The Three Halves of Martyn Manning-Chapter Sixteen: Aftermath/Recollection - Part One

His
cock was sore. No it wasn’t sore, sore was too harsh a word. But it
was certainly uncomfortable. Maybe that was also inaccurate, but his
cock wasn’t quite right. He could certainly feel it, he knew his
cock was there, but it was discomfort rather than uncomfort. And
anyway, it wasn’t even his whole cock. It wasn’t like his whole
length had been polished with sandpaper till it tingled and glowed.
He wished it was. But no, it was just the cock-end, that bit where
the sheath is attached to the glans. Frenulum is it? He thought he’d
felt it catch when he first went in. He mustn’t have been quite at
the right angle. He should’ve have pulled out and gone in again. He
supposed that made it trauma rather than soreness or discomfort. What
the hell, he didn’t know. Next time he’d use more lube.

He
tried not to think of it as he scraped a light frost from the car
windows. It was the first early frost of the winter. He couldn’t be
bothered to get it all off but it wouldn’t take long for the car to
heat up and the rest of it would soon melt. He usually listened to
the BBC on the drive to work, no he didn’t, he was a man of
routine, he always listened to the BBC on the drive to work. The news
kept him engaged till he hit the bypass where the stationary traffic
and a boring piece about climate activism in Belarus caused his mind
to wander, to wander to where he’d tried to prevent it wandering.

He
was late for the office. He’d stayed in bed longer than usual. The
business belonged to him, it was his practice, he could do as he
liked, though he knew it was wrong to set a bad example to his staff
too often. He told himself it was because he was tired. It wasn’t
to avoid Elena at breakfast. Not at all. It was just a coincidence
that he got up after Elena had left to take the kids to school. And
he hadn’t purposely rushed to get out of the house before she got
back, it just happened that way. There was no need to avoid her
anyway. He’d tried his best. He’d wanted her to enjoy it.
Obviously. He’d enjoy it more if she enjoyed it. He’d been
affectionate at first, caressing, slow and gentle, and then when
gentle didn’t work he’d got a little rough, pinching and
slapping. He’d spent a lot of time on her nipples with his tongue
and on her clit with his finger, used a little lube, he even went to
go down on her but she’d firmly guided him away. Nothing worked.
She may as well have been a sex doll. But no, a sex doll would have
had a painted smile. She wasn’t painted and she didn’t smile, she
was more like a cold toppled statue. Her name was Ozymandia, Queen of
Queens. She had let him kiss her open mouthed, but when he probed
with his tongue he found nothing but empty air.

In
the end he had to give her instructions, but politely of course.
“Could you wank me now please?”. “That’s great but can you do
it a bit harder and faster?”. “Do you mind sucking me?” She
knelt and took him in her mouth. He placed a hand on the back of her
head and pressed down. “Thanks Elena, that’s lovely, now can you
ride me please? No, the other way first. That’s it.” “That’s
good. Now can you turn around? See if you can do it without me coming
out.” And eventually, on his back, with Elena mechanically rising
and falling above him as in a trance, his hands pawing at her
breasts, his thumbs on her nipples, he said “Do you think you could
try and be a bit more enthusiastic?” He supposed he shouldn’t
have said that, no matter what the circumstances. It was rude,
shameful. He winced at the memory.

But
she must have enjoyed it. She came so she must have. He told her she
could come first if she wanted and she leaned forward, her breasts on
his chest and rubbed hard against him. When she stopped squirming and
gasped he didn’t feel her constricting and gripping him but that
didn’t always happen anyway. She’d made all the right noises, so
duty performed he felt quite within his rights to ask her to turn
over and kneel and to finish himself off doggy style. The lights
changed to green and the traffic started moving again.

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She’d
been surprised but relieved when he hadn’t come down to breakfast.
She was even more relieved when she got back to the house and saw his
car wasn’t in the drive. She’d forgotten to take her phone to the
school with her so she went straight up to her room where she’d
left it and checked for messages. She’d only had one and she was
pleased to see it was from Caroline.

“Yo
Babes! How’s things? I’m settling in very nicely thank you! I’m
in my new flat! There’s five of us, two of us chicks and three posh
Scottish hotties! Yay! Game on! Hope it’s all going OK with you and
Smart Mart! Let me know! Love ya! XXX”

