“Doesn’t it bother you when he does that?” Whitfield discreetly whispered under the chatter of the surrounding cocktail party guests.
“Does what?” I asked, already knowing to what he was referring.
“Flirts with women like that!” answered my former physics professor turned friend and returning crew member for our most recent MI-6 assignment. “It’s rather salacious, don’t you think Deetz? I mean the whole Crown knows you and Angus are married some four years now. Won’t this give the appearance that there is ‘trouble in paradise’?”
Tad Whitfield, albeit older and certainly smarter than I when it came to science and engineering, was a complete idiot when it came to relationships – in part due to a descriptive diagnosis of Asperger’s – but I relished his concern. “For Angus, flirting is like Olympic fencing. And unlike an Errol Flynn movie, nothing real untoward is going to happen.” I put my glass of water and lemon on a nearby coffee table, only to straighten and to look down at Whitfield’s scrunched up nose.
“Pardon my indelicacy old friend, but I hardly think Angus is going anywhere, particularly after the exploding orgasm I gave him this morning,” I whispered. I pointed at the one of the two ladies, one a giggling divorcee masquerading as last season’s debutante then added, “I think even in his most heterosexual of moments, I doubt Angus would waste his time with that. It is all just a bit of fun.”
“If you say so, Mate,” replied Whitfield as he took another sip of his vodka tonic.
I gave Whitfield an affirming smile and pat on the back before he left to join his wife who had just returned from the powder room where she was installing listening devices. They made an odd but striking pair – Whitfield a short, stocky Caucasian, female-to-male transgender person and Mishiko, a tall, fit cis woman of Japanese-African descent and a survivor of genital mutilation – but their union challenged the imagination only if you didn’t know their history, as I did. The pair of them along with my younger sister, Ciara, her husband Tom, Angus, and I made up a team of agents that investigated (or debunked) alien activities in service to the Crown – we were the X-Files for people who know the truth.
Angus Reese, the 12th Earl of Glamorgan, was my childhood sweetheart, not that he did anything with that information when we played as kids. My father was his father’s valet, as was the tradition in both families. Neither of us knew, until we reunited after an absence of nearly a decade from the family home, Morganwg, in Cardiff, Wales, that the relationship between the valets and lords of the estate – dating as far back as the mid-1600s – sometimes evolved into clandestine love relationships and even when romantic feelings did not arise between the two men, there was a strong bond of loyalty. That bond had been created by some rogue druidic priests long before. When Angus and I caught up with one another after our fathers’ untimely deaths, Angus would have considered himself “straight” and I, well, I had had sex with anything human, over the age of 21, who was breathing. Our relationship, grew despite my issues with intimacy and his rejection of the label “gay”.
Tonight, we were at Lord Trenton’s dinner party as part of an intelligence gathering operation. Trenton and Angus weren’t friends but served together in the House of Lords and this was the annual autumn party hosted by Lady Trenton – everyone in British society came including any foreign diplomats who happened to be about London at the time. It was all very lavish, chic, bejeweled, and boring. So now that Mishiko nodded to me indicating that all the devices were properly stationed, I sighed and joined Angus in hopes that the flirtatious exchange he was having with the remaining lady was about over. I was ready to go home and resume our activities from the early morning. “Hello!” I said cheerfully toward the lady. I touched Angus’s lower back, the palm of my hand targeting through his jacket at a certain spot between a sprawled eagle tattoo and the top of his ass. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure?” I grinned at him like a Chesire cat and gave the erogenous spot a slight rub, hoping doing so would encourage him to cut their conversation short.
Angus gave me that you’re-gonna-get-it-good-later smile. “Desmond Mac Innes-Reese, may I introduce you to Victoria Radcliff. Victoria, this handsome man in the cilt matching mine, is my husband.”
I bowed slightly, like in the movies, so my sarcasm wasn’t too obvious and said, “Charmed. My family and friends call me ‘Deetz’”. Seeing her up close, I realized she was younger and more attractive than I initially thought. Actually, she was rather cute, late thirties maybe early forties, long dark brown hair with natural reddish streaks tied in a conservative styled bun and a dark olive skin complexion. Underneath the colorful afghan that matched her light green eyes, I could tell she had nice curves and soft spots in all the right places. Well, my Angus always had very good taste.
“Wonderful to meet you, Deetz.” My name sounded like licorice coming from her mouth. She remained seated but offered her hand to shake. It was firm, almost like a businessman closing a deal in Shanghai. “Your husband has spoken a great deal about you. I understand you’re quite the old movie fan.”
What had Angus been saying to her? I gave him a quizzical look and he turned away ostensibly to exchange with the waiter his empty champagne glass for a full one. “And here I thought he was flirting.”
