Video Star

From Blushes Supplement 31

‘Had a good day?’ Derek asked. Christine gasped ‘OK…’ With her husband’s 12 stone on top of her, thrusting rhythmically, any words were likely to come out as a gasp and of course what Derek was doing would tend to produce gasps as well. Christine didn’t like talking while doing it but Derek frequently did, he said talking and thinking about something other than doing it meant he could last longer. Anyway she hadn’t had a good day. It had been a very traumatic day — or at least since lunch time, her head spinning round and round, not able to think of anything else. She should never have said yes, it was ridiculous…

‘Go to the pub…? At lunch time…?’ Derek’s words phrased and delivered in cadence with his thrusts. Oh Christ. ‘Stop… talking…’ she said, or gasped. That anyway was the last thing she wanted to talk about… or think about… except she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

In her handbag downstairs. Hidden under the lining where Derek wouldn’t see it — not that he was in the habit of delving in her handbag. The halves of the two £50 notes. Cut precisely in two with the small pair of scissors Mr Ralgate had produced. The one pair of halves handed to her and the others going back in his wallet. ‘You’ll get the other halves afterwards.’ Christine had said, ‘No. Look I really can’t…’ After agreeing to it, or more or less, simply because she could really use £100. He had smiled and gone to get her another drink and when he came back just wouldn’t listen.

‘Don’t be silly. You said yes. And it’s nothing. A hundred quid for nothing. Money for old rope.’

Well you could say it was nothing really. Except that Derek wouldn’t think it was nothing, there was no chance of that. He would… she didn’t like to contemplate what Derek would do. If she did it and he ever found out.

Christine tried to force it out of her mind. She could sense that Derek, not talking now, was getting close. She wanted to come, it would at least give some release from the tension. So think of a turn-on. Think… of being fucked by someone else. Mr Ralgate. David Ralgate. Cutting £50 notes in half. Think of him being on top of her. Instead of Derek. What would it be like? He was older than Derek, fortyish. Older men were supposed to last longer… without having to talk about something else. Not that she fancied Mr Ralgate, but being done by someone she didn’t fancy could be a turn-on —in fantasy at least. Grabbing her. And forcing her. Being forced by Mr Ralgate… or this other bloke. The one who wanted the video, who could afford to pay £100 for it. What about him? What if after he had watched his video he wanted… to fuck her?

And of course the video itself. Doing that. Doing that for £100. Letting him take her knickers off and get her over his lap. Her skirt up round her waist and her bottom quite bare. In front of the video camera. Being spanked. Yes that, agreeing to that… that was a turn-on all right. Although she couldn’t really…

Christine came, a big orgasm, at the same time as Derek. And then came back down to earth with Derek getting off her, with the thought of it, the thought that she had actually agreed… ‘I can’t!’ she said, unthinkingly out loud. ‘What?’ Derek asked. Christine turned over. ‘Nothing.’ I can’t do it, she told herself, yet again. But then she pictured the two £50 notes again. Their two halves sellotaped together so that she had £100. She could really use an extra hundred, she was just about cleaned out at the moment.

----//----

He called her at the office the next morning. ‘Hello, this is David Ralgate…’ He wanted to see her at lunch time again, to talk about details. ‘Look… I can’t…’ she said. But Christine finally agreed to the meeting, partly because Mr Farfield was looking at her with a look that said I know that’s a private call. Mr Ralgate said a different pub, not the Crown where the girls in the office usually went, where yesterday Mr Ralgate, after the others had left, had come up with that impossible suggestion.

‘I can’t.’ Christine said it again as soon as she was sitting down with the drink he bought her. ‘I can’t… my husband… he’d kill me. And I shouldn’t be here,’ she added. ‘I should have gone with the others.’

But of course if she was really sure she wasn’t going to do it Christine would not be here sitting in this secluded corner with him. Because she was open to persuasion, Christine knew she was. Those two £50 notes. If no one else was going to know, if Derek especially wasn’t… Mr Ralgate repeated it all. No one would know. It was for a very private person who would not want anyone else to know.

‘Why me?’ she asked. Christine had asked that yesterday of course. She got the same answer now. ‘Because you’re just his type. Really nice-looking and a really good figure — I can see that. Not tarty-looking. And married: he likes a nice-looking young married woman.’

