by Destiny Moon
It was a strange order of happenings. We’d met, got engaged in a superficial relationship, moved in together, were about to get married…then I realised I was in love with him. That was the genesis of my deciding to woo him.
* * * *
“Your new cock is here,” Simon announced on the phone a few days later.
“I’ll come by for a fitting,” I told him. “Have you tailored the second harness?”
“I think everything is perfect.”
“I knew it would be.”
* * * *
I sipped my morning coffee and browsed the local paper.
Hal, who had come home late the night before, stumbled into the dining room with his robe loosely covering him. He poured tea from his antique porcelain pot into his teacup, added a sugar cube and stirred. Lynette, his assistant, dropped the usual pile of mail in front of him and he proceeded to slice each envelope open with his silver opener.
It was our usual morning routine, which I had become accustomed to and loved. I cherished our silent mornings—we were comfortable around each other and didn’t need to talk.
Hal put his head down, rested his forehead on his index finger.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Nothing. Well, not nothing. Timothy’s coming to the wedding…with his wife.”
“Oh, dear.” I buttered my croissant.
“Yeah. What are we going to do with them?” He was clearly concerned.
“Lie.”
“I meant activity-wise.”
“So did I.”
“Oh, you’re so clever.” He smiled. Then he sighed. “She’s a nightmare.”
“To say the least.”
“It makes me tired just thinking about her—all those questions. She’s going to want to know all the details leading up to the wedding, all the details about our life together.”
“Well, so what?”
“So, her brother is one of the high-ups at immigration.”
“Well, shouldn’t that work in your favour?”
“Should would be the operative word. Francine Jean is… Well, she’s known to be mean and vindictive, and should she ever suspect anything about Timothy…”
“She won’t.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Because she’s the kind of woman who’s so deeply repressed that even if she had an inclination towards the thought, any kind of unbridled passion is repugnant to her and she’d dismiss it instantly. She’d go back to her gardening or embroidery or gossip or whatever she passes the time with,” I assured him.
Whether I was right or wrong seemed irrelevant. There was no use in worrying about it. It was mere speculation and fear on Hal’s part.
The manor was a frenzy of activity in the days leading up to the wedding ceremony. I was nervous and excited, like a debutante awaiting the ball. It was surreal for me, a reality I’d never imagined. And I did everything I could to look and fit the part. I hired aestheticians to come to the house. I was waxed and manicured and pedicured and tweezed and dyed and painted and powdered and moisturised and massaged for days. It got to the point where I almost became tired of it. Almost. But not quite.
The day before the wedding, our guests started to trickle in. Mostly, they were composed of Hal’s compatriots, business allies and old friends. None of his family members from England came. I’d only ever told Hal that my family had all been killed in a horrible accident. Being estranged from them carries too much of a stigma. I would have no guests at the wedding. I’d thought about inviting Kelly, but she seemed a world away. Hal’s guests would have found Sam’s attendance inappropriate. I would have liked it. But at least Timothy would be there. Simon, who had been invited, had made up a convenient story about having to be out of town.
On the morning of the big day, I met with my hair stylist and makeup artist and otherwise spent the morning preparing myself. It was a dream wedding, small and intimate, proper and stylish. The wedding planner had transformed a part of the estate and decorated the gazebo with dreamy white lace, dozens of white chairs, white roses and white lilies. The colour scheme couldn’t have been more ironic, as I was hardly pure. Although I supposed that the white was appropriate for Hal and I.
As I walked down the aisle, I felt confident and happy. Hal was waiting for me at the altar. The ceremony was courteously brief and not overly sentimental. Our guests hobnobbed around the afternoon tea affair. Our cake was brilliant—a stunning three-tiered white cake with Italian meringue butter cream, topped with more lilies and roses. Everything was pretty and frilly and the ladies in attendance were ecstatic about pointing out the details to each other.
Meanwhile, I was ecstatically thinking about my wedding night. I was so anxious to give Hal my wedding gift. I desperately wanted to change out of the white, designer dress and into my custom leather harness.
But playing along with the high society niceties had its rewards as well. Hal dipped me during our song as we danced in front of our guests. An elderly lady in a wheelchair, accompanied by a nurse, sat in the far corner and said nothing to any of the guests. Hal told me later that she was his aunt Myrtle, the mysterious benefactor, and that she approved of me.
* * * *
My fateful night had finally arrived. After dinner, our guests left slowly, dawdling back to their rooms to pack their belongings and idly calling their chauffeurs. By the time they’d all made their exits of grandeur, Hal and I were both a bit peckish. Luckily, I had already arranged that the kitchen send a tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries, a bowl of whipped cream, some savoury snacks, some champagne and a jug of refreshing lemon iced tea. Preparations make the occasion, I’ve always believed. Hal was tipped off by the goings on. He was, as usual, taking a moment in his study when I came down to get him.
“There seems to be a fair bit going on tonight,” he observed, though I had convinced myself that he wouldn’t catch on.
“There certainly is.”
“Are you having company?”
“On our wedding night? You could say that. I have a number of racy ideas up my sleeve tonight.”
