Educating Mary Ch 01

Chapter One: Breaking Mary

Rolling over in bed, Jeff Urqhart put his hand on his wife's nightgown-clad hip and slid it slowly up along her side and around to her belly. He could feel the warmth of her soft skin radiating through the thick flannel as his hand travelled up towards her breasts, and his cock swelled even more in his shorts. It had been well over a week since the last time they'd had sex, and Jeff was starting to believe he would explode soon. He wormed his way closer to Mary under the duvet, until his hard cock pressed against the crack of her firm arse.

Jeff's hopes for the night were brutally shattered (again) as his wife gave an irritated shrug of her shoulders and pressed her right arm hard against her side, trapping Jeff's exploring hand before it could touch the swell of her breasts. "Oh, stop it, Jeff," Mary said, more than a hint of exasperation in her voice.

Frustration welled up in Jeff's throat. Frustration had long been a staple part of his emotional diet, but in the past few months it had become tinged with increasing amounts of anger. "For Christ's sake, Mary!" he choked out.

Mary must have noticed something in his voice, for she released his hand and rolled over to face him. Jeff found himself staring into his wife's face from a few centimetres away, and as always he felt most of his rage evaporate at the sight of the woman he loved.

Mary Urqhart was 167 cm tall when standing up, with firm B-cup breasts, round, feminine hips and a firm, shapely butt that made men's heads turn when she walked by. She was one-quarter Vietnamese, which showed in her long, straight black hair and slightly slanted almond-shaped eyes, giving her a faintly exotic look. She was second-generation Londoner, though, born and raised.

"I'm sorry, Jeff, but I just don't feel like it tonight," she said in a placating voice.

"You never feel like it; that's the problem," Jeff said in disgust.

It was true, he reflected. In the first few months after their wedding four years ago, he was sure Mary had enjoyed sex as much as he had. While she'd always been shy and disinclined to experiment, Jeff hadn't worried, thinking he could get her to come out of her shell over time. Instead the opposite had been the case. Sex had become a less and less frequent occurrence, with Mary eventually starting to wear thick flannel nightgowns to bed more suited to a 70-year old maiden aunt. Jeff had to tease and cajole his lovely wife into having sex with him, and on the few nights where she acquiesced, she would usually just roll onto her back and pull her nightgown up over her hips. They would be under the covers, with the lights off, and while Mary would be making encouraging little noises in her throat, Jeff doubted that she took much pleasure in their lovemaking.

In his defence it should be said that Jeff had tried everything he could think of. He'd arranged romantic dinners and tender seductions, and tried many different ways to please his wife in bed. He'd tried going down on her many times, but the mere idea of having him use his mouth on her pussy seemed to shock and repulse Mary. Likewise, she'd never allowed him inside her mouth. A while back Jeff had wondered if she was cheating on him. He'd asked her flat out, and she'd been sincerely stunned to hear that he thought so. He'd even hired a private investigator to follow her around for a month, but there was nothing even remotely resembling an affair with a man or a woman. Jeff had, over time, simply come to believe his wife was becoming frigid.

Jeff had thought about leaving, but quickly dismissed the idea. Apart from the sex life, or rather the lack of one, their marriage was perfect. Mary was warm and caring, intelligent and funny, and they got along fantastically. He'd also thought about having an affair, and in the most secret corners of his mind, decided that if the chance presented itself, he would probably take it. He would not, however, actively seek out a mistress; that would seem too much like betrayal.

"Maybe tomorrow," Mary whispered and touched his cheek tenderly.

"Yeah, maybe," he sighed. Jeff knew that meant that tomorrow night Mary would let him climb on top of her and satisfy himself with her compliant but passive body, and then kiss him softly and go to sleep. The thought made him vaguely nauseous, and he felt his cock deflate in his shorts.

It shouldn't have to be this way,

he thought morosely.

There must be something that can be done

. Despondently, he rolled over on his back. Sleep was a long time coming.

# # #

Looking up from the slip of paper in his hand, Jeff regarded the stately old Victorian house in front of him. Located on the western fringe of London proper, it towered in exalted majesty in the middle of a large garden filled with neatly trimmed bushes, decorative flowerbeds and gravel paths, all surrounded by a tall hedge.