It was not unpleasant to be told that of course: that she was good-looking etc. Christine said, ‘I wouldn’t wear my ring, I’d take it off.’ But in saying that she was admitting the possibility of doing it. She bit her lip. ‘But I can’t anyway.’

Did that sound less convincing than before? He said, ‘You certainly won’t be the first one. He’s got quite a few on video. A very private collection. All just like you: pretty young married girls, not professional models and certainly not tarts. It’s just his little thing and like I say it’s money for old rope.’

His hand came down and patted her thigh. The hand didn’t stay there but it sent a tiny shiver through Christine. She recalled last night, in bed with Derek on top of her. She had imagined being done by this man sitting next to her. It had been a turn-on, though she didn’t fancy him of course. She didn’t really know him, Debbie in the office knew him and he had had a drink with them at lunch time on a couple of occasions. Then yesterday Debbie and Liz had gone off early shopping and that had left just Christine and David Ralgate. Who had made that unbelievable suggestion… and taken the two £50 notes out of his wallet.

‘What about Debbie?’ Christine asked lifting her glass in a hand that was not completely steady. ‘Why not her?’ Though she knew the likely answer: Debbie was a really nice girl but she was not as good-looking as herself. She probably wasn’t what this man wanted.

Mr Ralgate shook his head. ‘Not right for my man. He only wants the best lookers. He’s got another girl that Debbie knows, though, in his little collection.’ Christine asked who. Mr Ralgate smiled and shook his head again. ‘I can’t tell, can I? You wouldn’t want me to tell. Anyway I don’t think you know her.’

Christine said again, ‘I can’t… Really I can’t. I mean a respectable married woman can’t do… that kind of thing.’ But she knew she didn’t sound very convincing and David Ralgate wasn’t listening. He wanted to talk about a time. A time convenient for her. Could she get an afternoon off work?

‘No!’ Christine said sharply. He said, ‘Take an afternoon off sick. Say you’re not feeling well in the morning and your Mr Farfield’ll probably say go home at lunch time. It’ll be no problem.’ Christine shook her head but at the same time she knew that was possible, Mr Farfield was quite good if you weren’t feeling well although he could be a real so-and-so about private phone calls. Yes it was possible…

----//----

THURSDAY. This can’t be happening, Christine told herself. I can’t be here, in Mr Ralgate’s car, he can’t be driving me to this place, his friend’s flat he said. Where there would be a video camera and bright lights and where she was going to have to take her knickers off. No, it wasn’t possible. She gave a surreptitious sideways glance at Mr Ralgate. It had to be a dream, or something.

But part of her knew well enough that it wasn’t a dream. She was here in Mr Ralgate’s car and it was just after 2 p.m. on Thursday, three days after he had first suggested this awful business in the pub. She had forced herself to plead to Mr Farfield this morning of not feeling well — and possibly her face flushed with embarrassment at having to say this had helped. ‘Yes, go home for the afternoon,’ he said. Instead Christine drove to the multi-story car park, left her car there and got in Mr Ralgate’s and here she was. Wearing what he had requested to the office this morning — it was nothing outlandish. A skirt, a blouse plus (she shivered) brief knickers and high heels; no tights or stockings.

‘He won’t be here? Your man?’ Christine asked, wanting something to say although he had already said this. Mr Ralgate confirmed it. The man simply wanted the video. That was something, wasn’t it? she said to herself. Better than having him watching, it had to be. So there would be only the two of them: Mr Ralgate plus a man with the camera. Plus of course Christine herself. It was Mr Ralgate who was going to do it. She was going to be over Mr Ralgate’s lap with her knickers down; he was going to spank her bare bottom. Thinking of it made Christine feel sick — but partly with excitement because the thought was a turn-on… albeit a scary, dangerous turn-on. She thought for a moment of Derek… seeing the video. The thought, before she thrust it out of her mind, gave her the feeling she was going to faint.

She thought instead of what was planned. There was to be a little scene acted out. Mr Ralgate was her boss and she had done something — or not done something — with some file cards. Anyway made a mistake with them. Mr Ralgate, or whoever he was supposed: to be, is furious. He tells her he is going to teach her a lesson. And that is what he does. Not much of a plot but it is what this man, the one who can afford to pay her £100 for her trouble, wants. This man who must remain anonymous. As Christine was to be anonymous. Or is she? A sudden thought…

‘Does he know who I am? Your man?’

