Róisín - Ch. 2

 Chapter Two - An Open Mind

I knew better than to raise the subject of John's revelations with Róisín. I could tell that she was still upset by his indiscretion for about a eek after the event; I was patient with her but we both knew that unanswered questions required resolution. And much to her credit it was her who raised the issue, at breakfast.

Normally on Saturday mornings my lovely Wife is full of plans for the weekend and is a bubbly and happy companion for a dull accountant like me; that morning she was contemplative however.

“You deserve an explanation,” she said, putting down her half full cup of tea.

I knew exactly why she had raised the matter, but nevertheless asked, “What for?” 

“You know!”

“Okay!”

“You might not like it.”

I thought about my response. Maybe I wouldn't like her revelations but I have always believed in honesty, so I replied, “That's for me to decide!”

“Okay then!” she said. “But please don't judge me until I have finished. Will you promise me that?”

“Of course,” I replied, “but tell me one thing.”

“What's that?”

“Have you cheated on me? Am I a cuckold? Just like the others.”

“No!”

“Okay! An open mind it is. So please go ahead.”

Róisín smiled, nodded her head, and said, “Open mind then! Alright! What if I was to tell you that everything ‘Big Gob John’ told you was true. All of those Wives have Masters ..”

“Black Masters,” I interjected.

“Don't interrupt Michael, this is hard enough without that,” she replied, before continuing. “It's a more like a cult thing really. It is called the Natural Order and there are many who live by its philosophy. More than society would admit to; and all of my work colleagues, females especially, are very, very enthusiastic advocates of its pleasurable practices.”

“Which are?”

“Essentially, unsatisfied Wives fucking with Black Masters. For many it is an expression of Love for their Master’s along with the gentle humiliation of their husbands – their cuckolds.”

“I got all this from ‘Piss-Head John’, and Marcie that evening. He said that you would confirm it all, and you have. So what more is there I need to know?”

I would normally have received another reminder from my feisty Wife to not interrupt her again, and I tensed waiting for it – it didn't arrive. Looking up at her I could see she was struggling with how to approach the next part of the conversation.

“Quite a lot more actually.”

“About you?”

“Me.... Yes..... And Megan!”

“Megan? The Receptionist?”

“Yes. We were the Reserves.”

Immediately I felt a sense of our lives changing. I was about to have my smug little life upended – forever. Looking down at my hands, I could see just a small tremor starting – I was now very nervous. But Róisín continued, even though I was some-what unwilling to hear the rest. 

“Reserves? Were you in a team?” It was the question that changed everything.

“In a manner of speaking,” her eyes sparkled with amusement before continuing, “Masters have a very pronounced sexual drive. As well as their prodigious mating equipment, they need regular release of their ....”

“Seed?”

“I said don't interrupt. But yes! They need to orgasm regularly. And their Girlfriends and cuckolds would normally, and very willingly, provide that service. But every one of those Wives, unless for obvious reasons like Penny's big tummy, have a monthly period; as well as the normal ailments of everyday living.”

“And this is where you come in?” 

“Meg and I – Yes.” Róisín replied. “In the basement of the fashion house is a small one bedroomed apartment with a big bed, shower, toilet, and a small kitchen. After work, Meg and I would go down there and party with those Black Masters whose ladies were unavailable on that day.”

 ... party with those
Black Masters ...

“You had sex with them?”

“I used to have sex with them,” she snapped back.

“You stopped?”

“When I met you Michael. From the very day I met you, I knew you were the one, so I have never cheated on you. But before that I was a bit of a slut.”

“A Black Master’s slut?” 

“Yes!”

“But you haven't been with anyone since?”

She looked up from the cup she had been holding. “I told you. No-one, just you. But I am sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being a slut, and not telling you.”

“How many of these men have you been with?”

“All of those Master’s you saw at the party. Regularly!”

If I had been honest, I would told her that would be my definition of being a slut, but I had a question. It was a loaded question because it would tell me what I needed to know about my lovely Wife, but I had to know the answer. 

“When you were with all of these different men, did you enjoy it?”

Suddenly Róisín was very sweary Irish again. “What kind of ‘forcking’ question is that?”

“A question requiring an honest answer.”

Her face changed from indignation to a very wistful look of pleasant memories as she answered. “Honestly? Okay you asked for it. ......... I loved it. Every time! Every way! As often as possible and whenever they wanted me. Meg too – she loved it. And so did her husband Paul.”