This must be it

, Jeff thought and opened the black iron gate.

His footsteps crunching on the gravel, he walked from the gat up to the impressive front door. A gargoyle head with a heavy doorknocker in its mouth leered at him from the door, but Jeff also noticed a discrete modern doorbell button. Pressing it, he heard a faint chime from somewhere deep inside.

He waited nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and took a deep, calming breath when he heard the door being unlocked from inside. When it swung open, Jeff stared in awe at the woman across the threshold. And she was indeed something to stare at.

The woman standing in the doorway was tall, probably around 180 cm. She had thick, blonde hair that hung straight down her back, and icy blue eyes that looked both challenging and appraising at the same time. She had a small, straight nose, high cheekbones and sensuous lips. She was slender in an athletic sort of way, with large breasts and long legs. The woman radiated authority and strength, along with a cool and aloof sophistication that combined to give her the appearance of a pagan ice queen of ancient times, cold and perfect, far above the touch of mere mortals. Her clothes should have spoiled this image, but somehow served to reinforce it instead. She was dressed in an ankle-length dress of cool blue leather, accentuating her hips and big, firm breasts, while leaving exposed both arms and shoulders and one long leg.

Realising that he was standing there gaping like a fool, Jeff tried to get his mouth to work again. The blonde woman, however, salvaged the potentially awkward situation by speaking first. "You must be Mr. Urqhart," she said, her accent one of excellent breeding and expensive boarding schools.

"Uh, well, yes, yes I am," Jeff stuttered.

The woman smiled a smile that somehow conveyed glacial coolness and warm invite at the same time. "Why don't you come inside," she offered, stepping aside. Jeff stepped through the open door, resisting the urge to shake his head violently to clear it.

With the door shut and locked behind him, the woman gestured for Jeff to follow her, then turned around and led the way deeper into the house. The hall just inside the front door was large and spacious, with black-and-white tiles on the floor and a magnificent staircase leading up to the first floor. As they walked, Jeff got a vague impression of passing through rooms with oak-panelled walls with paintings and wall lamps with dark fabric screens, and carpeted floors, but his attention was firmly fixed on the woman walking in front of him. The blue leather dress fit snugly over her swaying hips, leaving Jeff a fantastic view of her leather-clad arse that gave him a raging hard-on. Her arms and shoulders were subtly muscled, as was the leg occasionally showing through the slit in her dress. Her skin was smooth, pale alabaster, and her naturally pale blonde hair hung nearly to the small of her back. She was wearing some sort of leather ankle boots with high heels, also blue, and the heels made hard, thumping noises with unwavering rhythm as she walked across the carpets.

They emerged in a sitting room somewhere in the back of the house, Jeff estimated, the whole room decorated and furnished in a Victorian style that matched the façade of the house. His hostess indicated that he should sit on a sofa, and Jeff obeyed, while she took a seat in a straight-backed chair across from him.

Jeff searched desperately for something to say, but again his hostess saved him. "I understand you were referred to me by Arthur Wexfield," she said, not making it a question.

"Uh, yes, that's right, Ms., eh..." Jeff trailed off awkwardly.

A cool smile. "You may call me Erica," the ice woman said. "Now, why don't you explain to me the nature of your problem?"

Jeff did. At first it felt horribly awkward, to tell a perfect stranger, and a beautiful woman to boot, about his marital problems, but as his story progressed, frustration replaced awkwardness, and when he was done Jeff felt curiously relieved. He looked at Erica, having avoided her glance for the duration of his tale, but somewhat to his surprise he saw neither ridicule nor pity, just cool, professional interest.

Erica looked pensive for a moment. "Yes, I believe I can be of assistance," she said at last. Then she nodded to herself. "Actually, I know I can."

Jeff let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "That's great," he said. "When can you... eh, begin?"

"Anytime next week," Erica replied. Then she focused her attention fully on Jeff. "You do realise that what I do is in no way conventional sexual therapy, don't you?"

Jeff nodded. "Yes, Arthur implied as much." He thought back to the conversation with his colleague, the hungry look on Arthur's face when he talked about how Chrissie, his fiancée, had been when she came back from her time spent in this mansion.

