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A man has sex with his submissive wife's student.

" She tossed her chin, fanning her dark shoulderlength hair out in a halo, and forming her mouth into a cherub pout. "I'll make him think that I'm desperate, and you'll egg him on. Then we'll take him apart."

Christine looked doubtful. "He knows you don't like him."

"I'll pretend it's the wine."

She was still not sure. "And then?"

"We'll get him to undress, and tie him up." Angela licked her lips, and her eyes were like hard chips of obsidian. "We'll get one of your kitchen knives, the really sharp ones..." She let her voice hang on the word.

Christine's eyes widened. She could picture Martin's face, moving from lust to terror, and she felt a cruel, atavistic rejoicing sweep through her. "You wouldn't dare." Her voice was little more than a whisper.

Angela grinned. "We could try."

Christine smiled back at her, and their eyes shared their expectation.

Martin arrived home the following Friday on schedule, feeling on top of the world, and still a little randy. Natalie had filled him with pleasure but not quite drained him of lust, because she had a hospital dinner that evening, and she wanted time to make herself smart. He walked up the street towards his house, wondering whether Christine might oblige with dessert, though he knew that she had rather lost interest in the physical side of marriage since seeing her specialist. He noted Angela's car parked in their driveway, and licked his lips. He did not like Angela, and he knew that she did not like him either, but he often thought of bedding her. It was a male fantasy, to overcome rejection and have it away with his wife's best friend. Sometimes he even thought of rape, forcing her back onto a bed and having his way with her, cutting her down in stature from her conceit in success to rank more acceptably as a mere woman. He licked his lips again, his mouth dry with a sudden adrenalin rush. Perhaps tonight dessert would be served in a double portion. Then his hopes subsided as suddenly as they had come. They were probably gossiping together, and Angela would leave, rather than have to talk to him, and Christine would sulk, because he had failed once again to charm her best friend.

His pushed his key at his front door, fumbling momentarily with the lock. The door swung back, just as he was about to push again, and he stood dumbfounded. Angela stood in the open doorway facing him, but it was no Angela that he knew. She was dressed as a maid: a housemaid, perhaps, in a shiny red and black uniform that gleamed in the evening sun. Martin swallowed. The uniform seemed to be cut in black latex or PVC, with red trimmings and borders, and it was cut very low, with a very short skirt, and Angela's legs were shapely in black fishnet stockings. He realised that she was smiling at him, and that her eyes were hungry, and he blinked to return to reality, because her breasts were full and large and nearly bursting out at him, and he could not believe what he was seeing.

"Welcome home, sir. I'm your maid for the evening." Angela backed away from the door, and he did not know her voice, because it was a kind of purr, a tigress sound, drawing him in. "Can I offer you something?"

Martin could not find words to speak. The shadow of little flesh pits surrounding one of Angela's nipples seemed about to break free, and he could do nothing but stare.

But she was still retreating, still drawing him in. "Come in, come in." Her purr was wholly enticing. "We have a little party for you. Some festivities." She stopped, and reached out as Martin made to close on her, and touched him with a black latex-gloved hand, stroking down the front of his trousers, and Martin realised that he was wholly erect. "Mistress Cane wants to chastise you a little for coming home late, before we move on to more satisfying things."

She moved to one side, and Martin hesitated.

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