Revelations & Retribution.

The incident with the medical man was just beginning to fade, if not into insignificance, at least in relevance when, as such things are inclined to do, it came back to haunt me.

Revelation.

It was fairly late, one Friday evening. Pete and I were at home, busy with our own little private party of booze and sex, when I heard a female voice calling my name from the gate. The gate was locked because we definitely did want any visitors. I ignored it but the woman was persistent and eventually Pete told me to go and see what the bitch wanted and to tell her to fuck off, we’re busy fucking. He used those exact words, “Ask the bitch what she wants and tell her to fuck off, we’re busy fucking!”

I only had  high heels on and a gold chain around my waist. I quickly slipped on a bra and thong, trusting in the dark to provide the rest in the way of concealment. Being inebriated, with alcohol and lust I was, filled with bravado and not prepared for what awaited me. I strutted outside, cockily, only to be confronted by The Doc’s girlfriend, who I'd known as a little girl. I’d given her Sunday school lessons when she was a little girl, but I had no idea that she was his girlfriend and hadn't seen her for years. She was little then, but huge now; a fat, gross woman of about twenty-four. I didn't reconise her and she had to explain to me who she was. Her name is Jeanette and she works at the hotel and casino as a catering manager. I couldn’t imagine anybody would want to screw her, but, different strokes for different folks, I suppose. Maybe her obesity appealed to The Doc’s perverse side?

She wasn’t alone. There was another obese woman with her, who looked more like a man than a woman. I fleetingly wondered if they were fucking each other. Given her boyfriend’s reputation I wouldn’t put it past him to inspire them to put on shows for him. He certainly indulged me in some perverse ways, some of which were definitely not to my liking either, but you know how it is when you're trapped in the throes of ecstasy.

Anyway, she asks me to unlock the gate and let them in, saying she needs to have a serious talk to me. I let them in and we go and sit at the table under the tree. They’ve brought a bottle of booze with them and ask me for glasses, ice and water. While I’m getting them, Pete is lying in the bedroom and he asks me what they want. I tell him I don’t know yet, I’m about to find out. He tells me to hurry and get them to leave, his mammoth hard-on begging my attention.

Outside again, we get to the point of their visit. She wants to know what my intention was by sending the photo to her boyfriend. It all gets a bit sloppy, with her in tears, accusing me of wanting to fuck the man she intends marrying. If only the silly bitch knew! I try to placate her by saying I was thinking of moving into the garden-flat that is soon going to be vacated and I thought it might serve as a bit of inspiration for him to let it to me and that I had no idea he and she were involved. To add to the inconcruity of the situation she's calling me Auntie Miki as the kids in Sunday School used to. Anyway, Pete, hearing our snatches of the conversation comes out and asks what’s going on. She sorrowfully apprises him of the whole sordid story.

He listens, unmoved by the news and the fact that I am considering moving out. I can’t help it and sit there smiling smugly about what she doesn’t know. He calms the whole thing down and I convince her that it was merely a bit of mischief. He very chivalrously supports me in this and informs them that I’m a free agent and free to do as I please and what's wrong with harmless teasing. The Doc being as perverted as he is probably enjoyed it. I don’t know if she liked that very much, but it shuts her up.By now I'm beginning to believe that he also believes my concocted story.
He then, tactfully, suggests that it’s now time for them to leave so that we can carry on enjoying the sex we were, when they so rudely interrupted us with her trivialities. In his usual eloquent fashion he’s telling them to fuck off in a nice way.

The end of it is that Jeanette says there might be a job for me at the casino. She’ll give me a call on Monday and I can come for an interview with her boss. After they’ve left, Pete looks at me and, quietly, says, “You lied to me. He fucked you, didn’t he?”

He’s not in the least upset about the fucking, it’s merely a nonchalant observation. I'm to dim to realise that he's pissed off because I lied. I make the mistake of again lying and vigorously denying it. It still hasn’t sunk in that I’m allowed to indulge myself with other men, should I choose to, as long as I’m honest and open about it. I believe it’s a trap, he’s testing me and should I step into the trap and admit that I screwed the Doc, he’ll throw me out. He says nothing, just shaking his head. We resume where we left off, before we were so importunely interrupted, but now there is a vindictive intensity to the physicality of our copulation

Retribution.

What follows is not so much retribution, but natural progression.

Saturday, sitting under the tree with drinks in hand, Pete tells me I have now lied to him, twice. First, when I informed him of The Doc’s “innocent visit” and last night, when I again denied that he screwed me. I again deny screwing The Doc. He holds up three fingers and asks me to please stop it. I shut up, seeking refuge in silence.

He bluntly informs me that I have to start indulging myself with other men. There it is, on the table, out in the open, no more pretence about it, hinting at it and subtly affording me the opportunity by making me so available. He couches it so nicely, saying he’s not saying that I have to go out with the express purpose of fucking them, but I should start going out on dates and that it's up to me what happens thereafter.

Why do I get the idea that I’m being subtly evicted, if not out of his house, at least off my throne, as Queen of The Castle? This is undoubtedly his way of punishing me and, after all, by admitting that I was thinking of moving into the Doc's flat, I had made my intentions clear.

