Sunday Service II: Last Orders

This story contains explicit themes of small penis humiliation (SPH). If that's not your thing, and it isn't everyone's, there's plenty of other content to enjoy on the site. No hard feelings. For those who are staying, I hope you enjoy Di and Tom's latest adventure as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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Sunday Service II: Last Orders

Chapter 1

The stream had been live for four minutes and the chat was already going wild.

Di sat on the edge of the bed in the cam room, legs crossed, one booted foot dangling, letting them wait just a little longer. She'd learned early on that the first few minutes were all about anticipation - letting the regulars arrive, letting the chat fill up, letting the need build before she gave them anything at all.

CountryBoy29 was already there, she noticed. He was always early.

Where has she been all week

That dress. THAT DRESS

The boots oh my god

CountryBoy29: Worth every penny of the subscription just for this

The cobalt blue PVC dress clung to every curve, the colour so vivid it shone under the carefully positioned lights. The red wig, the crimson lips, the patent boots running all the way to mid-thigh were the same as always, as was the cross necklace resting against the swell of her tits. She looked, as Tom had said when she'd come downstairs, absolutely devastating.

She uncrossed her legs slowly and leaned toward the camera, giving those watching the first glimpse of her pussy, shining from the oil she'd rubbed into it before starting the show.

"Hello boys," she said. "Miss me this week?"

The chat erupted.

YES

God yes

Been thinking about nothing else

CountryBoy29: Every single day

Di smiled slowly, running one hand up the shaft of her boot, deliberately provocative.

"I missed you too," she said. "And I've got a little treat for you today." She paused, letting the comment land.

"Mother nature called this week. Tom and I - nothing. Not a thing since last Sunday." There was another pause, longer this time.

"Normally we fuck at least twice a day, otherwise I get cranky. So today I'm especially horny and, well, there's a full week's worth of Tom's load waiting. Just for you lot. You could say he's feeling a bit desperate, but it means you're in for a hell of a show."

The chat went into immediate meltdown.

OH MY GOD

A WEEK

I need to sit down

CountryBoy29: This is going to break the internet

Someone call an ambulance now just in case

Di laughed. "Yeah, I thought you'd like that," she said. "Shall we get started?"

***

She reached into the bedside drawer and produced the dildo. It was smaller than usual, and she held it up to the camera so everyone could see the difference.

"I know, I know," she said, reading the chat before it had chance to react. "Smaller than usual. But there's a reason for that." She turned it slowly in her hand.

"After a week of nothing, I want to feel every single inch of his big dick when he fucks me. So we're keeping things modest for now." She smiled. "Think of it as foreplay. For all of us."

Smart woman

God she thinks of everything

CountryBoy29: Can't wait to see his face when he sees her like this

Genuinely the best channel on the internet

She unzipped the cobalt blue dress slowly, peeling it down to free her heavy tits, the cross necklace swinging between them, and lay back against the pillows.

She took her time, working herself with her fingers in expert movements, her breathing changing for the camera but also because it was real. She inserted one finger, then two, her pussy already hungry and soaked, the week's abstinence doing exactly what she'd known it would.

"God," she breathed to the camera. "I needed that."

She brought the dildo in slowly, working it in and out, her other hand busy at the same time, fingers working her clit with practised ease. The chat had gone quiet, the punters too absorbed to even bother typing.

"You know what I think about," she said, conversationally, "when I'm doing this on my own?"

She paused, before carrying on. "I think about watching him fuck other women."

Oh shit

Tell us more

CountryBoy29: Jesus

"I do," she confirmed, as though it was nothing. "I love watching their faces."

Her rhythm was building now, her voice dropping lower. "That moment when they realise what they've taken on. When their eyes go wide and they can't quite--" she lost the thread briefly, "--can't quite believe it's real." She recovered, looked straight at the camera. "That face. God. I could come just thinking about it."

She did, almost immediately after saying it - a sudden and sharp orgasm that caught her mid-sentence, her back arching off the pillows. She pulled the dildo free and as she did a stream of squirt arced into the air and on to the bed.

She laughed.

"Fuck guys, I can already tell this one's gonna be particularly good."

The chat lit up again.

SHE JUST CAME TALKING ABOUT THAT

Fuck me sideways, you might just be the filthiest woman on the internet

CountryBoy29: I have never wanted anything more than to be in that room

Someone's wife is going to leave them after watching this

Di lay back, catching her breath, broad smile on her face, fingers still moving slowly.

"Only might be the filthiest woman on the internet? I'm insulted!"

She laughed again, then she angled herself toward the camera and worked the dildo in slow deep strokes until she let go of a second long shuddering gush.

She looked at the camera.

"Right," she said. "I think it's time for some real cock, don't you?"

***

Tom came into view and the chat registered his arrival before Di said a word.

HE'S HERE

Oh god oh god oh god

CountryBoy29: Here we go

He was already naked, which was unusual, normally he was at least partially dressed for the entrance, but not today. Today he walked in with the unselfconsciousness of a man who knew exactly what he was working with, and knelt on the bed beside Di, side on to the camera, one large hand finding the small of her back.

Soft, he was still a sight. The camera caught him in profile, thick and long, hanging against his thigh, the kind of cock that made the chat pause even in this state.

Wait

Is that him SOFT

That can't be soft

Christ. That's gotta be a prosthetic

CountryBoy29: I need a moment

"People ask us all the time," Di said to the camera, "if they can see him go from soft to hard." She reached for the clear bottle on the bedside table and held it up. "So that's what we're going to do."

She poured a generous measure of oil into her palm, rubbed her hands together slowly, and wrapped both hands around him.

She worked him methodically with long strokes from base to tip, both hands moving together, the sheen of the oil seeming to accentuate every inch of him. The chat watched in near silence as he began to respond. Slowly at first, the weight of him shifting and lengthening against her palms, then more noticeably as he thickened from the base outward, the veins beginning to emerge along the shaft, standing out in ridges beneath the skin as the blood moved into him. He grew longer, the head darkening and swelling, the foreskin drawing back as he reached full hardness to reveal the smooth, broad crown beneath - an angry deep purple, shining with oil, the slit at the tip already glistening.