“You had orgies down there?”

“Occasionally, but mostly I would take my clothes off, pour myself a brandy, light up a cigar, and then wander in to either watch Meg go at it or invite one of the boys to join me on the bed.”

... but mostly I would
take my clothes off ...

“It was a nightly orgy then,” I commented.

“I suppose so, but it was fun and ......”

“Wait a minute,” I exclaimed suddenly (and rudely interrupting my Wife). “Did you just say her husband attended?”

“Of course!”

“He's gay? I thought those Black lads were only interested in women.”

Róisín furrowed her eyebrows in consternation. “Paul's not gay. He doesn't have sex with the men. What made you think that?”

“I dunno!” I replied sarcastically. “Maybe because he was going to an an orgy with big Black Men.”

“Paul is a gentle and kind man who loves Megan. And like a good hubby should be, he understands her needs and is prepared to accept her liaisons . In fact he is a very enthusiastic devotee of The Natural Order.”

‘The Natural Order again,’ I thought. ‘Wives being owned by Black Masters. Husbands wearing cages on their equipment. What else is there to shock me?”

“And he’s an excellent ‘Cleaner’.”

“What?” 

But she wasn't finished. “And ‘Restorer'.”

I thought on John's description of cuckold Bernard's duties when Jaqueline and Ruben made love. In fact I had thought of little else since the party and was still trying to acknowledge that a husband would do such things, especially in front of his Wife. But I believed him. Just as I believed Róisín now. I hadn't seen it with my own eyes but I had seen the settled untroubled look on the husband's faces and the contented and happy countenance on their Wives and knew the Natural Order to be a fact, and not someone's wild idea about marriage and sexuality. ‘Love, loyalty, and devotion,’ John had said; maybe he was right.

“You're looking thoughtful Michael,” Róisín commented, looking worried.

“And you are wrong Love,” I said after pondering a while further, “The Natural Order isn't a cult at all. It's much more than that.”

She cocked her head to one side in an expression of doubt and need for further explanation. “And what is it then ‘Smartarse’?”

“It's not even a lifestyle. It's a dedication to an idea. It is a way of life.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then asked me, “Way of life for whom?”

“Hubby ....”

“Cuckold, you mean.”

“Cuckold then. ....  Yes!” I responded, gathering my thoughts together. “Including the lucky Wife and her Lover, I suppose.”

“The correct terminology is Mistress and Master.”

“I guess so.”

Róisín sipped her tea, and grimaced at its coldness. She picked distractedly at an imaginary strand of thread on her blouse, which I knew to be a signal that she had something on her mind. I sat still waiting for her next revelation.

“So!” she exclaimed with a smile on her lips, but with a look of worry in her eyes. “Do you think I am a slut Michael?”

I realised that how I answered this question would make or break our marriage. She hadn't told me about her sexual activities before we had met, and I hadn't been forthcoming about my own but neither of us had been virgins. Since I had met Róisín, she had been the light in my otherwise dull life and I was certain now that she had not cheated in our marriage. So what if she had ‘put it about' before we met; who was I to stand in judgement on her unusual love-life.

“I'm not going to condemn you for doing what comes naturally Róisín. Why should I? I had girlfriends that I haven't told you about before we met ....” I looked up at her eyes watering with emotion, “... so, no! I don't think you are a slut! I think you are an angel.”

Róisín said nothing, but stood up and came to my side of the table and placed herself close before me. Pushing me back in my chair, she straddled my lap and placed a soft and gentle kiss on my lips. With one hand on the back of my head the other went in search of my little man underneath my pyjamas. I gasped in pleasure as she found it.

“Angel am I?” she said as her hand brought me to hardness very quickly. “A little overstated but appreciated nonetheless.”

She released my stiff little pink pencil, pulled the gusset of her thin silk panties to one side and lowered herself down onto my penis. She didn't have far to go as her soft, wet, and delightfully warm vagina engulfed the little upright fleshy tube.

“You are my angel,” I whispered breathlessly into her ear as she started to ride me. Róisín had done this before and always managed to orgasm by pressing hard down and rocking her groin backwards and forwards as my ‘little man’ flailed around loosely inside her. “And I love you,” I continued, as I lifted her t-shirt up to expose her bare breasts. 

