knew now what had happened, the things we’d done. The first video was of myself and James on the couch naked, fucking with abandon. The second video showed me very clearly, my eyes on my husband as he fucked the woman pressed up against me on the couch with a lace mask over her face, then my husband swapping her for me once she’d orgasmed, thrusting into me too, bringing me to a shattering climax, the lust plain on my face.
The third message was short and to the point and the reason I now had to confront my husband, the one who had been so far gone that last night was nothing more than a gap for him. I needed to show him what we’d done. He needed to read what Jodie had proposed. We needed to understand just how utterly, inescapably screwed we were.
—
Jodie met me for coffee later. I went alone, having arranged it without James knowing for the simple reason that he had made it very clear that his preferred option was to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze until the life left her body. It had been the tail end of a fiery discussion that had left my voice raw, trailing down into soft voices as the things we talked about became ever more monstrous. In the end, I had dispatched James to pick up the kids from my parents and then slipped out to go up the street when the coast was clear.
This is the thing you need to understand about my husband: he doesn’t do losing. On the field, he’s played on with dislocated fingers, getting numbed up so that he could finish the game. He’s gotten himself punched in the face, niggling his opposing number to the point that the guy snapped and went for him, getting himself taken out of the game. James will take a hit in order to win. Being blackmailed, to him, was a matter of going on the attack, to finding them and making them pay.
I talked him down. Jodie’s message had been short and to the point, listing our options. Play ball, or watch as the videos went public, which meant public on the socials, forever. Jodie and Delilah had been clever: the first video looked like our sex tape, which would be awful. Our friends, our families would have access to it. But the people we knew from school, the parents we mixed with, would see it as well. As our children grew up, their friends would find it. That had been the point where I won James over to my side, when he realised the issues this would cause for our boys.
I didn’t need to mention the second video, the one that was even worse. Not because it showed my husband fucking another woman, but because you could see the look on my face as I watched. A leaked sex tape of the two of us was one thing, a video of James fucking someone else and my look of enraptured joy while he did it, that made us look like deviants. We could perhaps survive a sex tape; a video of us engaging in twisted sex games would be the end of us.
Jodie was waiting for me at the coffee shop, sitting on an outside table at the end of the row. She actually stood up and waved when she spotted me, for all the world as if we were just catching up for coffee.
“Alice, how nice to see you again.”
I didn’t reply, coming to a halt at the table, staring at her with contempt.
“Now, come on. We don’t need to do that here. Let’s just sit and talk.”
Jodie indicated the chair next to her and I sat, while she waved someone over to take my order.
“Coffee, black, double shot,” I mumbled to the girl who appeared.
“Under the weather?” Jodie asked, smiling at the girl as she departed.
“Drop the act,” I spat.
Jodie regarded me coolly, her eyes hardening a little.
“It’s always hard, the first time, Alice,” she replied, “You’re still trying to work out the approach, what leverage you have, what angles you can play.”
I said nothing, staring at her with hatred.
“The second time, the shock of it, the newness, it’s not there anymore. You’ve had time to process it all and work through your feelings.”
She picked up her cup and took a sip of coffee, taking her time.
“You understand what I’ve done to you and what I want, the second time. Generally, then you’re ready to listen. The first time’s all about venting and getting it out of the way.”
She had the gall to give me a smile, and I felt a pure, dark fury surging up from within me. Maybe James had been right. He would have throttled the supercilious bitch by now. Instead, I leaned closer to her, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Don’t you fucking dare threatening my family,” I rasped.
Jodie’s eyebrows rose, and she responded haughtily, “Oh, no, of course not. I think we all want what’s best for your family, Alice. We all want you and James to carry on as normal.”
“Then what the fuck do you want? Money?”
“Money?”
“Yeah, how much do we need to pay? How do we make sure the copies are destroyed.”
“You want to get to a price?”
I smiled grimly, replying in an icy tone, “That’s why I’m here. James just wanted to end you.”
Jodie looked startled for a moment, pulling back. I took it as a sign that I had the upper hand, so I pressed the point.
“Your friend, Delilah, she set it up. You drugged us. What do you need between the two of you to make this go away?”
I’d been very clear to James. We needed to resolve the blackmail financially. Bringing in the cops, or letting Jodie go public, neither of these were an option. James had a career ahead of him, commentating on the big games, making the transition from player to show host. We had schools lined up for the boys. It was too much to put on the line by doing something dumb like going to the police.
“Show me your phone.”
I blinked, caught off-guard by Jodie’s request.
“Why?” I hissed.
“I want to see if you’ve been tempted to get clever. Show me it, now.”