By the time he was fully hard it stood away from his body at a slight upward angle, so engorged it looked almost architectural. Di's fingers couldn't meet around the girth, and even with a two handed grip there was length above her top hand and length below her bottom one.

She looked at it, then at the camera.

"Look at the size of that fucker," she breathed excitedly. "Oooh yes. Fucking massive."

I AM DONE

Both hands and still

CountryBoy29: How. Just HOW.

The vein situation alone

I've seen this a hundred times and it still breaks my brain

Di leaned forward and took the head into her mouth.

It was never easy but she never pretended otherwise, her lips stretched wide around the fat crown, jaw working to accommodate him, her eyes watering immediately. She held him there for a moment, tongue flicking against the underside, before pushing further. Her cheeks hollowed. One hand gripped the shaft, slick with oil, working in opposition to her mouth. She gagged hard, eyes streaming, and pulled back. Then she drew breath, and went again, gamely trying to go deeper.

Di pulled off him with a long wet gasp and looked at the camera, mascara running down both cheeks, chin wet with saliva and pre-cum, a long strand connecting her mouth to his cock, and grinned like she'd won a prize.

"God I love his cock," she told the chat. "Every single time."

WE KNOW

The sounds she makes

CountryBoy29: Luckiest man alive

I would genuinely pay any amount of money

***

He entered her with one deliberate push and Di's whole body responded, her back arching off the sheet.

"Fuck," she said, to herself more than anyone else. "Fuck. Yes."

Tom didn't start slow this time. He hooked her booted legs up over his shoulders and drove into her with a force that had the headboard hammering the wall on the second thrust. Di grabbed the sheet on either side of her and held on. The camera caught everything - the full length of him disappearing into her with each stroke, the boots reflecting the light, the cobalt blue dress pushed up around her arse, the cross necklace sliding sideways across her collarbone.

The chat was beyond words, just tips scrolling endlessly.

"Oh god," Di managed, between thrusts. "Oh god he's been - fuck - he's been saving this all week and I can - Christ - I can feel every fucking bit of it."

Tom gripped her thighs with a white-knuckled force that would leave marks and they both knew it and neither of them cared. The characteristic unhurried control was gone, near enough, a week doing what weeks do to a red-blooded man.

Di came hard from just his cock, her whole body tensing around him, a strangled cry muffled against her own shoulder. Even then Tom didn't slow down.

She just came and he didn't even pause

The sounds in that room

CountryBoy29: God I know exactly what that feels like. To want something that much.

THOSE BOOTS OVER HIS SHOULDERS EVERY TIME

I think I need therapy after watching this. I no longer feel like a real man

Di surfaced from the orgasm gasping, and looked directly at Tom.

"Turn me over," she told him.

He did.

She went onto her hands and knees, boots planted wide on the dark sheet, side on to the camera, and Tom positioned himself behind her. There was no preamble or teasing. He held her hips and slammed back in and Di dropped her head between her shoulders and took it.

It was brutal in the best possible way - deep, relentless, the slap of his body against hers filling the room, Di's moans coming fast, the cobalt blue PVC riding up over her arse with each thrust. The boots squeaked as she pushed back against him, matching his rhythm, greedy for every bit of it.

JESUS CHRIST

Look at her taking all of that

The necklace swinging like that

CountryBoy29: I've watched this so many times and it never gets old. I could watch this forever.

I've never felt so emasculated but I'm so fucking hard

Tom's breathing was changing above her. She could feel it through the change in his rhythm, hips losing some of their steadiness and the grip on her waist tightening further. She knew every signal because she'd learned them over years.

Not yet.

She reached back between them and wrapped her hand around the base of him, feeling him still moving, feeling how close he was. She could feel the pulse of him against her palm, his cock starting to twitch.

"Wait," she demanded.

Tom made a sound that was completely indecipherable.

Di pulled forward and off him in one smooth movement, turned, and knelt on the sheet in front of him. His cock was enormous and furious, and at the very tip a thick bead of pre-cum emerged and broke and ran slowly down the head.

Di looked at it and then at the camera, and then back at it.

She wrapped one hand around him, feeling him throb, feeling how desperately close he was, and looked up at his face. Tom, steady Tom, totally desperate. Then she raised her free hand and brought it down hard across his cock.

The slap rang out in the quiet room.

Tom inhaled sharply, the effort of pulling back from the edge written across his face.

Di turned to the camera with an expression of satisfaction.

"That freak cock," she said pleasantly, "goes when I say it goes." She gave him a long, firm stroke, squeezing at the head. "And I'm not ready yet."

OH MY GOD

SHE JUST

THAT SLAP

CountryBoy29: Christ. She's incredible. I've never seen anything like her. I'd do anything to be in that room.

I am actually not okay

Someone's getting slapped and it's not even me and I felt it

She stood, turned her back to the camera, and bent forward slowly, her hands on the bed, boots planted wide, presenting herself to the viewers. The gape was unmistakable and she held the position, completely matter of fact, letting the camera and the chat take it in.

"Week off," she said to the mattress. "Does that."

The chat descended into complete chaos.

She straightened, turned back to the camera, and smiled.

"Right," she said. "Nearly time. But first--" she reached for the oil bottle. "I think this deserves a proper send off, don't you?"

***

She poured the oil slowly, letting the chat watch every drop fall into her palm before she wrapped both hands around him. Tom was still breathing hard, and Di worked him in a way that was designed to do just one thing - bring him back to that edge and keep him there.

"Look at him," she said to the camera, her eyes moving between Tom's face and the lens. "Look at him desperately trying to hold it together."

His hands were at his sides, fists half closed, the model of a man exercising every drop of self control he could muster.

He's gonna go

There's no way he holds that

CountryBoy29: I know that feeling. That exact feeling. Wanting something so badly you can barely breathe.