It is always a joy for me to kiss her two round tits with their coral pink nipples. Like two small jellies, they trembled and bounced slightly as her thrusting on my willy became more and more frenzied. Her moans of completion grew louder and louder as my mouth closed over her left nipple and I started to suck gently. 

“Oh God! “Oh God!” she screamed as her orgasm ripped through her lithe young body. Shuddering violently in her spending , she wrapped her armed around my neck and with her chin resting on my shoulder, her breath noisily rushed in and out of her open mouth in ecstatic climax. Róisín had enjoyed herself riding my little cock. She had used me to do so, and I knew why.

I had ejaculated with her so it was now ‘clean-up time’. Lifting herself from my floppy penis, she placed her hand over her vagina to prevent my semen from dripping onto the floor and lifted one leg up onto the table to open her legs wide for access. I knew what she wanted, so with practised ease, I dropped to the floor on my knees and pressed my face against the back the hand that was holding back ‘the flood'.

With one hand pressed onto the back of my head she pressed my face into her labia whilst instantaneously removing her hand to allow my lips to meet the sticky flesh that now oozed my seamen. Immediately, my tongue went to work to clean my own ejaculated salty fluid that trickled into my mouth and down my throat. I was serving the woman I love by making her happy, and thereby making myself happy.

... I was serving the woman I love ...

“You know you're just like Paul, don't you,” she said breathlessly as my succour gave her yet another build up of pleasure. 

I knew what she meant, and pulling my head away from her very appealing groin , I said, “ Do you mean Cleaner Paul?”

Róisín chuckled and then replied, “The one and the same.”

“Like John, Bernard, and Mark too?”

“So their Wives tell me.”

I took yet another globule of musty jism down my throat before I answered, “Then I am in good company.”

“Well, they are cuckolds, and you are not,” she responded.

It was later in the day when I asked the question that had been on my mind since that morning when I had realised one thing about my beautiful Wife. We had been to the Brent Cross Shopping Centre and were putting our shopping bags onto the kitchen table when Róisín looked thoughtfully at me. 

“There's something on your mind Michael. Out with it please!”

She was right. There was something on my mind, and it was time to bring it out into the open.

“Do you miss it?”

Her face paled, she pursed her lips, and she looked defensive. Róisín knew exactly what I was asking.

I had already guessed that she reminisced over her times in that apartment (who wouldn't) but our happy little session at the breakfast table had confirmed it. Her confession that morning had aroused her more that I had ever known or felt and I knew the answer to my question before she even spoke. All I wanted was an honest answer.

“Yes!”

Róisín's eyes were as wide as saucers as she looked back at me. She was expecting condemnation, or criticism, or maybe that horrible word – ‘slut'.

“I thought so,” was my comment to a now anxious Wife. 

She continued to stare at me for about a minute (it felt like an hour) and I stared her down. I knew that behind those beautiful eyes, she was thinking really hard about what to say next; so I patiently waited.

“You haven't thought about anything else since this morning. Have you Michael.”

“How could you tell?”

Róisín snorted as she laughed. “You've been hiding your little ‘stiffy’ under those tight pants and long jumper all the way around that shopping centre. Do you think I didn't notice you holding the shopping bags in front of you to hide your little fucking bump?”

“What did you expect?”

She stopped packing the groceries away into a kitchen cupboard, and turned to look directly at me. “What has gotten you so ...” she struggled for the word, “.... excited?”

I could feel the heat in my cheeks as my face turned red in embarrassment; but as she had been honest with me, it was time for some sincerity from me. Since Róisín had told me that she invited ‘one of the boys to join her on the bed', all I could see in my imagination was her in the arms of a strong and well-hung Black Master.

... in my imagination ...

The words spilled out of my mouth in my nervous confession of depravity. “I keep thinking of you, naked, being taken by a handsome Black Man; spreading your legs for him and inviting his big dark member deep into your body.” 

“That's a bit weird, isn't it?”

“Well, not really,” was my weak response. “You did drop all of your past on me this morning after all.”

“True!” she exclaimed. “But my future is with you Michael. The past is the past!”

A year and a half later, the sausages and eggs had been eaten, the plate was in the dishwasher and I was sat down relaxing with a glass of Chardonnay watching television. And then my phone pinged.