She
smiled to herself. Oh Caroline, you have no idea! She put the phone
down on the bedside table, she would reply later but first she had to
make a start on the ironing. She went downstairs to the kitchen and
put on the kettle then fetched the iron and the ironing board and a
big pile of dry washing from the adjacent utility room. She set up
the board, plugged in the iron, then sorted the washing into an
ironing pile and a just-fold pile. She sorted the socks and pants in
the just-fold pile then started on the ironing. Unusually and unlike
most people, she enjoyed ironing. She enjoyed the mindlessness of it.
She could iron with her brain on auto-pilot and let her thoughts
wander in daydream or in contemplation. She started with one of
Martyn’s shirts. It was one of his office shirts, a light blue
background with a button down collar and a dark blue and white check.
The label said “Untucked” but she’d never heard of the brand.
It was quite smart though, she liked it and it looked expensive.
She’d never seen him wearing it but she thought it would suit him.
She had a routine with shirts. First she did the outside of the
collar, then the inside, then moved on to the arms, one at a time,
doing the cuffs first then a nice crease along the length. Then she
did both sides of the front and turned it over to finish with the
back. As she was doing the back she noticed a small tear in the
shirt-tail. She wondered how that could have happened? It would
normally be tucked into his pants and out of sight so he probably
wouldn’t care but she made a mental note to ask him whether he
wanted to keep it or throw it away. She finished that shirt and
picked up the next. Poor Martyn. He’d tried his best, the poor man,
all that fondling and kissy-kissy. And then when he tried to rough it
up! Jesus, what on earth was he thinking? (Actually, she did
sometimes like her partner to be quite “robust” but you know,
right time, right place.) And when he’d tried to go down on her it
was all she could do to stop herself bursting out laughing. It wasn’t
his fault it hadn’t been a huge success, but it wasn’t her fault
either. She’d tried her best as well but it’s not that easy for a
girl. I mean, come on, the lovey-dovey stuff was never going to work,
not with someone who was effectively a stranger and paying her for a
fuck. It has to be right, she can’t just make herself wet. So then
of course he reached for the lube and like most men used far too
much. Even if everything else had been perfect she still wouldn’t
have been able to feel a thing. OK, perhaps he did have a point and
maybe she should have at least tried to look like she was enjoying
it. She’d try and do better next time. (God! Next time!) And then
he asked her if she’d like to come! Christ! What a gent! She wasn’t
sure if it was an invitation, an instruction or permission and she
was about as close to coming as she was to landing a spaceship on
Mars. But that was fine, she was bored to tears anyway so she just
faked it, she’d done it many times before, it was easy. Men, so
completely secure in their delusion of sexual prowess, and so easy to
fool, they fall for it every time. It didn’t take him long to
finish after that. She felt him come with a mixture of revulsion and relief
that it was over. Thank God!

She
put down the iron and ran upstairs to collect her phone, then sat on
her bed.

“Hey
Caroline! Great to hear from you and so glad it’s going well! Don’t
forget to let me know what those Scots laddies wear under their
kilts. Things have moved on a little here. Don’t really want to put
it all down in text. Give me a call when you can and I’ll give you
an update. Take care! X”

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When
he got to the office Suze was in the kitchen making coffee.

“Morning
Martyn! Go sit down and I’ll bring you one.”

“Thanks
Suze.”

He
sat down at his desk and switched on his computer then he called out:

“Suze?
Have you heard anything from those painting people yet? I thought
they said first thing?”

Suze
was walking through his office door as she answered.

“They
did say that so I called them earlier and now they’re saying
mid-morning.” She put down his coffee on his desk and left.

“Arseholes.”
By now his computer had finished booting up but as he went to log on
he stopped and groaned. It was clearly going to be one of those days.
First the painters were late and now his screen was telling him it
was time for his monthly security scan. Oh Lord, the full scan would
take at least twenty minutes. He sighed. Oh well, gotta be done,
security was essential. He set the scan running and sat back in his
chair, feet on the desk, sipping his drink. On the positive side
she’d had a smoothly shaved fanny, tidy and pretty, and she’d
felt nice and tight, he’d used just the right amount of lube. And
also he’d come which was something of a relief. He hadn’t been
that worried about it but you know, after the earlier wank and huge
whisky he couldn’t take anything for granted.

When
did she leave exactly? Well no, he knew when she’d left, but did
she ever come back and did she then leave again? She’d said she
needed to clean herself up. He’d invited her to use his en-suite
but she’d said she thought she might have heard some noises coming
from one of the kids’ rooms so she might as well use her bathroom
then she could check on the kids at the same time. He remembered
thinking she seemed to be taking a long time but then he must have
fallen asleep. She certainly wasn’t there in the morning, which was
rather a shame as he’d woken up with a Morning Glory, but maybe it
was for the best. Hell, she might have objected that it wasn’t in
the contract or something, or she might even have demanded a bonus!
There did seem to be some sort of money thing going on. Did she ever
come back? Maybe she looked in, saw he was asleep and called it a
night. Hang on a minute! Clean herself up? What was that all even
about anyway? Spunk dribbling down the inside of the thigh? He knew
it happened but he’d never really understood it. He remembered how
surprised he’d been with Sienna, the first time. When he’d been
taught sex, well, the mechanics, in school biology lessons he’d
imagined it just sort of went in and stayed there. Why would it come
out? It didn’t make sense. Surely the, you know, lips sort of held
it in? And if it did come out, which he had to accept it was
empirically proven to do, then how the hell did they ever get
pregnant? If it came out then it demonstrably wasn’t in, so how did
the little swimmers get to their destination? Clearly he wasn’t as
clever as he thought. And then there was the spunk itself.
Disgusting. That was another thing he didn’t understand about
women, how did they ever put up with that stuff being squirted into
them? They even seemed to enjoy it. He was certainly glad they did,
but how weird? He’d only ever talked about it once, to a friend
when they were alone on the morning of his friend’s marriage where
Martyn was Best Man. They were chatting and the friend mentioned how
much he enjoyed sex with his fiance, giving Martyn the chance to
bring it up. The friend paused a moment before replying in a low
solemn voice, “There are some things about women we can never
understand.” Then he changed the subject.