Someone pray for Tom

Di felt him start to pulse again in her hands, the first warning signs that the point of no return was approaching, and she stopped and gripped his cock as hard as she could.

Tom made a sound that was almost pained.

"Not yet," she said pleasantly.

She waited. Ten seconds, maybe twenty. Feeling the pulse subsiding and his breathing steadying fractionally. Then she started again, slower this time, the oil warm between her palms, both hands working in long twisting strokes.

She brought him to the edge again in less than thirty seconds. She could feel it the way his cock seemed to swell bigger and harder, the veins standing proud against her palms, and the way his hips made small movements that he couldn't quite suppress.

Di looked at the camera with an expression of delight. In all the sessions they'd done together, across all the Sundays, Tom had never begged. Not once.

"Did you hear that?" she asked the chat. "Did you actually hear that?"

I HEARD IT

HE SAID PLEASE

CountryBoy29: Christ. She's got him completely. I've never wanted to be someone this much in my entire life.

This is the most erotic thing I've ever witnessed and I've been on the internet since 2004

Di turned back to Tom. She looked up at him for a moment and smiled.

"Alright," she said softly. "Give it to me. All of it. Don't you dare hold anything back."

He lasted approximately four seconds. The first rope hit her square in the face - across her nose and lips and into the red wig - with a force that made her flinch and laugh simultaneously. She angled him down for the second and it caught her throat and the top of the cobalt blue dress, a thick white stripe vivid against the blue. Then she pointed him at her tits and the necklace and he kept coming - again and again and again, each rope landing with an audible splat, the cobalt blue dress taking the brunt of it, thick viscous streaks running down the PVC and pooling wherever it could.

Di squeezed out every last drop, and when he was finally done she was a mess. The dress was striped white from chest to waist. The necklace dripped. There was cum in the red wig and across her lips and running down her chin and she looked - and this was the only word for it - triumphant.

She held him toward the camera one final time, both hands, softening slightly now but still ridiculous.

"A week," she said to the chat. "That's what a week looks like."

The chat was beyond any coherent response, just a wall of capitalised astonishment.

CountryBoy29: I think I know where you live.

The comment sat there for three seconds before it was buried under the avalanche.

But Di had seen it.

-oOo-

Chapter 2

The churchyard had been transformed. Bunting hung in autumnal colours between the trees and along the old stone wall, trestle tables covered in checked cloths lined the path, and the village band was set up near the church steps.

Someone had hung a hand-painted sign between two oak trees: St Michael's Autumn Fete -- In Aid of the Roof Fund. Beneath it, there was a smaller sign in the vicar's careful handwriting: Every penny counts. Thank you for your generosity.

Di and Tom arrived just after eleven, Tom was in his weekend clothes - jeans with a gingham shirt neatly tucked in, and a wax jacket against the autumn chill. Di wore a loose-fitting rust-coloured jumper and dark jeans tucked into flat ankle boots, her hair loose around her shoulders and just a light touch of makeup. The cross necklace lay against the wool of her jumper, just visible at the collar.

This was her in village life, no hint at all at the alternative version of her that existed on a Sunday afternoon or when they ventured further afield to play.

Tom was stopped within thirty seconds by a man from the parish council wanting his opinion on something to do with the car parking. Di touched his arm briefly and moved on ahead, nodding at the many familiar faces and stopping to examine a table of second-hand books someone had donated. She spotted a copy of the Karma Sutra and smiled. Well, she thought, maybe not everyone is as dull and prudish as she thought.

As she browsed the thought she'd been carrying for the last six days was never far away.

I think I know where you live.

She hadn't told Tom yet, though she wasn't quite sure why. Maybe because she wasn't certain, or maybe because saying it out loud would make it more real than she was ready for. She'd been watching faces all week. At the farm shop, walking down the lane, and in the village pub.

Nothing certain. Just the comment, turning over and over. She tried to reassure herself, after all, what were the odds? They had maybe a couple hundred viewers for their streams, realistically what were the chances of someone local being one of them? It was slim, yet the prospect still gnawed away at her.

She moved to the next table and picked up a jar of chutney and read the label, pretending to be interested.

***

Mrs Caldwell was behind the cake stall, which pretty much seemed to be her natural habitat at these sorts of things. She had the look of a woman who had been running cake stalls at church fetes since before Di was born and intended to continue doing so for a long while to come yet. The display was impressive in fairness - Victoria sponges, lemon drizzles, a three-tiered fruit cake with a small St Michael's flag planted in the top.

"Di, dear." She beamed, when she saw Di approaching. "Doesn't it all look wonderful? We've already sold four of the walnut whips and it's barely half past eleven."

"It looks magnificent, Mrs Caldwell," Di said honestly. "I only wish I wasn't on a diet!"

She picked up a cellophane-wrapped slab of flapjack and examined it. "Did you make the fruit cake?"

"I did. Three weeks in the making. The vicar's wife wanted to enter one too but between you and me--" she dropped her voice, "--hers was far too moist. A fruit cake needs to be firm, Di. People forget that."

"They do," Di agreed.

Mrs Caldwell's eyes moved across the fete with the satisfaction of someone who had helped organise most of it. "Have you seen how well the beer tent is doing? Young Liam from the Crown is running it for his father. Isn't that lovely? Such a helpful boy."

Di smiled indulgently. "His father must be very proud."

"He's been away for a few years - London, I think, or was it Bristol? Anyway, he's back helping out now. Twenty-something. Seems very settled."

Mrs Caldwell lowered her voice slightly. "Between us I think there may have been a girl involved in the return, but nobody's saying anything definite yet."

"How interesting," Di said.

She paid for a flapjack and moved away from the stall. Her eyes found the beer tent across the churchyard without really meaning them to.

It was a pretty simple affair, in truth, not much more than a gazebo with a trestle table serving plastic cups of ale and cider, a hand-written price list. The pub's landlord was there, ruddy-faced and jovial, talking to a small cluster of men with the ease of someone who'd spent thirty years making small-talk across a bar. He was somewhere in his mid-to-late fifties, broad and carrying too much weight.