She reached out a hand. I glared at her, but she seemed resolved to wait for me to comply.
“What do you want the phone for?” I asked.
“I either see your phone, right now, or I believe I have another appointment I need to get to. Your choice, Alice. You asked for this meeting.”
I hesitated, but then I got my phone out of my pocket and put it in her hand. She glanced at the screen for a moment and then gave it back to me.
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Just checking. It’s awful these days, having a device to hand that can record conversations, stream them anywhere. Everything becomes more complicated.”
“You think I’m recording you?”
“Of course. I certainly would have, if our roles were reversed,” Jodie replied, then grinned at me, “Oops. It didn’t even occur to you, did it?”
“Maybe I’m wired.”
Jodie actually laughed, replying, “Oh, Alice, that’s just priceless. You simply didn’t have time, and where would you go? Is there a spy shop somewhere nearby? You’re really not good at this sort of thing, so how about we leave the thinking to me, and the doing to you? It’d be just a lot more efficient.”
“What do you want?” I snapped, “Name the price and let’s get it done.”
Jodie glanced over my shoulder and paused. I turned to see the waitress returning with my coffee. She put it down at the table and Jodie smiled at her again, waiting until we couldn’t be overheard before continuing.
“You’re obsessed with the money,” she observed.
“I know what this is. You name a price, I hand you the money, then we’re finished.”
Jodie leaned forward, putting her chin in her hand, surveying me steadily.
“How much money do you have, Alice?”
“Enough. We have savings.”
“The house?”
My eyes widened.
“Yes, maybe we could look at the entire asset package, come up with a figure. But there’s something you’re missing.”
“And what would that be?”
“You’ve been to Delilah’s house. After seeing how we live, do you really think we care about money?”
Her smile froze. Cold tendrils seemed to wrap themselves around my heart.
“No,” she continued, “We’re not interested in money. We’re way past money.”
“Then what?” I croaked.
My voice was tiny, my guts constricting.
“Something a lot more valuable than money. Do you know what it is?”
All I could do was shake my head, caught off-guard, suddenly realising that I was a long way out of my depth.
“Power.”
Jodie’s face lit up, rolling the word off her tongue, relishing it.
“Uh, what?” I stammered, frowning now, “I don’t understand.”
“Let’s imagine a game, Alice. Let’s call it carbon trading. Money can only buy you so much.”
Mutely, I stared back at her, uncomprehending, waiting for her to elaborate.
“We don’t transact money, you see. We transact people. We build up an investment portfolio of favours, giving when we need to, taking when we need to. It’s all just business, Alice. There’s very little emotion involved.”
“What do you want?”
“Are we ready to talk business now? Are you ready to listen?”
I nodded.
“Good. See, the hard part’s over. Now we’re just laying out the specifics. Here’s what you’re going to do.”
I listened in silence while Jodie talked, feeling a numbness creep over me. At last, when she’d made sure I understood, she told me I was free to go. I stood up, finding myself looking down at her, sitting primly at the table, immaculately presented and in complete control. My drink sat untouched on the table. Jodie followed my gaze to it and gave a little shrug.
“Don’t worry about the coffee,” she smiled, “Let’s just say it’s on me. I can afford it.”
—
I fussed over my husband’s shirt, getting the collar straight. I could see the conflict in his eyes, but he didn’t voice any of that to me.
“God, I could use a drink,” he said.
I rifled my fingers through his hair, stroking his neck, little touches.
“How do I look?” he asked.
I spread my hands across his broad chest, smoothing out the fabric.
“You look good,” I replied, “James, I just….”
“No.”
The way he cut me off, the finality of it, shocked me. I bit my bottom lip, looking up at him, struggling with the sudden urge not to cry.
“No,” he repeated, softer this time.
James wrapped his fingers around my wrists, pulling my hands down, releasing me. He turned to inspect himself in the mirror.
“It’s game time, I guess,” he stated in a monotone, “I’ll take the car.”
“No, I want to drive you.”
“Alice,” James began, but I got in first.
“I’m taking you. We’ll drop the kids off at my parents on the way. It’s been arranged.”
“What’re you gonna tell your folks?”
“Date night.”
James laughed, but there was a hard edge to it.
“Let’s go then. I’ll round them up and get them in the car.”
I watched James leave the bedroom, immaculate in a white dress shirt and pressed pants. He was wearing the black leather shoes I’d given him for his birthday. He looked good.
After a while, I could hear voices calling out as he ushered our children out to the car, then silence. I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing a woman in a long dress, her make-up done, high heels and a little patent-leather purse in her hand. All dressed up for a hot date, but I was going to be left on my own. A bitter, sad feeling gripped me and I turned away, unable to look myself in the eyes. I fled through the door and out of the house.
