A Day Like Any Other
Chapter 1
Kate came home from her trip to the market with a wheel cart full of foodstuffs for the evening meal for her family. Amongst the mail in the basket behind the mail slot there was one thick envelope, plain brown, addressed to her, except the name was her maiden name. Curious, she dumped the remainder of the mail on the kitchen counter and opened the envelope. The first thing that slid out was a note, typed on a manual typewriter:
KATE, WE 'KNEW' EACH OTHER, INTIMATELY, AT UNIVERSITY, BACK WHEN YOU WERE OPEN AND HONEST ABOUT YOUR TRUE DESIRES. ENCLOSED YOU WILL FIND PHOTOGRAPHS OF YOU I HAVE KEPT AND
CHERISHED THESE MANY YEARS. I HAVE THE NEGATIVES OF ALL THE ENCLOSED PHOTOGRAPHS AND HAVE PRINTS READY TO SEND TO YOUR HUSBAND, YOUR WORK AND YOUR NEIGHBORS IF YOU DON'T DO EXACTLY AS I DEMAND. IN A FORTNIGHT YOUR SONS AND HUSBAND WILL BE GONE ON A SHORT HOLIDAY. ON THE EVENING OF THE DAY THEY LEAVE I WILL SEND TO YOUR HOUSE A YOUNG MAN WHO REQUIRES YOUR SPECIAL TALENTS. HE IS 22, STILL A VIRGIN, AND PAINFULLY SHY. YOU WILL INTRODUCE HIM TO THE JOYS OF PHYSICAL PLEASURE. BY THAT I MEAN YOU WILL SUCK HIS COCK, FUCK HIM HARD TO TAKE HIS VIRGINITY OR BY THE FOLLOWING FORTNIGHT ALL OF YOUR FAMILY AND FRIENDS WILL KNOW FIRST HAND JUST HOW MUCH OF A SLUT YOU ARE. HIS NAME IS GRAHAM. HE HAS BEEN TOLD YOU ARE A PRIVATE SEX THERAPIST. YOU ARE TO BE MORE THAN THAT, YOU ARE TO BE FOR HIM THE HOT DEPRAVED SLUT THAT I WELL KNOW YOU TO BE.
Kate slid the photographs out of the envelope. Her knees turned weak. The black and white photographs were grainy, partially blurred, ill exposed, but were undoubtedly of her. They were from her university days, when she had been exploring sexuality. She had thought that part of her history was gone and buried, thought that no one she knew had any idea.
There was now a danger everyone would know.
The first few photographs were of her in a corset and slip. The next two were of her naked. The next one was of her naked and on her knees with an erect cock in her mouth. The next half-dozen were of her with one cock in her mouth and another driving into her from behind, with yet another in each hand. The last two simply had her naked, exhausted immediately after she'd climaxed, her body covered with hot dripping white seed from many cocks, her face still open, her mouth agape and intense with ecstasy.
The memories flooded into her, taking her breath.
The feelings that now ran through her now were powerful, confused. She knew there was danger, great danger, but at the same time she remembered what it had been like to be taken over by lust, to be known as and being called a hot slut by every man whose cocks she had sucked, fucked and pumped, all to completion and she had welcomed every word, every caress, every fountaining spurt onto her. She had welcomed them into her mouth, into her pussy, and had gripped and pumped with hot abandon, her heart beating, blood coursing through her as it never had before and hadn't since. She loved her husband, loved her sons, but this...this was something she'd never shared with anyone. She thought she'd left that life behind.
She was wrong.
On the appointed day Kate helped her husband and grown sons pack. She pleaded she had a lot of sewing to do and retired to her sewing room before they loaded the car, not wanting to look into their eyes as they left. From her tiny sanctuary she heard the front door slam, heard the engine start and watched the car pull out into the street and drive away from the upstairs window.
She retrieved the photographs from their hiding place and sat down at her desk. It had been so long since she'd allowed herself to think in sexual terms. She had once been driven by it, driven by the need to feel hands on her skin, feel hot skin under her hands and the deep need to be penetrated. She hadn't paid attention to anything else but sensual pursuits, didn't recall anyone taking photographs, but in her alpha state of ecstasy she would not have noticed anyway. Who could have possibly taken those photos that she knew? Who? A person who knew where she lived, knew her schedule, knew her sons?