It was a text from John. ‘Hi Mike. Just to let you know that we are all proud of Róisín. Her presentation to our prospective partner in the business was especially good. She must have worked very hard on the financial opportunities and I can tell you that Mr Samuel Jerome was very impressed with her. I have included picture of them both chatting after the talk, so I guess she might be late home. When she's finished chatting, I'll order a taxi for her. Congratulations mate, for having a clever Missus.’

Congratulations mate, ...

I looked intently at the picture (slightly grainy and colourless due to the lack of light) that John had sent, and there was no doubt that Róisín was chatting with a big Black Guy in the corner of the roof, where the fashion house held their parties. They were standing close together, alone, and in deep conversation but there was something worrying me about the picture. I looked at it carefully and then realised what was concerning me; the man had his hand on her arse and he appeared to be kissing her forehead.

Was the love of my life cucking me? Was Róisín being unfaithful? I felt tears fill my eyes at the reality of her being with another man. Waves of hot and cold sweats coursed through my body as I stared at my phone that I gripped in my trembling hand. 

‘Wait a minute,’ I thought, ‘John is going to put her in a taxi and send her home. Would he do that if my Wife was going to join Samuel Jerome in his bed? Maybe I am reading more into this than I should.’

She had told me that she missed going with Black Men at the apartment located in the building basement, but on the other hand Megan, Deven, and even Jonah, had let me know in their own individual way, that they had missed her particular intimate skills. Since then I had made it my business to get off the train at Tottenham Court Road, walk to the fashion house, and meet her after work. In the intervening eighteen months since her confession of being their ‘pleasure lady' she had never commented about my new travel arrangements. It wasn't that I distrusted her, but I passed it off as the actions of a caring young husband, which seemed to please her; and amuse her.

I was still awake in bed when the taxi arrived. I heard Róisín thank the driver and enter our front door; it was a quarter to one in the morning.

“You're still awake then?” said Róisín (stating the obvious because the light was on and I was sitting up) as she stepped into the bedroom and unclipped the strap to her backless cocktail dress. Her pretty, and bare, white breasts trembled delightfully as she squirmed out of the remainder of her dress to stand naked except for a tiny black pair of panties.

“Yeah!” I replied lightly. “I thought I would wait up and ask you how your presentation went.”

She had her pyjama shorts and tee shirt on and was in bed beside me before answering. “It went well. Samuel was very well read and knew what all the issues were, so we were over and done with by ten o'clock.”

“What was he like?” I asked the question because I had seen the photograph of her being very much within his personal space – and happy to be so. Likewise, he seemed very comfortable with her close proximity, as the position of his left hand could testify.

“Oh he was very nice,” was her noncommittal reply.

“He was black, wasn't he?”

Róisín spun around in the bed to face me. “How did you know that?”

“John sent me a photo of the pair of you.”

“That's nice! Can I see?”

I reached for my phone on the bedside table, opened up the photo gallery, and passed it to her to see. She looked at the image and bit her lip in thought.

“Is he kissing you, and is that his hand on your bottom?” I asked, as nonchalantly as possible. 

Her face coloured in embarrassment. “I think the camera gives a wrong impression. This was taken just as one of the caterers was pushing a trolley towards us so he pulled me towards him to get out of the way. And yes! He did kiss me. On the forehead as it happens for getting him that drink he’s holding.”

I was aware the man in the photograph was an older Black Man who was well dressed and powerful, and given Róisín's previous penchant for Black Lovers, my next question was, in my view, perfectly justified. 

“And did you like him?”

I had expected a sharp level of indignation from my Wife as we lay side by side in bed, with her still gazing at my phone. But I was wrong. 

“Yes! He was nice.”

“Well he must have liked you too,” I replied sarcastically, “especially your pretty arse.”

Again I was wrong, I had expected a short reply to my impudent rejoinder; but what she said shook me to the core.

“I know he liked me,” she said, as she handed my phone back to me, “because he has asked me to go on a date with him.”

“What !!!!”

“He's a Master, and he wants to date me.”

“I heard what you said,” I snapped back. 

It took at least twenty seconds silence between us before I asked the obvious follow-up question. I didn't want to ask it, but as her husband I was obliged.

“What was your reply?”

“I told him I was married.”

“And?” 

“That's it really. I told him that I have a nice hubby, and we parted on good terms.” 

And with that response, my lovely red-haired angel of a Wife, rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes. But not before asking, “Do you want me to do something about your little stiffy Dear?”

“No I'm good thanks. Good night.”