The Owned Girl

by Dominic Ridler

  The Owned Girl

  by Dominic Ridler

  ISBN 13: 978-1-937831-06-6

  A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

  Copyright © 2011, All rights reserved

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced,

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  Chapter One

  The other day I came across a photograph. I was digging back into some old emails from a couple of years ago, and there it was. I put it up on the screen. I hadn't seen this picture in ages, but suddenly it brought it all back to me, the names, the faces, the bodies. Naked bodies. Bodies I desired and which desired mine. Things are different now. I lead a quiet life. When it was all over (at least I suppose it's all over, for me anyway, but these people still exist, and who knows what further twists in the tale there may have been since I dropped out of it?), I needed to get away for a while, to be on my own. But there was a time I seemed never to be on my own. My life was lived at a level of intimacy, of emotional and sexual closeness to other people, more than I could have imagined.

  Have you ever been in a room where five or six people were present, some well known to each other, some introduced only a few hours or even minutes ago, and some or maybe almost all of these people are naked? Or partly so. And these people are being led through a series of encounters, a set of combinations, by a figure to whom they all look for guidance, for initiatives, for permission even, to be allowed to know each other intimately, in the full biblical sense.

  I don't think what I am trying to describe could ever be called an orgy. That word surely implies that anything goes, that all restraints are removed, any indulgence is permitted. It was never like that with us. Instead, it was more in the nature of a performance, a scenario under the direction of a central figure, who choreographed, even scripted the couplings that took place. A stage play, except that the audience was the performers themselves.

  Looking back now, it seems so strange, and perhaps to my readers it will remain so. But at the time, it did not seem strange to me. Daring, maybe; exciting, certainly – and yet somehow natural, even normal. Normal, that is, for people like us; if there were any other people like us.

  The picture I found shows a semi-naked girl. She wears only a pair of black knickers, very brief, seemingly of satin. They look expensive. You can't see her face but I'd know that body anywhere. I came to know it intimately: the deep-set navel (with the little indentation above it, where she had once been pierced, though she never wore a jewel in it while I knew her); the graceful waist, the slim breasts, still with the firm uplift of youth, and their sweet little pink nipples. As I say, you can't see her face; perhaps I'll describe it another time.

  I know who took the picture. I remember him well. He'd come a long way to meet us. To meet me, and my husband, but especially to meet Beth. Or Nefertiti, as she appeared in the blog in which all three of us had a role. Over a period of months he'd got to know us well, following our activities closely, interacting with us online, sometimes on a webcam. After some time, he had gained our confidence, to the point where Matthew, my husband, had decided to allow him to have unfettered access to Nefertiti, as far as that was possible via the computer.

  But let me start from the beginning. Or as far back as is practical, because you can never get back to the absolute beginning. There's always something even further back, something which explains what apparently came first. Let's go back to just before my husband and I first entertained the idea that there might be room for another in our marriage.

  My name is Annabel. My mother used to say that I was named for Annabel Lee, the girl in the poem by Edgar Allen Poe, though my father would scoff and say that was nonsense, I was named for an elderly great aunt of his. Be that as it may, I always liked my name. I'm from England originally, but I had been living in New York for several years when I met Matthew. Before him, I'd had a number of affairs, all unsatisfactory in one way or another, mostly in the way of sex. I couldn't seem to find a man who would do it as I wanted it done. Most of them were basically rather nice men, and they took their niceness into the bedroom with them. This wasn't what I wanted. I know that on the surface I appear a sweet little girl, butter wouldn't melt in my mouth. I'm slim, even slender, dark-haired and I look younger than I am. I think these men thought I needed looking after, and that they had to behave well with me. All too often they were sexually diffident, as if sex wasn't entirely appropriate with someone like me.

  It was only when I met Matthew that I found myself sexually. He aroused in me a deep desire to be taken, to be used; even, in a way, to be abused. I didn't know what a submissive was in those days; at least, instinctively I knew what it was, but I hadn't heard the term. Matthew, by contrast, was very sophisticated sexually. He seemed to know everything. He certainly knew what he wanted, and what I needed. He has quite a large cock; not huge, perhaps scarcely longer than average, but definitely thicker. And as I've said, I'm quite a small girl. So it was tight, and when he fucked me it always felt like he was forcing his way in. And I loved that. I can say that I doted on his cock. I wanted to serve it, and I wanted it to do things to me, everything that a cock could do. I think we had probably done almost all of them by the end.

  I'm telling you this because I want you to know that when we met Beth, it wasn't the case of us needing to spice up our marriage. It was hot already, and it had stayed hot for the two years we'd been together. But I do think that we were in some sense ready for her. Matthew has always been adventurous sexually. When we were in bed together he would often feed me little fantasies, and sometimes these fantasies involved a third party, and even a fourth and fifth. We didn't have a desperate need to actualise them. But at the back of my mind there was always the possibility that at some point something like what he described might happen. And, at least in theory, I was open to that.