Mr Ralgate’s eyes left the road for a second. ‘He’s not interested. He just wants to see the action.’ But that didn’t really answer… but right now Christine’s mind couldn’t handle the possible implications of Mr X knowing her name. She would very shortly be in that room with the bright lights and the video camera. And…

----//----

They had it set up to look like an office — if you used your imagination. A desk and a couple of chairs. On the desk was a plastic box containing file cards, plus a bottle of Tippex. The other man, she hadn’t seen him before, was doing things with his camera. It was happening. Mr Ralgate said, ‘Take your coat off. You can perch on the desk. Be looking at the cards. Just act natural. Picture yourself at work, and I’m your boss. Mr Farfield.’

But Mr Farfield didn’t do what Mr Ralgate was going to do. With that ruler presumably. For he had produced a heavy folding ruler from somewhere, wooden with brass joints. He had placed it on the desk. ‘No!’ Christine yelped. ‘Not that. That’ll bloody kill me. And anyway… I can’t do this.’ A feeling of panic now. He could keep the £100, she couldn’t do this, even without the ruler.

But having got her here David Ralgate was not going to have any weakening now. ‘Do it,’ he told her. ‘Sit on the desk.’ His voice was harder now. ‘You don’t want me to take all your clothes off, do you? Make you do it in the nude?’

Christine glanced at him… and felt weak at the knees. The reality of her situation was suddenly crystal clear. She had come here of her own free will. She had no choice — with whatever they felt like doing. It was the sort of situation that, in fantasy, had always been a turn-on. Being at the mercy of another man, other men. Now, in reality, it wasn’t a turn-on. It just scared her silly.

So she did it. sitting on the desk, looking at the file cards. It was happening. The other man moving around with the camera, taking shots, different angles. Mr Ralgate was in the action now, sitting near the desk. Saying things but Christine wasn’t sure what, her head was in a spin. Then he was shouting and she got that all right.

‘Answer me, Mrs Green. What did you think you were doing?’

What was she supposed to say? Christine shook her head helplessly.

‘You’ve ruined the system. I’ve a good mind to give you a proper lesson. Do you know that? Take your knickers down and give you a really good spanking.’

Christine yelped. ‘No! Please…’ It was no act; she meant it. She was standing now, by the side of the desk. Mr Ralgate had a furious look. ‘Yes, I think so. Let’s have a look at you. Take that skirt off. Come on.’

It was a pleated wrap-around skirt. He had seen it before and asked for it. Christine was doing it, because she had no choice. Did she want Mr Ralgate to strip all her clothes off… and possibly do other nameless things? She had come here and she had no choice. The skirt came off. His eyes were on her; and the camera’s eyes too. On Christine’s flesh, on the brief, semi-transparent white knickers.

‘Pull them up really tight. He’ll like that. Really tight.’

She hesitated. The camera was there, in close. ‘Do it!’ Mr Ralgate’s voice rasped. This time her hands responded. Fingers into the top of the skimpy knickers. Pulling up… ‘Tighter! That’s it.’

Time passed… as she stood yanking the knickers hard up into her crotch, skin-tight over her mound.

‘OK. That’ll do. Now take them down. Down to your knees.’

She was going to collapse, she knew she was. Or be sick. His insistent voice again. ‘Do it!’ Her hands were doing it. The knickers sliding down. To her knees. One hand coming across to cover her exposed pussy but of course Mr Ralgate, and the other man, wouldn’t want that. Moving the hand away. To stand straight, both hands at her sides, while Mr Ralgate’s eyes and the camera’s eye had their fill. And then…

Christine was over Mr Ralgate’s lap. His hands on her. On her bare bottom. Patting and playing with the ripe flesh. She could hear herself gasping something out. And then yelling… as his hand began cracking down.

----//----

That wasn’t all of course. Christine got the other halves of the £50 notes at the end of the session. After Mr Ralgate had finished spanking her and then, taking Christine’s knickers right off, giving her a second going over, this time with that dreadful ruler, with Christine finishing up sprawling on the carpet with legs in all directions. But no, that certainly wasn’t all. As she should have known it wouldn’t be. Not when he — or rather they — had her on video like that. They weren’t going to be satisfied with that, were they? Why had she ever been so stupid as to imagine that they would?

Of course they weren’t. And being married, with a husband who couldn’t be allowed to know anything of this… well, Christine was going to have to agree to anything, wasn’t she? Everything.