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And yet he sat, closed
laptop, bottle untouched, leaning back in his computer chair,
staring at the two objects taunting him.

“To drink or not to
drink…” The words came out aloud and he laughed at his own
ridiculousness, the absurdity of his dilemma and the pain he was
beginning to feel as he contemplated leaving the room and going to
bed.

One day at a time,
step by step; but this particular day was, he reasoned, already
fucked, and, like a dieter in a cake-feeding frenzy after a
momentary lapse demands that existing efforts be declared
pointless, Alasdair lifted the unscrewed cap and sniffed, before
gulping down a third of the bottle in one hefty shot.

But all was not lost,
and addiction surely doesn’t have to lead to a total collapse of
happiness, he thought; even as he tried to convince himself of the
truth of this, Alasdair was logging in to his deactivated PhetX
account, just to browse, to look, nothing more.

Thirteen unread
messages, mostly junk from the umpteen forums to which he
subscribed, and nothing at all from Tamsin, who had told him, in
her last email, that her plan was to take a break and maybe “go
straight”. Her profile, he observed, had vanished.

Sad? Yes. Yes, he was
sad, no denying it. But in the mix alongside this, he knew there
were always more. More girls, more women, more names, more stories,
more profiles; and it was not that LittleGirlLost didn’t matter,
because of course she did, but that she was always going to be
transient for him, as he was for her, travellers passing each
other, and she was ultimately replaceable.

This he knew as a
truth, although the idea troubled him so much – what did it say
about him? – that he could barely admit it to himself.

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Megan had done
several meets. They generally began with a token coffee, leading
either to a civil goodbye or a frantic smooch and grope in some
quiet corner while they planned their first coupling. On this
occasion, however, she had agreed to break her own rules and meet
in the bar of the hotel where her date was staying in central
London one Saturday shortly before Christmas.

Travelling through
PhetX, meeting people, reading their thoughts and browsing their
photos, it had soon become clear to her that, along with the strong
desires to please, to trust, and to push boundaries to the edge and
beyond, Megan fancied girls. It’s not like this was completely news
to her, but once she’d thought it, more or less as simply as that,
in those terms, it became a basic fact of her life.

On PhetX, her story
was a common one. Having had a few crushes on other girls as a
teenager, she still occasionally found that her fantasies involved
women. She started reading lesbian erotica blogs, joined a few
groups and as her interest gained momentum she reached a point
where her porn of choice was strictly lesbian. Her status moved
rapidly from “bicurious” to just “bi”; having chatted to several
likely and even more unlikely prospects, she finally met a woman
with whom she just seemed to connect.

In messages and texts,
they quickly reached a point where they could finish each other’s
sentences. They even looked alike in the photos she sent. Nikki
Cock_Sleeve was perfect, and, again going against every internet
rule in the book, Megan would have met her within a week if it
hadn’t been for the fact that she kept referring to her “master”,
Brian. In reality, Brian was simply Nikki’s boyfriend. From the
photos, he was, at best, a quirky little chap, an odd partner for
Nikki and not, Megan thought, an obvious dominant, but who knew
what went on behind closed doors. But something else, something
deeper, didn’t quite fit.

And then, within a few
days of meeting Nikki, SimplyAMaster contacted Megan via the site,
introducing himself and professing his utmost delight that his
wonderful sub had, he hoped, found her first bisexual
experience.

Hello
Daddy’s_BiGal,

Nikki says
she’s mentioned me to you – I’m her dom and master, so of course
she tells me everything – but I wanted to stop by and introduce
myself personally.

I have to say, first
of all, that Nikki has my full support in any “extra-curricular”
(lol) activities you two decide to get up to. Meeting someone as
sexy and open-minded as you has been her dream for a while now –
both our dreams, really, as I just want her to be happy – and from
what she tells me you sound lovely (and from your photos, you look
it too).

I hope you don’t mind
me getting in touch, but it’s important for us as a couple that I’m
involved. After all, who knows where this might lead...

Please do feel free to
ask me anything you want. Remember that, although Nikki and I are
together, as her Dom I want only what’s best for her, and I give
you my assurance of complete confidentiality in our
correspondences. If there’s anything you feel sensitive about or
don’t want me to share, even with her, I won’t.

Take care,
Brian xx

The note creeped
Megan out; she simply wasn’t looking to play a second sub to
Nikki’s dom, and found Brian’s tone a little too presumptuous. She
sent back a brief but polite thank-you, inviting no further
correspondence, and was grateful when she got none. For the next
week, her days were focused on family and work, while her nights
turned increasingly to anticipating the meeting with Nikki that was
slowly taking shape in their correspondence.

Neither woman had any
real experience in the field, so to speak, but their emails were
passionate. Okay, if Megan really thought about it, maybe hers
contained more intricate fantasies than her new friend’s, but they
were greeted with such great enthusiasm that at first she barely
noticed the creative reticence.

The flattery of her
own vivid scenarios was a massive turn-on, and for now this made up
for the passivity that meant Nikki revealed little about what was
actually going on in her head. Megan tried to coax out of her a few
desires; it seemed impossible, as her own mind ran rampant, fuelled
by the writings she had read and videos she had watched, that
someone so keen to try something new had no specifically personal
needs ready to be acted upon. But it seemed that Nikki simply
didn’t.

They’d agreed on
London as a central meeting point, midway between their homes in
Leicester and Hastings. It was now three-and-a-half weeks since
they’d stumbled into one another online and Megan was ready, truly
ready.