Tom was there too. Of course he was.

Di watched her husband clap the landlord on the shoulder, accepting a plastic cup of something, falling into conversation about something and probably nothing. Tom had always been good at chit-chat, but only when he wanted to be. Sometimes he gave the impression of being a bit surly, but Di knew it wasn't as straightforward as that.

Behind the makeshift bar the landlord's son, Liam, moved between the kegs and the float tin. He was younger than his father by thirty years but carried much of the same physical confidence. He was tall, broad-shouldered, leaner than his dad, and decent-looking in a straightforward, unremarkable way.

Tom was still deep in conversation with the landlord, laughing at something. Di gave him a wave and joined the small queue, and waited.

Liam smiled when she reached the front.

"Cider, please, love," she said sweetly.

"Good choice," Liam said. He poured it and held the cup out to her. As she took it his fingers closed briefly over hers, it didn't seem accidental, but Di couldn't be quite sure it was deliberate either, just long enough to be noticed. Di's eyes met his for a fraction of a second.

He glanced down at her collar, then back up.

"That's a lovely necklace," he said pleasantly. "I've seen one just like it somewhere. Can't quite think where." A small smile. "It'll come to me."

He turned to the next person in the queue.

Di walked away with her cider and her face perfectly composed, but her blood had run cold.

***

She found Mr Caldwell at the tombola, a strip of tickets in one hand and a plastic cup of warm beer in the other.

"Di, my dear." He gestured at the array of prizes he'd collected - a bottle of wine, several jars of chutney, and a box set of Midsomer Murders. "Not bad going."

"Not bad at all," she agreed.

Tom appeared beside her and the two men exchanged pleasantries. Di listened with half her attention and let her eyes drift across the fete without appearing to. Liam was still working the beer tent, she noted, though he wasn't looking her way.

Good, she thought. Maybe she'd been overplaying it in her mind after all.

"I've been doing a course," Mr Caldwell said, turning back to include her. "At the village library. Computers. Internet, that sort of thing. Fascinating stuff."

He said internet the way people of his age often did, with the air of something impressive and slightly suspicious at the same time, and with an eagerness that suggested the whole thing had only just been invented.

"You wouldn't believe what you can find online," he said with a small satisfied shake of his head. "Literally all sorts. Some of it quite shocking really. You just wouldn't believe it."

"Goodness," Di said pleasantly, her mind starting to tick.

"Indeed," Mr Caldwell said, and laughed at something only he fully understood.

Mrs Caldwell appeared at his elbow, steering him gently toward the cake stall like a woman who'd been managing her husband at social events for forty years.

***

The air around Di suddenly felt restrictive.

She excused herself and moved away through the fete, past the second-hand books and the flower arranging competition and a small child eating candyfloss that was larger than his head. The brass band had started up again, playing something cheerful and upbeat that didn't match her mood.

Two comments. One afternoon.

One from a twenty-nine year old she'd never spoken to before, delivered with a smile and a deliberate touch of his fingers on hers. One from a retired man who'd learned to use the internet at the village library and found it full of all sorts.

Both deniable and both innocent on the face of it, but both sitting on her chest like heavy stones.

She was examining yet another display of homemade jam - the third time she'd stopped at a jar of something she had no intention of buying - when she felt it. It was that unmistakable feeling of being watched. She looked up without meaning to.

Liam was across the churchyard, perhaps thirty feet away, no longer behind the beer tent bar. He wasn't doing much, but he was looking at her with an expression that was almost nothing. It was almost casual or accidental, except that when she noticed him he held her gaze for a moment too long.

And then he gave the smallest wink. It was just a fraction of a second and then gone, so brief that for a second or two Di doubted what she saw. But she was certain. It had been a wink, deliberate and unmistakable.

Di looked back at the jam. Gooseberry. She didn't even like gooseberry. She set it back down on the table and went to find Tom.

***

He was more or less exactly where she'd left him, though the landlord had been replaced by the vicar, who was explaining something with the aid of a hand-drawn diagram on the back of a fete programme. Tom was listening with his arms folded, nodding slowly, but wearing the expression of someone who would do anything to be anywhere else.

He saw her face when she approached, a look of hope in his.

"Shall we head off?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he answered, with palpable relief. He turned to the vicar with feigned regret. "We'll talk about the guttering, Reverend. Promise."

They said their goodbyes - Di the perfect country wife to the last. She kissed Mrs Caldwell on the cheek, then she promised the vicar's wife she'd look at the flower rota. As they left she waved at someone she knew across the churchyard.

She didn't look at Liam again.

***

The lane was quiet, as it always was, the fete sounds quickly fading behind them. Browning leaves skittered across the road. Someone had lit a fire, chimney sending smoke into the watery sky. Tom walked beside her, her hand in his.

He could tell there was something on her mind, but he waited patiently.

Then, finally, Di told him everything. The comment from last Sunday - I think I know where you live - which she'd been carrying all week without saying. The beer tent, Liam's fingers on hers, the necklace comment and that sly smile. Mr Caldwell at the tombola, his computer course literally all sorts. And then the wink, small and gone in an instant, but absolutely deliberate.

Tom listened without interrupting. When she'd finished they walked in silence for a moment. Their house came into view at the end of the lane.

"It's highly unlikely," Tom said finally. "But if it is, we'll deal with it. Don't worry."

He paused for a second or two. "After all, whoever it is is the one paying to watch us fuck online."

-oOo-

Chapter 3

That Sunday's stream had been ok, though not her best, if she was honest with herself. There had been moments where her mind had wandered and briefly pulled her elsewhere, and Di didn't like that. She was a professional when it came to this game, and her subscribers deserved better than a performer who wasn't fully in the moment.

She'd covered it well enough. Tom hadn't noticed, or if he had he hadn't said anything. The chat certainly hadn't noticed - the tips had been generous and the comments enthusiastic, CountryBoy29 among them as always.