James was waiting in the passenger seat, the boys already in the back. I got in and we pulled away, making the short journey to my parents’ house. I pulled up outside turned off the engine. The silence swept in.
“I’ll take them,” James told me.
“No, it’s okay.”
James shook his head, already opening his door, calling out into the back to the boys. He turned back to me.
“I’ll go,” he murmured to me, “My game face is better than yours.”
Before I could respond, he had closed the door and was walking up the path to my parents’ front door, an arm around the shoulder of each of our children.
He was right; James was equipped for this in a way I wasn’t. He had long experience of holding his nerve, of not letting his feelings slip. He had surprised me, after I got home and confessed that I’d tried to deal with Jodie, wrapping me in his arms. He’d said nothing as I relayed Jodie’s instructions, watching my expression stoically as I burst into tears. Finally, he’d just nodded, then kissed me, telling me not to worry.
Only now, watching him coming back to the car, could I see it in his face, just like when I was dressing him. By the time he was back in his seat, his expression was rigid, set like stone.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said, but James just shook his head, staring resolutely forward.
“My fault,” he replied, “I’ll fix it. My consequences.”
“It’s not your fault. You were out of it. You couldn’t help it.”
“No, that’s an excuse. I should have been smarter. I let us all down.”
I gripped the steering wheel, feeling a strange, irrational urge to scream.
“Alice, we’re going to be late. Let’s just get it done.”
I started the engine, pulling away from my childhood home, from the people who Jodie had so flippantly offered to devastate if we didn’t comply. The irony was that I was certain my parents wouldn’t flinch, even seeing me in a threesome on video. My father would simply refuse to watch his daughter be humiliated. They would understand. They would be in the tiny minority.
I drove us across Highbridge, into the neighbouring suburb, passing through quiet residential streets to a house very much like ours. A car was parked outside and the lights were on.
“We’re here,” I murmured.
“Just pull up across the road.”
“And then what?”
I stopped and killed the engine. James opened his door, and I opened mine.
“Alice, what are you doing?”
“I’m coming too.”
“No. Come back in an hour.”
“No way,” I hissed, “We stick together. We’re a team.”
“Alice.”
“No. We’re a team. Where you go, I go.”
I glared at him. I could see the conflict on my husband’s face.
“I don’t want you there, Alice.”
“Why? You don’t want me to know? Is that it?”
“That’s it.”
“Because you feel ashamed?”
“Yeah.”
I stepped out of the car, closing the door behind me, crossing the road to stand in front of the gate. A moment later, James joined me.
“You can’t feel ashamed,” I murmured, looking up at him, “Not with me by your side. We’re gonna get through this.”
James laid his hand on my shoulder, hesitating for a moment before replying.
“Yeah, we are,” he grunted.
I looked up at him, stretching my face into a smile.
“Go team,” I whispered.
“Go team.”
The walk up the path seemed to take forever, and each step brought my mood lower and lower. At the door, I stalled completely. My husband placed his hand on my shoulder and rang the bell, drawing in a deep breath, raising his chin, setting his face. I knew that look. I’d seen him before the final, waiting to go into the team room for the pre-game briefing, the weight of the world on his shoulders. He could simply switch mindsets, compartmentalising so that he only had to deal with the next couple of hours. I envied him that.
The door was opened by a woman with long, straight jet black hair and coffee-coloured skin, and I recognised her instantly: Jemima Bruce.
“James, how are you? Please come in.”
Jemima noticed me and there was a flicker of doubt.
“Ah, hello, uh…,” she began.
“Alice. We met at the Awards Night a couple of years back. How are you Jemima?”
Her dark eyes darted from James to me, and then she smiled.
“Can’t complain, but please do come in.”
She led us into the house, my husband behind her, me following him. She looked at me over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Alice. I hadn’t expected, uh, company.”
She led us into the open plan living area.
“Nice place,” I observed.
Jemima walked over to the drinks cabinet and opened the doors.
“Thank you. Would you like a drink? Gin? Whiskey?”
“Whiskey,” James confirmed.
“None for me,” I told her, “I’m driving.”
This seemed to change her disposition and she nodded. “Of course, sorry, I should have expected the arrangements. Maybe just something soft then?”
“Water’s fine.”
Jemima prepared the drinks, handing James his whiskey with a smile. James didn’t say anything. She passed me a tall glass of water with ice cubes dancing in the top.
“Falconer’s on a Pro-Am tour, left me to his own devices while he fishes balls out of the rough for some movie star.”
“How long is he away for?”