Megan had told Rich
and the children that she would be away all day on a course for
work, giving her plenty of leeway for an early-morning train and a
spot of festive shopping on Oxford Street, before a lunchtime
sandwich at the hotel where Cock_Sleeve had a room booked. The
night before, with her clothes laid out for the morning, Megan was
lying in bed when her phone rang.

Number unknown.

“Megan?” A man’s
voice, with a hint of a Northern twang, spoke. “It’s Brian. You
good to talk?”

“Well, I’m surprised,
but, yes, I guess, if you hold on a moment while I close the
door... I’m good, yes. What’s up? Is Nikki okay?”

“I have to say, hun,
it’s great to hear your voice at last.”

She paused – froze,
really – and waited.

“You still there?”

“I’m here.”

“Nikki’s fine. A bit
nervous, but she’ll be fine. I wanted to have a quick chat before
we meet up. She’s told me a lot about you.”

“We’re both nervous, I
think, but we’ve talked it through and I’m sure it’ll work. How can
I help you? ... ‘We’? Erm, I didn’t realise you’d be coming down to
London...”

“In things like this,
a girl needs her master along. From what I’ve heard about you, I’m
sure you understand that. Plus... I think you and I will get along
famously. You sound like one extremely naughty girl, Megan.”

Megan felt nauseous,
numb, and filled with dread that something she wanted so much was
now under threat. Unsure of what to say, she kept quiet.

“I thought maybe we
could see how we both felt about the prospect of meeting and where
exactly we wanted that liaison to go... if you get my drift...”
Brian continued.

“I’m not sure that I
do. I can understand how important it is that you two talk about
this, but…” she hesitated a second… “I’d prefer to get to know her
first, and, to be blunt, although I hope not rude, I think I’d
prefer not to be having this conversation. Is Nikki there with you
now? Can I speak to her?”

“No, hun, she’s gone
home to rest up for tomorrow. She doesn’t know about this chat, and
I’m trusting that you won’t tell her. You are a lady I can trust, I
know it… I just get this vibe from you. Am I right?”

“I’m not sure. I mean,
ordinarily, yes. But I am totally uncomfortable about this.”

“Uncomfortable? Is… is
this conversation making you a little moist, hun? Would it maybe
feel a bit better if you got that big buzzing dildo out, the one
I’ve seen in those photos, the one you ram up that soaking, juicy
pussy of yours again and again and again and again and imagine it’s
a cock? Are you sure it’s a fanny you’re wanting, Megan, and not
what I’m holding in my hand right now? Can you honestly say you’re
sure? Because I swear if I listen hard I can hear you panting there
at the thought of it.”

And the God’s honest
truth, although she was repulsed at the thought, was that yes, she
was wet and yes, she was turned on by this whole sick exchange. It
was clear that tomorrow wasn’t happening, surely couldn’t happen
now, after this unexpected phone call, and she was panicky and
stressed and disappointed, but that was solely the way her mind
felt.

Her body knew that
only an orgasm would relax it, cure this whole fucking mess for
now, and it mistook the deep breaths she was taking to calm herself
for arousal and she went with it. She followed her body.

“I’m not sure,” she
whispered.

“You’re not… you’re
not sure, are you babe? And what I’ve got in my hand here now,
well, if you could see it you’d know what you need. You. Need. My.
Cock. Say it. Say what you need.”

Silence.

“Say what you need. I
want you to say these words, like Daddy’s good girl, so that he can
reward you. I want you to rub and buzz yourself and I want you to
say the words for me so that Daddy can be proud of you. Say it,
baby girl.”

“I need…”

“You do, you so need
it, baby… what is it that you need? It’s here waiting to meet you
tomorrow if you want it. What do you need? Tell me.”

“I need your
cock.”

And she did. In the
midst of this insanity, his cock was what she needed, and it was
that thought that brought her to a shuddering orgasm as he spoke,
first gently and then with more frenzied tones, down the phone into
her left ear, and it was with that thought that she fell asleep
crying.

His cock? She needed
any fucking cock.

********************

The next morning
Megan awoke at 5.30 as planned to catch the 7.38am train to London
Victoria. It would have been easier simply to cut her losses and
stay at home, tell her family that the “course” had been cancelled,
but she felt a strong need to be away for the day. She could at
least get in a bit of Christmas shopping, while spending some
quality time with her thoughts, but there would definitely be no
coffee date, or next stage.

Right now she had no
idea whether there even was a Nikki, but she knew she needed to get
out of that whole bloody mess and sent Cock_Sleeve a curt but civil
email explaining this. It was always best, she knew, to keep on
good terms. No response.

The freedom of this
day was now a welcome bit of head space and she spent the journey
staring into her reflection in the window of a fairly empty
train.

What the fuck, she
kept thinking.

Having forgone
breakfast, her first stop in London was a generic department store
café on Oxford Street. A toasted cheese-and-tomato sandwich and
three coffees later, the day was starting to feel like a lucky
escape, a gift from the gods, in fact.

She knew that she
needed to share with someone what had happened, spew it all out,
before moving on, but not now. Not now. Now was a time to drop all
thoughts except for her immediate priorities, and a spot of
indulgence purchasing seemed like an ideal way to salvage a day
that could so easily have been a truly dreadful experience.

And so that’s what she
did. Shop, coffee; shop, cake; shop, until just after half three in
the afternoon when, bags bulging and contentedly weary, she headed
down Oxford Street to the tube station – two short stops down the
Victoria line and she’d be on a train back home.

The city was
beautiful, a frenetic ballet of urban chaos. It was just getting
dark, the festive lights were on and flashing, and the street was
all hustle, but she was in no particular rush; she stood
occasionally, her back to a shop window, just to watch the flow,
smiling.