  Beth had briefly been one of Matthew's students, a few years before. They hadn't had any kind of attachment, but he remembered her, and when they met again, by chance at some faculty party I didn't attend, they got to talking. And on an impulse he invited her back to our place. When they arrived, I was lying on the sofa reading a book. They came into the sitting room and Matthew said, 'Beth, this is Annabel, my wife.'

  We went to the kitchen and had a glass of wine together. Matthew, as usual, did all the talking. He said that he and Beth realised that there was an attraction between them. And he had said to her that he would never do anything behind his wife's back, but that he had a strong desire to know her, Beth, better. And then he had said to her, do you think you might come home with me to talk to my wife about it?

  I took a sip of wine. 'You're asking me if you can fuck her.'

  Beth, to give her credit, looked a little embarrassed.

  'I don't think that's quite what I'm asking,' Matthew said.

  'Then what?'

  'I'm not sure. Only that we both get to know her. I know this sounds presumptuous, but I have a sense that she would like to belong to us. Both of us.'

  'Belong to us?' We'd talked about threesomes, but only with passing strangers. Was he proposing some sort of ménage a trois?

  'I think we could both own her, in a way,' said Matthew.

  'Sexually, you mean?'

  'Yes, except not in a conventional way.'

  I wasn't
really getting it. 'So in an unconventional way?'

  'I think she wants to please me. Please both of us.' He turned to Beth. 'Isn't that right?'

  'I'm not sure yet,' she said. 'Maybe. It's all new to me.'

  'Beth,' said Matthew. 'Take your top off.'

  She was dressed casually, in a t-shirt and jeans. She looked at him for a moment, then drew her t-shirt over her head. Underneath she wore a skimpy little pink cotton bra.

  'Take off the bra too,' said Matthew, 'we want to see your tits.'

  She hesitated, then shrugged and unfastened her bra, letting it fall onto the table. Her breasts, as I have said (for it was Beth's picture I found the other day), were youthful, slim and uplifted. The nipples were pink, and looked as if they were erect. I gazed at them, and had a sudden desire to take a nipple in my mouth and bite hard. Beth had that effect on people, I came to discover.

  Matthew was looking too. 'You're a pretty girl, Beth,' he said. 'Now put your clothes back on.'

  She looked a little disappointed, as any girl might who perceives the sexual fascination she holds for someone, only to be apparently rejected. But I could see exactly what he was doing. Matthew wanted her to feel, right from the start, that he was the one taking the initiative, that he was in control. He told her that it was late and that she ought to get off home. He called her a taxi, and took her downstairs into the street when it arrived. I looked out the window and watched them talking for a moment, then he kissed her briefly, on the mouth.

  I didn't really know at the time what I felt about it. It was all so new to me. But I trusted Matthew, and I knew that he wanted this, so I was content. Over the next few days he talked to me about what he had in mind for the three of us. I asked him how he could be so certain, after such a brief acquaintanceship, that Beth wanted what he thought she did. He said he couldn't explain it, that it was a hunch, a powerful feeling that had possessed him as they had talked that first evening. He'd never had quite this feeling before, he said.

  He told me that he felt she needed someone to take care of her, sexually and in other ways, that she was in a sense a little girl lost. He said she'd had a series of unhappy relationships, which had left her fearful and reserved, afraid to commit herself. And that what she needed was someone to guide her and direct her, to show her the way. And then perhaps one day she would be ready to face life on her own again.

  I told him this seemed like a heavy responsibility to take on, to reshape someone's life, and he admitted that he had misgivings. But he said there would be great rewards in it for us too, if we could do it right.

  'For us or for you?' I said. I knew he wanted to fuck her; wasn't this just a rather elaborate way of persuading me to accept it?

  'Wouldn't you like a little pet?' he asked. 'A little girl who would do your bidding and whom you could play with?'

  I'd confessed to Matthew once that, though my actual sexual experience of other women was confined to a kiss or two in high school, nevertheless I was curious about women's bodies and that in theory I liked the idea of touching them. I was attracted to their softness and smoothness, their grace and comeliness.

  'What she needs,' he said, 'is to learn obedience and the pleasure of service. And discipline.'

  'Discipline?'

  'She needs a structure in her life. She needs to learn there are limits, and that if she goes beyond them she will be punished.'

  'Oooh!' I said. 'That sounds fun. Can I take the first whack?'

  He laughed. 'Bad girl,' he said. But I could see he had taken note of what I had said.

  The next weekend there was a kind of street festival in our quarter. We invited Beth to spend the day with us. It was early summer and we strolled through the park, listened to the music, bought a few things at market stalls and had some coffee. At about five o'clock we made our way back to our apartment, and there we had a drink, in the sitting room, seated on the sofa. Beth was between us, and after we had chatted a little, Matthew leaned over her and kissed her on the mouth.

  'She tastes nice,' he said to me. 'Why don't you try?'