“Oh? Well, I’ll stay out of your way then.” He looked back down into his book. His glasses rested midway down his nose.
“You’ll do no such thing, Hal.”
He looked at me over the ridge of his glasses. I loved the way he could make eye contact with me, as if he were multi-tasking, like he was more distracted by me than by other preoccupations. There was an intensity about his eyes and a warmth that could not be beaten.
“Oh?” He closed his book but kept his thumb in the spine. “I thought you were preparing for a lover.”
“I am, Hal. You.”
He was perplexed.
“Come here, love.” He patted his lap.
I came to his desk and sat on his thighs. I put my arms around his large neck and leaned my face into him. I loved the way he smelt. It made me feel both safe and excited.
“You know I love you, right?” he whispered.
“Mm-hmm.”
“And you know you can have anyone you want, right?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“So what are you doing this for?”
“What?”
He touched my hair, caressed my cheek, held me. “All of this. Why don’t you save it for someone you’d rather choose?”
“I don’t get it, Hal. What do you mean?”
“I mean I don’t want you to feel any kind of obligation. You know I love you the way you are, and I know you love me the way I am, and…”
“Hal, I really love you the way you are,” I said and kissed him softly. He pulled his face back ever so slightly.
“Honey…” I could feel his trepidation, his anxiety rising. He looked at me as if he thought I had forgotten all the rules and ideals we had so carefully established.
“I know what you’re thinking, Hal. Don’t. It’s not like that. Just come upstairs to my room. I have a surprise for you.”
“For m
e?”
“Yes. I’ve been planning it for a long time. I think you’ll like it.”
“Julie, you never cease to surprise me, with this, especially. Just when I thought I’d finally found a relationship I could understand…”
“What? Are you disappointed? You don’t even know what the surprise is. Have a little faith. You know it’s not going to be me in red lace. Relax.”
Hal smiled his coy smile. I could tell that, underneath his nay-saying, he was sincerely flattered. It was a magic time. We were scaling uncharted territory together. It was a strange mixture of vicarious attraction, fascination and love.
I went back up to my room, pulled my harness on, opened my velvet-lined briefcase and examined my cocks. I had had Simon commission a specially-made carry-case for me that fit each cock perfectly. Simon had liked the idea as much as I did. There was something about having a kit, like a toolkit, that made me feel like more of a magician than a woman, which was exactly how I wanted to feel. If I was going to use props instead of my God-given gifts, I wanted them to be beautiful extensions of me. I wanted them to be as valuable as I was. I had spent thousands on my collection of cocks. I was sure then, and I’m still convinced now, that they are the finest collection this country has ever seen. And no one had seen them but me and Simon, their designers, crafters and carvers…and now Hal.
My ivory cock had a gemstone ring around the base of it. Amethysts embedded in gold, then meticulously ensconced in the ivory in an ornate Rococo-inspired design. The cock itself was slightly curved, so that it would have the appearance of a natural erection. I loved the details on it. It had a head with life-like veins and lines and the texture at the tip was smooth but skin-like to the touch. If not for the temperature and the paleness, it would have made any man an object of envy. I could warm it against my thighs and the pallor suited my own alabaster skin tone. The size was smaller than many of the men I had seen, but its shape was what made it so spectacular. My admiration of my own perfect cock gave me a mental hard-on I couldn’t ignore. I was aching to feel myself grind against Hal. I wanted to fuck my husband more than anything I’d ever wanted.
The sensitive part of me kept reminding myself to slow down, that I had taken all of these steps in an effort to show Hal how much I loved him. And that was true. But, in addition to that awareness, I was more aroused than I could ever muster at the anticipation of being penetrated. Having a cock inside me was one thing. Getting to thrust myself into him would be quite another. And the best part was knowing that he favoured the sensation.
I rubbed my cock, admiring the sight of myself in the mirror. The harness held the cock perfectly in place and I could feel the strap underneath each time I moved. Never before had I been this wet, this anxious, this eager. I rubbed and rubbed, giving myself the most extraordinary hand job. I was almost about to come when I heard my door open and close. I quickly removed the cock from the harness so that I wouldn’t give away the surprise. I stepped out from behind my Japanese screen, wrapping my silk belt around my black robe.
“What’s all this?” Hal asked. He must have been referring to the many candles I had arranged all around my room. My bed was the centrepiece attraction. On it, I had laid out my softest linen and the silver tray with snacks from the kitchen. My bedside table held the water jug and glasses. The ambient lighting and my preparations all led Hal to the only natural conclusion he could come to.
“Um, Miss Julie, I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with all of this…attention.” He became shy and mysterious, like prey. In my mind’s eye, I saw him as a gentle lamb that I would have to lull into an uncanny calm in order to properly seduce.
“Champagne?” I asked.
“No, thanks,” he answered.
I poured two glasses anyway. I wasn’t about to listen to him. It was just his fear and discomfort talking. What did they know? Had any woman asked this of him before? I highly doubted it. His previous experiences and attempts at heterosexual unions had involved women whose main interests were family and reproduction, being the good girls that they probably were. I went with my assumption that being with me was an altogether different experience, one he knew nothing about. This would be like losing his virginity all over again.