There had been a few more of the comments from him. She'd seen them and tried to let them slide past, but they'd been too knowing and too familiar.

After they were finished Di had closed the laptop without responding and gone to make a cup of tea, still dressed in her outfit. That was the bit Tom would have noticed; normally after the camera had gone off they'd fuck again, just for them.

***

Monday arrived with rain hammering against the windows and a cold wind howling outside. It was the kind of October morning that felt as though winter had decided to put in an early appearance.

Di came downstairs at half past eight in her dressing gown. She filled the kettle and made herself a large coffee before sitting down at the kitchen table with the laptop.

This was the Monday routine - checking the weekend's earnings, responding to subscriber messages, scheduling a few photos for the week, and any general housekeeping the channel needed.

She opened the inbox.

The earnings were good. Not quite as good as last week, which made sense given the week's abstinence payoff, but she still noted the figure with satisfaction and moved on to messages.

There were eleven. Nine she dealt with quickly. They were the usual mix of compliments and requests, and one slightly unhinged proposal of marriage from a subscriber in the Netherlands. She saved the tenth because it needed a longer response.

The eleventh was from CountryBoy29.

She looked at it for a moment before opening it.

Then she clicked.

***

Hi. Just wanted to say great show as always. You two are something else. Been watching for months now and I think you might just be my favourite thing on the internet. Susie.

Di read it twice. Entirely innocuous on the face of it. The kind of message she received regularly - genuine appreciation, slightly gushing, nothing to distinguish it from a hundred others except the name at the end.

Susie.

It wasn't her real name, just the one she used online. But used that way, on its own and italicised, implied something.

She typed: Thank you. Always lovely to hear from a regular.

She moved the cursor to close the thread, then stopped.

Another message appeared almost immediately.

That necklace you wear. It's beautiful. Really distinctive. I've seen one just like it. Been to any good fetes lately? Funny old world isn't it.

Di sat very still for what seemed like an age. The rain was still hammering against the kitchen window. The coffee cooled beside her untouched.

She typed: Who are you?

She watched the screen. The reply came in less than a minute.

come on. Think. You know.

Di looked at it. Then she typed again.

Tell me.

Three dots blinked in sequence, indicating he was typing. A minute later, his message landed.

If I'm honest I thought I recognised you a while back, despite the wig and everything. Something about you. But it was the necklace that finally confirmed it. Once I saw it up close I knew for certain. Taken me a while to work up the courage to say anything. You're very beautiful in real life, but as Susie you're something else.

Di read it three times. The coffee was definitely cold now. She saw Tom through the kitchen window, scuttling towards the barn in his raincoat.

She didn't call him in. Not yet.

What do you want? she typed.

The reply took longer this time. Four minutes, according to the clock on the wall. She imagined him on the other end of it, composing and deleting, composing again. Working up to whatever it was.

Finally it arrived.

Here's what I'm thinking. One night with you - well, with Susie. Just you, not him. Nobody in the village needs to know what you and your husband get up to online. Your secret stays safe. Just between us. You're a very special woman and I think this could be good for both of us.

She closed the laptop quietly and sat for a moment with both hands around her cold coffee cup, looking out at the rain and the outline of Tom in the distance.

Then she opened it again.

I'll give you the night of your life. You'll never forget it. I'm not ashamed of who I am, or who we are, but we've taken care to keep things private. When and where?

She pressed send before she could think about it further.

The reply came back nearly immediately.

Seriously? Just like that?

Di almost smiled.

Just like that, she typed. When and where, Liam

There. She'd named him, certain now, and felt better now.

***

So you do know. I wasn't sure if you'd figured it out. Friday work for you? Dad's away for the weekend. I've got the flat above the Crown to myself. Come after closing, half eleven or twelve. Just you. Don't bring him.

Don't bring him. the nerve of it, as though Tom were something to be managed. As though Liam had the first idea what he was dealing with.

Friday works,, she wrote. I'll be there at midnight. Leave the side door unlocked. Meet you upstairs

Perfect, came back almost immediately. Then, after a pause: Wear the boots.

Di looked at the message and then closed the laptop, picked up her cold coffee, and walked to the back door.

"Tom," she called across the yard. "Come inside when you're done. I need to show you something."

She put the kettle on and waited.

-oOo-

Chapter 4

She took her time getting ready. She always did when getting ready for an online show, or when they were going somewhere new - away from the village - to play and let the real them come out.

Tonight had a slightly different feeling about it though. There was anticipation, for sure, but a different kind to the one she normally felt.

Tonight there was no camera to angle, no chat to warm up, no Tom by her side as they entered wherever they were going with her dressed like a slut. Just Di, alone in the bedroom, and the relative calm of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing and why.

She put the stockings on first, sitting on the edge of the bed and rolling them slowly up each leg, attaching them to the suspenders. Then came the skirt. It was black leather, supple and soft, short, with decorative zips and buckles. She pulled on a tight white top, no bra, the fabric doing what it was supposed to do as it strained across her chest, nipples visible beneath the material. She pulled a leather biker jacket over the top, worn open for now.

Then came the boots. Tonight she'd chosen a black matte pair. She zipped them slowly from ankle to mid-thigh, one at a time, stood and enjoyed the feeling of the extra height the six inch heels gave her. Dressed all in leather she felt powerful and sexy.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Not Susie but Di, albeit with a twist. Her own hair, her own face, the crimson lips the only concession to the version of her that existed on Sunday afternoons.

He'd asked for Susie, but he could have Di instead and count himself lucky.

She reached for the necklace and fastened it at her throat, the silver cross settling against the top of her chest. She looked at it for a moment in the mirror.

He'd tried to use it against her. He didn't get to take it away from her as well.

She picked up her car keys and went downstairs.

***

The village was dark and quiet, the lane empty. Di drove the battered old Land Rover slowly, no reason to rush, though the old vehicle didn't really do fast. The Crown sat at the far end of the village. Its sign was still lit, and she could see the outline of people sitting at the bar as she pulled into the small car park that was almost empty.