His
screen said the scan had six minutes left to run. Come on Martyn, be
honest with yourself, admit it, maybe you got to come but apart from
the novelty of a new young body the rest of the sex was crap, wasn’t
it. Oh well, surely it would get better over time. And by the way,
when was the next time? The contract said a weekday night and a
weekend morning, so Saturday or Sunday morning then. It suddenly
struck him that that could have been a mistake. He enjoyed lounging
in bed at the weekends with the papers and coffee, and then there
were the kids to consider. How to explain Elena’s absence? He’d
have to think of something. Or maybe it would just have to be a
quickie and back to the papers. They wouldn’t miss her for ten
minutes. And if this timetable didn’t work she might be open to a
re-negotiation, if not he’d just have to make the most of it.
Whatever. The scan finished and he opened Google.

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She
looked up from the ironing board and saw she was nearly half way
through the pile so she put down the iron and took a break to put the
shirts on hangers and make a cup of coffee. She hadn’t really heard
any noises from the kids’ rooms, of course she hadn’t, she’d
just wanted to get out. She’d gone to her room and into her
bathroom and got to work with the tissues but what she’d really
wanted was a shower. Did she have time? Maybe a quick one, yes, and a
hot one. Afterwards she’d put on deodorant and lots of the Duty
free perfume but then she’d been disappointed when she found she
could still smell him on her, the smell of his mark, his ownership.
She’d taken a couple of steps towards her bedroom door but then
she’d paused to think. Why was she going back to him? Did she have
to go back to him? She certainly didn’t want to go back to him.
She’d turned round and sat on her bed for a minute to work things
out. The contract said she had to have sex with him. Well then, she’d
had sex with him. Contract fulfilled, surely. It didn’t say
anything about bathing in post-coital afterglow. Knowing men he was
probably asleep by now anyway, and there she was, soft bitch,
fretting about the poor lamb missing his snuggles. Sod it. She’d
climbed into her bed. If he didn’t like it he could tell her in the
morning. She’d still felt like a bit of a cheat though. It may not
have been against the letter of the contract but it might have been
against the spirit.

She
poured herself a coffee, picked up her tablet and sat down at the
kitchen table. She felt she ought to do a transfer to Romania, she
didn’t want them worrying. She logged on to her bank and keyed in
her password but before she finished security she heard the doorbell
ring. She wasn’t surprised by this. She’d got used by now to
Martyn’s online shopping habits, and it was a rare day that she
didn’t take delivery of at least one anonymous cardboard package
which she placed on the kitchen dresser and seldom ever learned the
contents. She was surprised therefore when she opened the door to
find the young delivery girl was holding a large bouquet of brightly
coloured flowers.

“Miss
Florescu?”

“That’s
me.”

“Can
you put your squiggle here please?” She handed Elena the console.

The
delivery girl left but Elena stayed at the door, holding the flowers
and searching for any clue as to who’d sent them. There was a card,
but apart from the florist’s logo it was blank. If the delivery
girl hadn’t said her name she wouldn’t even know they were for
her. She took them to the kitchen and laid them on the table. She
couldn’t deny they were beautiful. She loved the contrast of the
deep red roses with the sulphur-yellow tulips and the bright pink
lilies, and their scent filled the room. They must have been
expensive. She sipped her coffee as she stood and mused. It wasn’t
her birthday. She’d started a new job but that was well over a week
ago and who would send her flowers for that anyway? The
Tyler-Morgans? Unlikely. Caroline? No. There’d only been one other
significant event in her life recently. So thank you Martyn, that’s
nice, but it’s really not necessary. She’d take them to her room
later when she’d finished the ironing. She’d thank him tonight,
and she’d mean it, but she really didn’t want a shag flag in the
middle of the kitchen table while the kids were eating their dinner.

She
sat back down and picked up her tablet. The screen told her she’d
been logged out for lack of activity. No worries. She logged back in.
She trusted Martyn, at least where money was concerned. Her advance
would be on the way so she felt confident she could just about empty
her account and so the transfer would be significantly bigger than
the usual. That should make them happy, and there’d be plenty more
to follow.

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