“Here you are.” I handed him the flute glass. We clinked our crystal together.
“To us,” I said, “and to you for making me so happy.”
“Do I really make you happy?” he asked.
“Oh, Hal, you can’t even begin to understand.”
“Because you’ve already made me happy, Julie.”
“Quit talking about us in the past tense. We’re here now. Let me draw you a bath.”
“A bath?”
“Sure.”
“Where is all of this coming from?”
“More importantly,” I said, “you should be asking yourself, ‘Where is this going?’”
I winked and walked slowly to my clawfoot tub in the adjacent room. The leather strap tucked underneath my cock, beneath my robe, toyed with my clitoris with each step I took. I indulged in the feeling. Knowing it was there, and that Hal did not know, was part of the immeasurable pleasure. I could not help myself. I stopped again at my full-length mirror just inside the bathroom and admired myself. I stroked my cock with the kind of pride I could only imagine a select few men capable of.
The slate tiles in my bathroom were warm—a renovation that Hal had made prior to my moving in. I enjoyed the luxury of it. I stood on the plush, off-white bath mat and ran the water. The porcelain tub was probably over a century old and in immaculate condition. My room had not been occupied for ages. I think it had served as a guest room ever since the house was built. I opened a luxurious and expensive jar of body wash crème. The sudsy lather emitted a savoury ginger fragrance throughout the room that was both masculine and appealing to my girlie senses. I was quite sure Hal would approve if I could get him to play along.
“Come on in, sweetheart,” I called towards the other room.
Hal was hesitant…and rightly so. I wondered what it must have been like for him before me. What kinds of women had he tried to have an understanding with? Where had he met women? Certainly most debutantes would not have been appropriate matches for him. Yet he had probably, at some point, been rumoured to be amongst the best catches of the South. He was so charming and well mannered, rich beyond comprehension, had a beautiful and well-maintained home and was handsome. His parents being gone could be seen as favourable in the efforts to meet women, given what I’d overheard about meddling Southern mothers.
Hal’s footsteps approached the bathroom. The anticipation was wonderful. He came in and immediately took a deep breath.
“It smells wonderful in here.”
“For you,” I said. “Get in. Relax.”
He tossed his robe onto the antique oak chair and lowered himself into the steaming, frothy bath. It looked so inviting. I love the feeling of baths.
“Are you getting in with me?”
“Nope. I’m going to exfoliate my darling for him.”
“What’s gotten into you?”
“Can’t I be nice and chivalrous without some kind of devious plan attached to it?”
“I don’t know. Can you?” He chuckled.
I got out the ginger-scented scrub and a loofah. I pushed the oak chair over to the side of the tub and sponged his back for him. He sighed. The intoxicating aroma was enough to send me into sheer fantasy and utter relaxation. I loved the indulgence of it all. Wasn’t I, at least in part, busy seducing myself? Wasn’t that what seducing someone else was really all about? Hal’s skin, like most middle-aged men’s, was losing its elasticity. Like most men, he had been taught to ignore it, to ignore himself.
“Men are socialised to believe that soap is the only necessary step in the cleansing ritual,” I commented.
“What else is there?”
“See?” I rolled my eyes.
“No, really, what else is there? What are you doing now?”
/> I added a dollop of scrub to the loofah and made circles on his back.
“Exfoliation. How does that gritty sensation feel?”
“Like sandpaper.”
“Be serious, Hal,” I kissed the back of his neck.
“It feels wonderful. What does this do?”
“Removes dead skin cells.”
“Gross.”
“Grosser to just ignore them, isn’t it?”
“You know, I’m not a pansy. I don’t need all this.”
“Hal, no one is calling you a pansy, least of all me. I assure you, I need a real man. A manly man. There’s nothing pansy about maintaining yourself, though.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Where did you learn otherwise?”
“I don’t know. I’ve just never met anyone who did this kind of thing.”
“Pamper you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you’re worth it. I love doing it. I love you.”
After his bath, I towelled him off and made him lie face down on my bed while I quietly retrieved my cock and put it in place. Back on the bed, I used a ginger massage oil and massaged Hal everywhere. I spent at least an hour just touching him, firmly and smoothly. I felt a lovely symbiosis between us—his sighing and my enjoyment colliding to create a godly effect.
“No one has ever touched me like you do, Julie. No one.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, it’s true. I feel like you’ve paid attention to every part of me.”
“Not every part of you.” I smoothed my palms over his ass and let my index finger dangle just slightly above his asshole.
“Mmm,” he uttered, to my surprise. Was I to take this as an affirmation? I seemed to have gained his trust.
“I’m the one who should be saying, ‘Mmm’. You’re like my very own tasty roast. Marinated, tenderised. I want to sink my teeth into you.”
“Why, Miss Julie!” He feigned surprise and disdain with an exaggerated Southern accent.
“Why, Mr Hal Broughton, whatever is the matter with you that you should choose such a perverse woman to be your wife?” I feigned my version of the accent right back.