She turned the engine off and sat for a moment. She looked at the clock. It wasn't quite 11, last orders not yet called. She was early, not that it mattered.

She got out of the car and walked across the gravel, which crunched under the heels of her boots. The side door which led straight up to the flat was unlocked, exactly as arranged. She let herself in and stood for a moment in the dark of the corridor - the smell of old beer unmistakable. There was a staircase ahead of her, a thin line of light visible under the door at the top.

She heard a chorus of laughter from the pub, and then came the ringing of the bell to signal time.

She climbed the stairs, the boots quiet on the carpet, and pushed open the door to the living room.

It was small with low ceilings, the kind of space that had been carved out of the upper floor of an old building without much thought for comfort. But Liam had made an effort, she'd give him that.

Candles sat on the windowsill and the mantelpiece, perhaps a dozen of them, the room flickering soft and warm light. A bottle of red wine was on the coffee table, two glasses already set out, and music played softly from a small speaker in the corner of the room. She didn't know the music. It wasn't bad, though not nearly as sexy as she suspected Liam thought it was.

Di looked at it all for a moment. The care of it. The hope of it.

She poured herself a glass of wine. Then she sat down, crossed her legs, the leather riding high up across her thighs, exposing the tops of her stockings.

She waited.

Somewhere below her she could hear the building settling, the last few punters leaving.

She took a sip of wine. It was a decent one, she noted. He'd spent some money.

Finally she heard the pub's main door close and the bolt be drawn across. Then footsteps.

Di set her glass down and looked toward the door.

He has no fucking idea, she thought.

-oOo-

Chapter 5

He came through the door with the confidence of someone who'd been rehearsing this moment all week and was determined not to waste it. He'd made an effort by the look of him, wearing a decent shirt and dark jeans.

He stopped when he saw her properly, and she detected the first hint of the faux confidence draining away.

Di looked at him from the sofa, wine glass in hand, legs crossed, and watched him try to regain his composure.

"I wasn't sure you'd actually come," he said, voice faltering slightly.

"I'm a woman of my word," Di purred.

"You didn't wear the wig," he said with a smile that looked slightly forced.

"No," Di said pleasantly.

"I thought--"

"You thought wrong." She took a sip of wine, the ankle of her outstretched leg moving so that the toe of the boot pointed. "You've got Di tonight, Liam. I'd suggest you be grateful."

He stood for a moment in the doorway, then something in him clearly decided he needed to push through it - the bravado reasserting itself, the week of anticipation winning against the reality of her composure.

He came into the room and sat beside her on the sofa. He was close, close enough that she could feel the tension in him. Young man's nerves dressed up as confidence, or at least inexperience in situations like this. She'd seen it before.

"You look incredible," he said. "Even better than I dared imagine."

"I know," Di said, smiling.

***

He reached out and put his hand on her knee, the leather of her skirt cool under his palm, and looked at her with an expression that was trying hard to be commanding but instead landed somewhere nearer to hopeful. Di looked at his hand and then at his face and said nothing. He took that for permission, which was she'd intended.

His hand moved slowly up her thigh, fingers finding the hem of the skirt, the edge of the stocking top beneath. She watched him discover the suspenders and watched what that did to his face.

"Christ," he said quietly.

Di uncrossed her legs and let him look. Let him take in the full picture - the boots, the stockings, the leather skirt pushed up slightly, the tight white top, the necklace resting at her throat. Her pussy, exposed now, perfectly shaved and wet. She could see him trying to process the reality of her against the months of on screen fantasy.

"Pour me another glass," she said.

He did, eagerly, the bottle unsteady in his hand. Di accepted the glass and took a slow sip and watched him settle back beside her, closer now, emboldened by her stillness.

His hand came back to her thigh. She let it. Let him move higher, let him push the skirt up further, let him reach the bare skin above the stocking top and feel what was there. His breathing had changed. His other hand came to her waist, tentative at first, and then more certain.

Di set her glass down on the coffee table.

She turned toward him slightly and reached for his belt with one hand. Her movement was efficient, almost clinical. He made a sound and his hips shifted forward and Di undid the belt, then the button, then the zip, and pushed his jeans down.

She looked.

The pause lasted perhaps three seconds, though to Liam it felt longer.

"Hm," she said.

It was less than average by pretty much every metric. Not quite five inches and thin in a way that spelt out its own inadequacy. He was already fully hard, which meant this was the best it was going to get.

She reached out and wrapped her thumb and a finger around him, which told its own story, and held him for a moment.

Finally she looked up at him.

"You pay to watch me fuck my husband," she said coolly. "Every Sunday. You've seen exactly what he's working with."

She looked back down at what she was holding. "And you expected me to be impressed by..." she paused, "... that?"

The colour that flooded Liam's face went through several stages. Disbelief first. Then something that wanted to be anger but couldn't quite manage it because of the two fingers still loosely holding him. Then came the wave of embarrassment and shame.

"It's not--" he stammered.

"It's fine," Di said with a sneer that suggested it was anything but fine, but absolutely what she'd expected. She released him and sat back, then picked up her wine glass.

***

Liam sat with his jeans around his thighs and said nothing.

Di looked at him for a moment and almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Here was this man who'd spent months watching her, them, who'd attempted blackmail. And then he'd lit candles, bought a decent bottle of wine and worn his good shirt like he stood a chance.

Almost felt sorry for him, if she didn't feel such contempt.

She uncrossed her legs and stood, smoothing down her skirt as she did. He was exactly where she wanted him.

She picked up her wine and waited. Four seconds, maybe five.

The lounge door opened.

Tom filled the frame. His eyes scanned the room carefully. They settled on Liam.

"Well, well, well," Tom said with a smile. "What the fuck have we got here then."

Di turned her head toward him, the necklace catching the candlelight as she did.

"Come and join us, darling," she said.

-oOo-

Chapter 6

Tom came fully into the room, the candles illuminating his body. His hand was moving slowly, the blood already flowing, his cock long and thick, the skin beginning to pull back across the head.