That hardly mattered now.
Kate went to her bedroom, searched through her closet for something appropriate to wear. What would a sex therapist wear anyway?
Something simple and easily taken off.
She found in the back of her closet a simple dark blue cotton wrap-around dress that she had never worn. She had purchased it years ago to wear on holiday, but that holiday had never materialized and, like her sexual past, had been put out of her mind.
This could be quite a holiday, couldn't it?
She was quickly ashamed of the thought. Was the cryptic blackmail message right?
God. The blackmailer's right. I am a slut.
She slid the dress from its hanger and laid it on the bed. Kate had read once that each person had three lives: a public life, a private life and a secret life. She took off her clothes, deliberately, piece by piece and laid them on the bed as well, as if taking off her usual public and private life and stood naked before the wrap-around dress laying on the bed before her. It beckoned her to dive into her secret life. Her legs and belly quivered with fear. Or was it fear, really? She lifted the garment from the bed and slid it on, wrapped the thin material carefully around her breasts and tied the waist. Then she looked in the mirror. She almost didn't recognize the woman she saw. Dark hair softly framing her face with one curling tendril hanging over one eye, her body strongly curved, draped by the thin cotton. The woman in the mirror breathed deeply, moved her hips, shifting her weight like a tigress hot to breed. But the thing that held Kate was her own eyes. Never had she seen such pure desire in anyone. She faced the mirror, faced herself. Never had her skin felt simple cotton more acutely, it felt as if her nerve endings were electrified. She felt every bit of her nakedness underneath as she retrieved sheets from the cupboard to cover the sofa. She remembered her past and just how wet she'd been. Her copious flow blended with the essences of her companions had stained her mattress beyond cleaning.
Kate began to wonder what this Graham looked like, what his needs were that he was 22 years old and still a virgin. Unbidden, her mind wondered what his cock was like. That's when moisture began to flow, deeply and quietly, in her center. She had never really felt that with her husband. She loved him, she had enjoyed making love with him, but it had never been inspired hot fucking, had never been the kind of fucking that was burned into the heart and mind, the kind that simple memory made her thighs quiver even now. Then she discovered, though she was still petrified with fear, she was truly looking forward to this. Kate was looking forward to young hot cock in her hands, hot cock in her mouth, hot young cock driving into her center.
God help me, I'm glad
.
As he walked to the address his mum had given him from the train station, Graham was, quite frankly, terrified. His mother had recommended this special therapist to him to help him with his quietness, his insecurities with girls. How had she put it? How had the conversation gone?
'She'll help you with your way with women, Honey.'
'I'm fine, Mom, really.'
'No you're not. I know you're not gay, I know you like girls. You just don't talk to them, no matter how much they like you. I know you're attracted by them, yes? I know you are, I've seen how you react, especially to that dark haired girl on the track team. I've seen your trousers tent up. It's all right, it's completely natural.'
'Aw, Mum ... could you not talk about ... Yeah, sure, but...'
'But nothing. This therapist will help you in how you think about women, Graham. You must learn a new way to think before you can master a new way to be. You want it to be different, don't you?'
The word almost stuck in his throat. 'Yes.'
'Then trust me, let this woman help you. Give her a real effort, a real try. You do anything she wants you to do. And I mean anything.'
Anything she wants you to do
.
Right.
He was expecting some earth-mother 'get in tune with the mysteries of the earth' dressed in baggy medieval clothes that wanted him to 'chant his way to positive energy' to overcome his insecurities. Yeah, he was insecure, but not in a general way the way his mum imagined. His insecurities were not general, far from it. His reluctance to engage with girls stemmed from one particular experience when he was a young teen. The family had been on holiday to the seaside and when he had been walking on the beach one night a very adventurous young American girl had played with him, teased him and when she'd finally gotten his trousers open had gasped with shock and zipped his trousers closed again. She'd looked at him, laughed, and said 'Not me, Bud. Not with that tree trunk of yours', laughed again and had run away, leaving him lying in the sand, trembling with desire and shame. Now Graham didn't know what to do. He couldn't discuss that with his mother, free-spirited as she was. His mother's free spiritedness was what had made his dad leave. 'Ever since you came back from Uni, you've been different' his father had said. But even his mum's open-mind and free spirit could not help with this.