  It was true. She tasted vaguely of fruit, or was it the wine? Her lips were soft and pliant, but not inert. As I kissed her they responded to my pressure, moving under mine, and then suddenly I felt her tongue pushing into my mouth. She was there for the taking, I could tell. But Matthew was determined to go slowly, to tease her and make her wait; all with a mind to impressing on her that she was under his control.

  I pulled away from kissing Beth, smiling.

  'Take your shirt off, Beth,' Matthew said.

  She wore a lemon-yellow shirt that went well with her blonde hair; did I mention her blonde hair? She was inordinately proud of it. Underneath her shirt was a white cotton bra such as a very young girl might wear, a sort of 'first bra' if you like. Matthew told her to take that off too. Beth sat between us, looking down at her knees (which were bare; she wore a short, flared skirt of starched white cotton). Matthew put his hand round one of her breasts and squeezed it softly.

  'It feels good, Annabel,' he said. 'Why don't you take the other one?'

  I put my hand on it and squeezed gently. The breast was warm and soft, but firm. I took the nipple between my finger and thumb and pinched it, not hard but enough to make her gasp a little.

  'She likes to be taken, I think,' said Matthew. 'She likes to feel that people may do with her as they please.'

  Beth put her head back and closed her eyes while we played with her breasts. Matthew pushed her skirt up to the top of her thighs and stroked her legs, all the way up to the top, remarking to me that they were shapely. I saw how his hand trailed lightly over her mons, tightly encased in her white cotton knickers, and that Beth shivered as she felt it, but Matthew didn't touch between her legs.

  After a while he said he wanted to sit in the middle.

  'It's time for a little instruction, Beth,' he said. 'Annabel is going to show you something.'

  Matthew unzipped his jeans and took out his cock. It was erect already. I stared at it, feeling suddenly shy, yet undeniably aroused.

  'Annabel will show you how I like to have my cock sucked, Beth, so that when the time comes for you to do it, you will know exactly how. Watch her carefully.'

  I couldn't help blushing slightly, but I bent down and took his cock in my mouth. Matthew is always very particular about fellatio. He likes it done a certain way, and only in that way. I knew just what to do. I pulled back the foreskin and sucked on the head for a while, then ran my tongue slowly around it, under the rim, and followed the line of the little ridge down the back of the shaft. When I got to the base of his cock I nuzzled him just where the cock met his balls, then kissed all the way back up the shaft to the tip, before sliding my tongue round and round over the head. I caught the head in my teeth and bit him ever so softly, and was pleased to hear a grunt of pleasure. He likes pressure, even likes a little pain sometimes, if skilfully administered. Finally, I took him right to the back of my throat, as far as I could, for as long as I could hold out before needing to breathe. I repeated these acts with variations, several times. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Beth watching intently, anxious to learn. Then Matthew put his hand under my chin and lifted my head.

  'Thank you,' he said. 'That will do for now, Annabel. I hope, Beth, that you have got the idea.'

  She nodded.

  'Kiss Annabel, so that you can taste me,' he said.

  She leaned across him and kissed me on the mouth. Matthew pulled her back. He put his cock away. 'Put your clothes back on, Beth,' he said. 'I think it's dinner time. Let's go in the kitchen.'

  Beth looked disappointed, but Matthew appeared to take no notice. We had some more wine while Matthew and I rustled up some food. Beth sat on the table, swinging her legs, talking animatedly. She seemed pleased to be there. After dinner we sat round the table, talking some more, not about sex or anything related, just about people we knew, movies we had seen. At about eleven o'clock Matthew said that it was getting late a
nd that Beth ought to stay the night. She looked at me, waiting to see my response.

  'She can sleep in the spare room,' said Matthew, as if to remove any possibility of further sexual activity.

  'OK,' I said. 'I'll get some sheets for the bed.'

  Matthew and I were both tired. We got into bed and went to sleep almost immediately. In the middle of the night I woke. Matthew was not in the bed. I could hear the low murmur of voices from the next room. Then Matthew came back and got into bed beside me.

  'I didn't fuck her,' he said. 'We were just talking.'

  I felt for his cock. The end was wet, but I knew that didn't mean he had ejaculated. Matthew got wet whenever he talked about sex, or even when he just thought about it.

  'I don't mind if you fuck her,' I said. 'So long as I know about it. I mean, so long as I'm there when it happens. And so long as it doesn't make you want to fuck me less.'

  I slid down the bed and took him in my mouth. It didn't take long to get him hard. I rolled onto my back and pulled him on top. He fucked me vigorously. I was content.

  It was in fact several weeks before he fucked her. I knew what he was up to. He kept Beth in a state of constant sexual arousal by texting her, sending emails or phoning, fuelling her expectations but continually disappointing them, till she was almost crazy with wanting. Later in the week she came round for the evening. Matthew and I sat on the sofa, watching a DVD. He made Beth sit on the floor at his feet. After a while he told her to take out his cock and put it in her mouth, but that she was not to suck, not to try to stimulate him in any way.