Liam's eyes went there, not that they could help it. Di watched with the satisfaction of a woman whose plan was unfolding exactly as she wanted.

Tom looked across the room, taking in the candles, the wine, the music still playing softly from the corner, Liam on the sofa with his jeans around his thighs and his expression somewhere between terror and something he probably wished wasn't arousal.

"You've gone to some trouble for us. Thanks," he said to Liam.

Di went to him. It wasn't performed in any way, just the movement of a woman crossing a room to the person she belonged with. She put both hands on his chest first, feeling the warmth of him, then let them move downward. He was already more than half hard and growing.

Tom exhaled slowly through his nose, his hand finding the back of Di's neck.

"There he is," Di said softly.

By the time Tom was fully hard the room felt very different, certainly to Liam. It felt smaller somehow, the space taken up by Tom, a big man anyway, but more so with his erection standing hard. The candles Liam had arranged with such hopeful care now illuminating something he hadn't planned for - the full anatomical reality of Tom, standing in his flat, in his candlelight, his hard-on.

Liam made a sound that could have been understanding or could have been acceptance.

Di looked over her shoulder at him. Then back at Tom. Then she smiled, and beckoned toward the sofa with one red-nailed finger.

"Come here, Liam," she said pleasantly. "I want you to come and stand next to him."

***

Liam stood. He pulled his jeans up slightly, some instinct toward dignity, and crossed the room. He stopped a few feet short of Tom.

Di looked between them, taking her time about it. Her eyes moving from one to the other. The contrast wasn't subtle. It was not the kind of thing that required careful examination or generous interpretation. It was simply brutal.

She reached out and wrapped both hands around Tom, one at the base and one above, and still the head stood clear of her hands.

She let go with one hand and extended one finger toward Liam, and curled her finger and thumb around him loosely.

She held them both for a moment.

"Ooh fuck," she said, almost to herself. "Would you look at that. More than twice his size."

Tom laughed, loud and heartily. It wasn't intended to be cruel or triumphant, just a man acknowledging something that was plainly and visibly true - which in many ways was so much worse than cruelty.

Liam said nothing because there was nothing to say. What could he?

"Hold him," Di said to Liam.

Liam looked at her. He shook his head slowly.

"Go on," she said evenly. "Hold him. I insist."

There was a lengthy pause before Liam's hand finally came up slowly - reluctantly but inevitably - and closed around Tom's shaft. Or at least tried to, because his fingers didn't quite meet. He adjusted. They still didn't meet. He let out a little groan.

Di watched his face throughout. She wouldn't have missed his face for anything.

"Good," she said, after a moment. "Now you understand."

She removed Liam's hand gently and replaced it with her own. Then she looked up at Tom and began stroking his enormous erection.

***

Di took Tom's hand and led him to the sofa.

Liam's sofa, with Liam's candles flickering around them, Liam's decent bottle of red on the table, and Liam's music still playing quietly in the background. Di sat and then lay back against the cushions, pulling Tom toward her by his cock, her booted legs coming up and over his shoulders as he positioned himself kneeling between her thighs.

"Come here," she said to Liam, without looking at him. "Close. You need to see this properly."

Liam moved closer without saying a word, his cock ramrod hard despite its pathetic size. He stood perhaps three feet away, to the side, close enough that there was no distance, no screen, no Sunday afternoon barrier between him and what was about to happen.

Tom nudged against her entrance - just the broad, dark, glistening helmet - and Di exhaled slowly in anticipation.

Then he pushed in.

Liam was used to seeing it during the Sunday shows, but that didn't fully prepare him for this unfiltered performance. Not only could he see it, closer and more viscerally than through a screen, but he could hear it and smell it too. The wet sound as Tom entered her, and the smell of Di's arousal. Liam was sure he'd never been as hard as he was at that moment.

Di's back arched off the sofa cushions, a groan escaping from her lips, her fingers gripping Tom's forearms as he worked himself into her in slow inches. The boots caught the candlelight above Tom's shoulders, the patent leather gleaming.

"Watch," Di said to Liam. Her voice was steady despite everything Tom was doing to it. "Watch properly."

Liam watched. The stretch was visible and undeniable from where he stood, Di's body taking him in stages, the sounds she made with each inch. There Liam stood, three feet away, in candlelight, with nowhere to look except directly at it. He wouldn't have looked elsewhere even if he could.

Tom began to move. The sofa shifted with the force of it. Di's moans immediately came faster, Tom's hands on her thighs, his cock hitting exactly where it always hit. She was already close. She could feel it building with the certainty of something that had been building since the plan had been formed at the kitchen table.

She framed her swollen clit with two fingers and turned her head toward Liam.

"How does it look?" she asked conversationally, as though Tom's huge cock wasn't currently buried into her to the hilt, her pussy stretch wide around his thickness. "Up close, compared to the stream."

Liam's mouth opened but no words came out. He was masturbating himself with his right hand as he watched.

"Answer me," Di demanded.

"It's--" Liam started and then stopped, before trying again. "It's even bigger than I realised."

"Yes," Di said simply, turning back to Tom. "It is."

She came less than a minute later, her whole body clenching around Tom, a sound ripped from her that filled the small flat and probably carried through the old walls to the empty pub that sat dark and empty below them. Tom worked her through every wave of it, knowing exactly where and how, the way only years of learning a woman makes possible.

When she finished she was breathing hard. She put her hand flat on Tom's chest.

"Stop," she said. "Push back."

Tom stepped back, though Di stayed where she was - on her back, legs falling open - and looked at Liam.

"Come and look," she commanded.

The gape was unmistakable, her pussy moulded to the outline of Tom's ridiculous cock. Liam looked at it with the expression of a man confronting a truth he had no mental framework for.

"Now you," Di said. "Put your cock in me."

Liam blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," she said, firmly. "Go on."

He moved forward and positioned himself. Then he pushed.

Di's expression didn't change. She waited. She felt, or rather didn't feel, and let the silence extend for five full seconds.