“Another two weeks. He’s got a tournament directly after. He’s away a lot, but you know how it is, don’t you? At least James is retired now.”
The conversation faltered. Normally, I could have kept going, asking about holidays or children, or swapping war stories of having professional sportsmen for husbands, or any one of a dozen topics, but I didn’t.
“So,” Jemima said, breaking the awkward silence, “How does this work? With you? Do you want to make yourself comfortable here, or…?”
She was uncertain, and so was I. My mind blanked and I began to panic.
“Alice will be fine here,” James said, “She’ll be discreet.”
“Ah, yeah, okay,” Jemima nodded, her confidence returning, “Yeah, sorry. I’m just not, uh, I mean I don’t usually do this.”
She gave me a wry smile, and continued, “I must sound like a fool. I imagine you’re used to that.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I responded.
“I have to say, when I heard that James was available for this sort of thing, it took me by surprise.”
“How did you hear?”
Jemima held a hand to her face, laughing.
“Oh, this is one of those, isn’t it? How did you hear about our services?” she replied, becoming animated now, loosening up, “Referred by a friend? Actually, no. I was just browsing Highgate Life. You know, the services section. Your little entry was beautifully crafted. You must have a good manager.”
I forced a smile, finding myself falling into my expected place, dropping into character. I’d done this before: the supportive wife, the good mother. This felt the same and also entirely alien, all at the same time. Jemima was expecting something from me, that we were here as arranged rather than we’d been forced here under threat of ruination from Jodie’s blackmail.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Okay,” Jemima laughed, finishing her gin, “So, shall we get to it?”
She placed a hand on my husband’s arm and I bristled, but Jemima wasn’t paying me any attention. I choked the feeling back, supressing it ruthlessly. We simply couldn’t afford it.
“What did you have in mind?” James asked, taking a long pull of his whiskey.
“I thought maybe upstairs, but,” she replied, hesitating, “I don’t know. This might sound stupid to you both.”
“What might?” James asked.
“I just feel funny about doing it on our bed.”
“Does Falconer know?”
Jemima flinched and I could see that James regretted asking the question immediately. Her composure faltered and the smile faded away.
“No,” she murmured, “No, he doesn’t. I was, uh, shit. This is my first time.”
She dropped her hand away from my husband’s arm.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “You must think I’m an idiot. I have no idea how this works.”
I could see the uncertainty on her face, the honesty, and the simmering resentment that I had been holding onto began to fade.
“That’s okay,” I told her, “Match day nerves, right?”
“Something like that.”
I crossed over to the drinks and picked up the whiskey. I topped up my husband and then poured a shot into Jemima’s empty glass. She gave me a peculiar look, and then downed it. For some reason, I began to feel better; Jodie was the enemy, not Jemima. No, Jemima was a sports wife like myself, home alone while her husband was playing away. I knew the rumours, through friends of friends.
“It’s all fair play,” I found myself telling her, “Works for him, works for you. James, want to scout out the field? Somewhere that’s not the master bedroom?”
“Sure.”
James departed, leaving us alone. Jemima watched him go, then turned to me.
“I don’t know how you do this. I was so surprised when I found out who.”
“Why?”
“You always seemed, I mean, the times I’ve seen you together, you always seemed so, uh, straight.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long have you been doing this?”
“It’s been a thing, after he retired.”
I had amazed myself, coming straight out with it like that.
“I couldn’t do it,” she confessed, but then screwed her face up, “Though, I guess I have. Falconer and I, we’ve had our issues. But you probably already know.”
She finished off her whiskey in a single gulp.
“Everyone seems to know,” she hissed under her breath.
James appeared in the doorway, beckoning to her. Jemima turned to me.
“I wish my marriage was a tenth as strong as yours,” she muttered.
I watched her go, following my husband out of the room, hips swaying elegantly in her skirt. Jemima had also dressed up like it was date night.
—
I scrolled through my phone, trying to distract myself. The posts from all my friends and family scrolled past, barely registering, showing such normality, such everyday life. My life was completely different now, changed overnight from mother and wife to something else. I felt my lips tremble as I forced back unexpected tears. Jemima hadn’t said it, she’d just taken it as read: I was my husband’s pimp.
The way she’d gone along with it, showing me an almost professional courtesy as we discussed the next steps for the night, left me feeling hollow inside. The worst part was that I couldn’t deny it. I had dressed James up, driven him to his booking, checked that we were all clear on what was about to happen, and was now waiting on a couch for her to finish fucking my husband. I hated what Jodie had turned me into, had made James into, but the more I thought about him, no doubt naked now in the other room, the more I felt an unexpected emotion: pride. I was proud of him, the way he was just getting it done. If he was keeping it together, then I could. I owed him that.