"Good," said Erica. "Now, the entire... treatment will take about two weeks' time. During that time you may not visit, nor have any contact with your wife." Jeff nodded his understanding. "Furthermore, you should make sure your wife's employer, friends and relatives are under the impression that she, or the both of you, are on holiday or some such. You don't want anyone to believe she's gone missing."

"Sure," Jeff assured her. "I've sort of hinted about a vacation to France, so no one will wonder."

"Excellent," said Erica. "You should also be advised that your wife will be under a certain amount of, shall we say, restraint while she's here. It is in neither one of us' best interest to have her walk out of here before the program is complete."

"I understand," Jeff said. "She won't be harmed, will she?" he asked, anxiety clear in his voice.

"Absolutely not," Erica replied firmly. "Some discipline is involved, of course, particularly in the early stages, but there will be no permanent injuries of any kind. I guarantee it."

"All right then," said Jeff. "About your fee..."

Erica held up a commanding hand, stopping him in his tracks. "We can discuss my fee after I'm done," she said firmly. "I operate on a, shall we say, sliding scale. You pay for results, not promises." A darkly satisfied smile flashed across those perfect red lips, then vanished. "I dare say, though, that I've never had an unsatisfied client, nor one that felt I'd overcharged." Her face became all business again. "So, when can you drop off your wife?"

Jeff thought for a moment. "How about this Tuesday?"

"Tuesday will be just fine," Erica nodded. "Are we in agreement, then?"

"Yes," Jeff said as firmly as he could manage.

"Good," Erica said. "There is, however, a little formality first."

"Oh? What's that?" wondered Jeff.

Erica smiled her cool smile. "I want you to take out your cock," she said in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone.

"Excuse me?" Jeff was stunned.

"Open your pants and take out your cock," Erica said with authority in her voice. "I can see you have an erection. Just take it out and show it to me."

Flabbergasted, Jeff did as he was told. His cock was rock hard in his pants, and his hands shook slightly as he struggled with his belt and button. Erica just sat there, long legs crossed, hands primly folded on her knee, watching with a look of cool professionalism.

After some fumbling, Jeff got his pants open, and, pulling his shorts below his balls, he brought out his erect cock. The veined shaft was about 6 inches long and thick, with a bulbous head. A drop of pre-come was oozing from the slit.

"Stroke it," Erica ordered. Feeling as though he was having a particularly weird dream, Jeff did as he was told. His hand closed around the shaft, and he began pumping his fist slowly up and down. Erica just sat there, making no effort to egg him on, but just regarded him with a clinical look. Jeff, on the other hand, couldn't take his eyes from her. He imagined what her tits would feel like under that smooth, tight leather, or how it would be to see her lips part as that perfectly sculpted face descended on his cock. Meeting her eyes Jeff saw an icy fire that sent a powerful jolt through him that went all the way from his eyes, though his brain and down his spine to reach his groin and travel like lightning all the way out to the tip of his cock, which twitched in his hand.

"Stand up," Erica ordered in the same frosty, authoritative voice. Jeff stumbled clumsily to his feet, cock still in hand.

Erica regarded him for another minute before rising herself. Jeff nearly came when he saw the firm flesh move underneath her dress. With long, elegant fingers she picked up a glass tube standing on the coffee table next to her chair, and walked languidly over to him.

"Keep stroking," she instructed in a throaty voice. She placed a hand on his shoulder as she strutted around to stand behind him.

Jeff could feel the come starting to rise in his balls. His pants had slipped down around his ankles, but he didn't notice, wanking his cock furiously. Then he felt Erica's body being pressed against him from behind, her breasts flattened against his back, and her right hand came snaking around his waist. "Let go of it," she breathed into his ear. Jeff dropped his cock as if it burned his hands, and stared in rapt attention as her hand slowly closed, finger after finger, around his throbbing shaft. Her hand was cool against the burning hot cock. Then she started to stroke his cock, slowly at first, then faster. Jeff leaned his head back against her shoulder, and felt a sting of pain as she bit into his earlobe.