Victoria stood up, shaking her head. She patted my chest, just above the handkerchief pocket of my jacket. I’m clairsentient. I can feel people’s thoughts and feelings sometimes through walls. And this woman was sending clear signals about who was the predator and who was the prey. “I need to call it an early evening gentlemen. However, it was a pleasure to meet you both.” She offered an inviting, sweet smile to both of us. “Hopefully, we can meet again in the future.” She might as well have slipped a business card in my pocket. We both watched that ass swish as she moved away, envisioning just how nicely those tits had to be matching the bounce in her walk.
“Wow,” was all Angus could say, looking like a thirteen-year-old with a beard.
“She’s an Israeli spy,” I said. “Likely she’s on the same path as we are in this investigation.”
He pushed his shoulder length hair from his face. “You got all that from just a touch?” he said finishing his glass then giving it to another waiter.
“You wound me!” I smirked. “I thought it was my touches that captured your heart.”
Angus rolled his eyes. “Let’s go.”
He walked past me and I read his mind. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was thinking of cheating on me.
*******************************
The primary accusation against bi or pansexual people is that we are untrustworthy - the political folks think we aren’t fully invested in queer rights and the rest think we will abandon them as soon as some heterosexual situation becomes available. These accusations were true of me. I could give a shit about anybody’s community and had no compunction about leaving after fucking anything that moved. Then came Angus and I found hope that someone would love me.
So, it was no wonder that after returned to our townhouse, Churton Place, I allowed him to rope my hands together, chain them to a hook on the wall above our bed, and blindfold me. Did I tell you I was naked too?
For a while, he didn’t touch me but I could feel him and smell his sandalwood cologne. He was watching me, gauging my reactions by how much my dick moved and how heavily I breathed. We’d sometimes go on like this for an hour. It was the way with us, the way we battled - the sub and his master – to determine who was really in charge. I was winning until Angus said, “I want to watch you fuck her.”
I temporarily broke character. “What?”
He didn’t hesitate, stayed in place. “I want to watch you fuck her.” He came close, let out a slow breath against my neck that chilled my titanium slave chain. “I know how it feels when you touch me but I can’t see myself when it happens. Mirrors are tacky. And we’d need a full camera crew to capture the feel of it all.” I could hear him scratch his balls but he was likely avoiding touching his dick as he was leaving that for me. I heard his chair creek when he sat back.
Again and as usual, my husband surprised me. I broke the scene again. I just had to ask. “I thought you wanted her,” my voice dripping with jealousy and insecurity like an anxious senior waiting to be asked to the prom. I guess elements of my abuse survivorship would never go away.
This time he came to sit on the bed next to me, put his hand against my chest. He was breathing heavily which let me know it was him who was losing control. “You deft cow!” Angus smirked. “I’ve been waiting, looking actually, for a woman that fits the description of the ones you’ve always said you liked screwing.” He took in a deep breath and continued, “I thought of hiring one of those ladybois from Thailand you always talked about but I could tell by the way we had sex afterwards, that it was the real . . . “
“You mean cis,” I corrected, feeling funny about doing so while I was in such a position.
“Yeah, cis. Anyway, you’ve always shown a penchant for slightly older, dark complexion, curvy girls. Ms. Radcliff seemed to fit the bill.”
A moment of silence and the idea of soft, warm tits rolled around my head like a pinball against bumpers. “You seemed to have this all worked out.”
“Your dick appears to like the idea.”
“Right.” I was blushing now. “I guess.”
“You guess?” He was enjoying this. “Like seems a bit tame.” Abruptly he removed his hand and got up. He took his time and I followed his smell as he walked around the other side of the bed. He sat back down. “Bend your legs. Keep your knees apart.”
I waited again. Then the warm gel and the slight vibration from his prosthetic middle finger teased the entrance to my asshole. He had lost his left hand during our first MI-6 mission. This artificial limb was custom made to feel and move better than his natural one. Although it did not give him sensation, it made my butt nearly leap off the bed. You gotta love science. “Angus. Angus, please!”
“Please?”
“Please, your lordship.” The only time he really liked the whole title thing was when we played. “And what do you think you can beg of me?” He put half the finger in now.
I groaned and strained against my binding, “Can I cum for you?”
He smiled, “Only after you tell me, tell me what you’re going to do to her.” He put his whole finger in.
“I will please her like you please me, your Grace.” At this point, I would have told him I’d teach the woman how to tap dance and juggle at the same time if necessary.
“We’ll see,” he said before abruptly stopping, crawling over to lift my legs so far in the air you’d think I was signaling planes at Heaththrow. He pushed his cock into me harshly and there wasn’t much lube so it hurt a bit at first. But he came quickly, as did I.
He pulled the red silk scarf from my eyes and untied me, rubbing my wrist attentively. “I’m sorry to come at you so hard,” he said self-consciously. “You’re not mad, are you?”
I thought of admitting to my earlier jealousy but changed my mind. “No. But can I touch your heart?”
He gave me a sidelong glance while putting my hand on his chest, “You couldn’t hear my feelings, thoughts before?"
The warmth and caring coming from him would have overloaded a surge protector. "One can never feel love often enough."
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