I found myself on the page for Highgate Life, and I tapped a link to look at the Services page. I scrolled through the entries, looking at nannies, gardeners, pool maintenance people. There was a section for personal development services, and I began to notice it: odd words, repeated phrases, just enough to stand out in a handful of entries in the list. I scrolled through them, then I stopped dead. It read:
‘Personal development: male professional, discreet, ex-professional sports-fitness expert. One-on-one sessions. Fulfillment-focused.’
I tapped the entry, and a contact page opened up. There was a logo and a company name and a text box with a calendar to choose an appointment date. None of it looked out of place, until I realised: the normal entries linked off to user profiles, connecting the reader with a person. This entry was hiding behind a façade. Ex-professional sports fitness expert. Male. James.
I got up, unable to just sit anymore. The house was large and dark, and I went from room to room, listening out for any tell-tale sounds. The stairs creaked as I went upstairs, making me shudder with each sound, but the upper floor was silent and empty. I crept downstairs again, moving to the back of the house, hearing nothing.
I approached an open door, a low, warm light spilling out into the hallway, and stopped. Peering inside, I could make out rows of padded leather seating. Silently, I edged forward, seeing a huge screen against the far wall, and dimmed downlights. A hand darted into view, squeezing the back of a seat in the middle of the front row, and as I moved, an arm was revealed, dark skin on the black leather.
“Shit.”
A female voice called out, low and melodious. The hand gripped the leather harder, making it creak. I found that I was holding my breath, trying to move absolutely silently, peering around the doorframe for a better look. I had to bite my lip to stay quiet.
James was naked, leaning over the chair, facing me. Jemima’s hands gripped the chair back, the rest of her hidden from view. I stared in mute fascination, frozen in place, as my husband reached down and brought Jemima’s legs up over his shoulders, hunkering down.
“Oh fuck,” she gasped, “Oh, yes.”
James began to move back and forth. Jemima’s hands disappeared and a moment later I began to hear a soft, rhythmic slapping noise. I watched my husband’s face, the focus. He was staring down at another woman, fucking her in front of me. I knew all the reasons, I had been able to rationalise everything up until this point, but seeing him in the middle of the act erased all my careful mental preparation, and instead I felt betrayed.
I was overtaken by a burning jealousy, that she was enjoying the man I loved. He began to thrust into her harder, his shoulders flexing, his chest filling out, and I could only think about how it would be feeling for Jemima now, with her legs in the air and spread wide to admit my husband’s manhood, feeling him hammering into her with his powerful bulk. I wanted to break away, to flee, but I found myself mesmerised and fixed to the spot. All I could do was watch him take his pleasure from another woman right in front of me.
Somewhere inside the envy, the rage, there was something else, a feeling I was unwilling to name. Caught in my internal struggle, my eyes lifted from the straining muscles of his torso up to his face, and I went cold.
James had been watching me the whole time.
I stared into his eyes across the rows of seats, wanting him to stop, feeling powerless to make him stop, desperate and humiliated, made to watch my man give pleasure to someone else. I knew I couldn’t do anything about it. I knew what the consequences would be if I broke this off. I knew all these things, but none of it made a difference to the twisted, helpless, dark feeling inside me.
Then James shifted position, sliding her feet off his shoulders and pulling her legs apart, spreading her completely open. I could tell that his wrists would be wrapped around her ankles, pinning her in place. I saw her hands brace against his thickly-muscled chest. I saw the look in his eyes, fixed only on me, as he began to drive into the other woman with a fierce, animal urgency.
Jemima started to mewl, a wavering, high-pitched sound, broken up by the impact of each thrust. All the while, James didn’t take his eyes off me, his expression grim, determined. I stared back at him and just then, at that point, my roiling emotions transmuted into something else, and I saw it.
James was magnificent, fucking Jemima mercilessly, his muscles rippling as he dominated her body. I felt it too, quailing inside with each thrust, gazing in awe.
Jemima screamed, clutching desperately at his chest, but James didn’t relent, face reddening with his effort as he watched me watch him. I saw him clench his teeth, the cords of his neck standing out, and my breath stopped, caught helpless in the moment, waiting for James.
Jemima screeched, making words that had no sense to them, convulsing in her orgasm, and James erupted, his expression darkening like thunder as he climaxed inside her, finally breaking eye contact with me to lock his gaze on Jemima.
The spell was broken, the link severed, and I stepped back, away from the scene, retracing my steps silently, aware of my pulse hammering in my throat and the aching, throbbing fire between my legs. I left them behind, seeking safe haven, trying to comprehend the thing James had just done, and what his actions had done to me.