"I can't feel you," she said.

Liam stopped moving.

"After that--" she gestured toward Tom, who stood to one side watching with one hand slowly massaging his erection and an expression of amusement, "--I genuinely cannot feel you."

Liam opened his mouth. He was clearly trying to form the words to say something - defence, protest, some last attempt at dignity - but it didn't make it out. His jaw closed again. His eyes looked exactly like what they were. Defeated.

"That's fine," Di said, not unkindly. "Not many can compete, but it's important you know your place, Liam. Step back now."

Then she held out her hand to Tom.

***

For the next forty minutes Tom fucked Di all around that small living room while Liam watched, transfixed and humiliated in equal measure.

On the sofa. Against the wall, Di's palms flat on the plaster, boots planted wide. On her knees on the rug with Tom behind her. They were positions that Liam had watched on a screen every Sunday for months, now happening three feet away in his father's flat above his father's pub, and nothing about the reality of it was smaller than the screen version. If anything it was larger, louder, and more overwhelming in every way.

Di never once performed for Liam, and that was the thing. She made no eye contact, offered no commentary in his direction, and included him in nothing. She was just present with Tom, the sounds she made real and unperformed, her pleasure real in a way that had nothing to do with anyone watching. Liam might as well have been a lamp or a piece of furniture. Something in the room that wasn't the point. But that was, of course, exactly the point.

Once - just once - Di glanced toward him. Mid-fuck, from behind, her face turned sideways toward where Liam sat on the edge of the coffee table with his jeans around his ankles and his inadequate hard-on in his hand. She looked at him for perhaps a couple of seconds with an expression that had neither cruelty nor warmth. Just acknowledgement that he existed, that he was there. Then she turned back to Tom and made a sound that had nothing to do with Liam at all.

He would remember those seconds for a long time.

Tom's stamina was something Liam would also not forget. Powerful and seemingly inexhaustible, the same way Liam had observed on screen but which landed differently in person, in the same room, breathing the same air. At one point Tom caught Liam's eye over Di's shoulder. He didn't say anything. He just held the look for a moment with an expression of confidence and certainty before turning his attention back to Di.

Liam looked away first.

He'd already spilled his own load over his fist, though in truth it was barely more than a dribble, but now he was hard again as he continued to watch.

Di came twice more too before Tom was close. The second time she was against the wall, boots on the floor, Tom lifting her slightly, and she buried her face against his neck and made sounds that were private - not for a camera, not for a chat, and not for a room full of strangers paying to watch.

Liam understood then, fully and completely, what he actually was. Not a threat. Not leverage. Not someone who had found an advantage and pressed it cleverly. He was a spectator, an audience. Which was all he had ever been.

***

Di sat on the edge of the sofa and ran her hands over the matte black leather of her boots, and then looked at the two men standing in the candlelight in front of her.

"Both of you," she said. "Here. Now."

She reached up and took Tom in both hands, working him with the expertise of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing and exactly what she was building toward. Tom exhaled and his hand found the back of her neck.

She glanced at Liam.

"You too. Finish yourself. On this boot," she said, tapping an area at the top of one of her boots. "Go on."

Liam took himself in hand and wanked with the desperation of a guy who knew this was the best it was going to get. Di watched for a moment with the absolute absence of impression and then turned her attention back to Tom, where it belonged.

Liam came first, like she knew he would. A few thin spurts landing across the top of her left boot, quickly spent, his whole body shuddering with the effort of producing something so meagre. Di glanced at it briefly but said nothing before looking back at Tom.

She worked him harder now - both hands, the twist at the head she knew finished him, talking to him about how big and dominant he was compared to Liam, and how perfect his huge cock was. Tom's breathing changed, his hand tightened at the back of her neck.

"Give it to me," Di hissed softly. "All of it. Everything you've been saving."

He did.

The first rope arched through the air and splattered on the black leather skirt, still pushed up around her waist showing her exposed cunt, wet and swollen from the fucking Tom had given her. The second hit the shaft of her right boot with an impact she could almost feel through the leather, thick and heavy, the sound of it audible in the quiet room. Then another, and another. Di kept both hands moving through every pulse, squeezing out every drop, directing him across both boots until the matte leather gleamed with huge amounts of white spunk.

Liam's effort was no longer visible, it had been entirely swallowed by Tom's own offering.

Di sat with it for a moment, looking at the boots with quiet satisfaction. Then she looked up at Liam.

She reached down and ran one finger through Tom's load, brought it to her lips slowly, and held Liam's gaze throughout.

"Waste not," she said.

***

Tom recovered his clothes from wherever he'd left them before his grand entrance and dressed efficiently. Di pulled on her biker jacket, shook it straight, then picked up her bag. The candles were burning low now, the empty bottle of wine standing on the table. Music still played softly from the corner as though nothing in particular had happened.

Liam stood in the middle of his father's living room and watched them prepare to leave.

Di picked up her wine glass and drank the dribble that was left, before setting it back down. Then she turned to Liam.

"Out us if you want," she said, her voice pleasant. "But this is who we are. And we'll make sure everyone knows how utterly pathetic and humiliated you were here tonight."

She paused for a moment.

"See you on the cam Sunday?" She picked up her car keys. "Be sure to tip big."

Tom's hand found the small of her back and they went through the door together, Di first, Tom behind her, the door pulling closed with a quiet click that somehow seemed to land harder than a slam would have.

Liam heard their footsteps on the stairs, the sound of the side door, and then nothing.

Liam stood alone in his father's flat. He looked at the two glasses on the table, one of them Di's, the lipstick mark on the rim the deep crimson he'd been watching on a screen every Sunday for months.

He looked at the boots marks on the rug where Di had knelt. He looked at the sofa cushions, still slightly displaced. He looked at the wall where her palms had been flat against the plaster.

Then he sat down heavily in the place where Di had and looked at the ceiling.

He would be watching on Sunday. He already knew it. There was never any real question about that.

And he would tip big.