"Oh God, I'm coming," he panted. Swiftly Erica reached around him with her left hand, which was holding the glass she'd taken from the table. Positioning the opening right in front of Jeff's cock, she stopped wanking him and held his shaft horizontally, her thumb rubbing the head as her fingers squeezed rhythmically around the shaft. With a loud groan Jeff came, his sperm shooting from his cock and directly into the glass tube in Erica's hand. He felt his knees buckle with the intensity of his orgasm, but Erica tightened her arms around his waist and held him on his feet, taking his weight without apparent effort.

Feeling drained and spent, Jeff straightened up as Erica let go of his cock. He turned to look at her, and saw that she was looking at her hand, where some of his come had dripped. Without any self-consciousness she brought her hand to her mouth and sucked the little drop of come off her finger. Jeff could only stare in amazement at this blatant display of eroticism.

Erica walked over to the table and picked up a small lid, which she screwed on the glass containing Jeff's come. Getting his breathing back under control, Jeff felt curiosity stir. "What is that about, then?" he asked.

"Oh, this is merely a little insurance, if you like," Erica explained. "In case you should have a change of heart without letting me know first." There was no threat in her voice at all, merely patient explanation. "Don't worry; as soon as I'm through with your wife, I will of course destroy this," she indicated the glass.

Jeff pulled up his pants and got his clothes back in order. "Now," Erica said, "why don't we go over some of the details?"

# # #

Watching the streets of London go by, Mary sat in the passenger seat of their car. Two days earlier Jeff had sprung the surprise on her: that he was taking her to France for a fortnight. Mary was, of course, thrilled with the idea, and had packed in a hurry, taking time to call her mother and some of her friends with the good news. She'd had to do some juggling of schedules at work, but in the end she'd been able to get a couple of weeks off.

The only fly in the ointment, as far as she was concerned, was her worry over the fact that a vacation in France was supposed to include lots of romance and sex. Romance was fine with Mary; she loved her husband very much, but sex, on the other hand, made her very uneasy. She suspected that Jeff planned for this vacation to somehow re-vitalise their marriage, and she felt her stomach contract to a ball of anxious nausea at the thought of having to turn him away night after night.

It wasn't that Mary didn't like sex, per se. She knew she was capable of enjoying it very much. It was just that in order to enjoy sex, you had to be excited, and there was the core of Mary's problem. She simply could not bring herself to becoming aroused.

Mary's upbringing had been very strict and puritanical, with a dominating father and a thoroughly cowed mother. Everything below the navel had been strictly taboo; her parents used to make sure that she and her sister both slept with their hands above their blankets, so they couldn't touch themselves even in their sleep. They had been kept home from school during sex education, and never been allowed to date while they lived at home. Mary had not been able to escape her parents' controlling influence until she met Jeff and married him.

She'd had precisely three orgasms in her life: no more, no less. One had been a few weeks before their wedding, another one just after; both times she had been quite drunk. The third had been on her wedding night, when it was understood that a woman was allowed to let herself go. For Mary, though, sexual excitement had always been closely associated with shame, something filthy and nasty that decent people avoided if at all possible. Jeff had one suggested that they go see a family councillor, someone who could help them past their problems (Jeff had never until very recently even hinted at things being her fault). Mary had flatly refused; the idea of talking about one's dirty bodily functions to a complete stranger filled her with revulsion. Jeff had even once asked her if she was seeing another man. That had been horrible; that he could even think something so awful about her. Mary had never had the slightest interest in any other men; the idea of having an affair was completely alien to her.

At the beginning of their marriage, and the time before their wedding, she'd had no problems becoming aroused by Jeff. However, every time she felt ashamed and dirty, and she would remember those feelings the next time they were together, thereby making it harder to become excited. This she would interpret as her conscience fighting the dirty primal urges of her body, and that would make it even more shameful. It was a never-ending downward spiral from which Mary had no clue how to get up.

Mary was startled out of her brooding by the surroundings. "Jeff, this isn't the way to Heathrow, is it?" she remarked to her husband.

"I know," he replied. "We just have to stop somewhere to pick up something."

"Oh? What?" she asked.

"You'll see when we get there," he replied. His shoulders were hunched, the way they were when he was tense and nervous about something, but Mary didn't press the issue.