On the Monday, Jeanette phones me and tells me to come to the casino for an interview with the manager. She advises me to be a sexily dressed, saying that her boss thinks I might be a little too old for the job. Heavens, I think to myself, how young do you have to be to be the restaurant hostess, but I don’t say anything.

I get myself all spruced up and choose to wear Jeans with a fetching top, naturally, with high heels. I’ve been inured with that philosophy. I’m dressed as if I’m going shopping or for a cup of coffee. I drive out to the hotel. I’m not really keen, believing that the job is in catering because of Jeanette’s connection therewith and sure that she'll make my life a misery. I haven’t worked, at a job, for more than twenty years and while I can cook, I really have no intention of doing that for a living. Why should I? I’m a seductress, doing what I have been, for the last twenty-odd years to survive, but I am bored during the days.

As it turns out, the job isn’t in the catering department, but that of a casino hostess and "function co-ordinator". Hello? I’m back to the role I fulfilled in the bank, all those years ago. I’m still not too keen, but then I reflect on Pete’s reaction to my obvious deceit. I tell the guy that I would, very much, like to fulfil that role and think that I’m perfectly suited to do that. Taking in my long nails, exquisite grooming, he describes what the job entails, explaining that I have to entertain the big punters, in whatever manner they may desire, Las Vegas-style, while also encouraging them to gamble.

I tell him I fully understand, saying it’s no problem and that it’s much the same as what I did when I worked for the bank.  He tells me to go off and think about it. He’ll consider my application. He’s concerned that I might be a little too old for the job, but he’ll speak to the owner and if he wants me to, I'll have to come for an interveiw with him, as he makes all the final decisions about the hiring of staff who perform public duties.

That evening when Pete asks about the job, I tell him it was to be the concierge in the restaurant, translate that as “head waitress”, not for me, thank you. He says that maybe I should consider it as a stepping stone and that it might afford me the opportunity to apply for a better position should something become available. Again, I get the feeling that I’m being shifted aside.

He changes the subject and asks me how I’m progressing with dating other men. I tell him I’m not and that I’m not going to. He says nonsense and asks me what men I know, not any scabs, but someone decent, who I can phone to elicit an invitation for drinks or dinner from. I come up with an old friend’s name, Tom. He really is just a friend and nothing more. We’ve never been sexually involved. I tell Pete this too and he says, good, then that’s all about to change, I must phone Tom and arrange a date with him and fuck him. He's being vindictive, in the extreme.

I can’t believe this! He’s just expressly instructed me that I will go out and fuck. At his insistence I phone Tom. He’s overjoyed to hear from me. We haven’t spoken for some time and we arrange to meet the following evening, for dinner at a fancy restaurant, Havana.

I’m very sexily but at least somewhat tastefully dressed in a black, glitter miniskirt and a short-sleeved, pink knit-top with my legs encased in shimmering grey pantyhose. The Perspex Pole-Dancers on my feet being the only vulgar concession to raw sexuality. While it might be a bit “young” for my age, at least I look semi-decent, except for the shoes that is. I’m not three-quarters naked as usual - only half.

As my dear lover so subtly put it, while I was getting ready; after all, I didn'’t want to scare the poor man off, just fuck him!

These pictures were taken to commemorate my wilful immersion into "The Pit Of Permissive Promiscuity". We always did, to commemorate the milestones in my “progression”. I can say that I was coerced to do it, but to be honest I wasn't really averse to the idea. My pretestations to the contrary were merely attempts at saving face and to erect a facade of morality.

I have a lovely time, but as far as the sex is concerned, it’s complete flop. Tom is riddled with diabetes and extremely overweight. Over dinner, I turn the conversation to matters sexual, deciding that I might as well do as desired. It might stop Pete’s from continuing to harbour ideas of evicting me, if he is thinking along those lines and this is really what he wants me to do. Tom openly admits to me, that because of the diabetes and the medication, he’s unable to even obtain an erection. Well, at least I tried.

When I get home and inform Pete of the calamitous result of the evening, as far as his permissive intentions for me are concerned, he just shrugs his shoulders and says, too bad. He asks me to give him a show with my huge Blue Bull vibrator, to alleviate my frustrations.
It is, of course, what could be referred to as retribution-masturbation for failing to get myself laid, but I'm as randy as hell, so I do, still fully clothed, And, later he fucks me, also still clothed although the jersey is gone by then and it also very much a punishment-fuck. In the days that follow it seems that he’s given up on this perverted business, as he says nothing more about me going out with other men. I hear nothing from the casino and forget all about the job. My boring daytime routine resumes, interspersed by sex with Pete, morning and night and, some days, at noon as well.

It still escapes me that he gets turned on by the idea of other men fucking me. I have behaved like a slut and he's now determined that I will continue to do so.That seems to be my lot, for the moment,but at least there’s no more talk about making myself available to other men and my idle, if boring, life of luxury resumes.

The job does eventually materialise, but not before I celebrate my fifty-third birthday and nothing could have prepared me for the interview with the owner.