Pecking Order

"Kim"

A suburban husband and wife are brought to an abrupt realisation of their true nature as individuals. A wife finds her position and a husband finds her place in the relationship

The political correctness fraternity would have us believe that everyone should go through life with exactly the same opportunities on offer and the same hurdles to face. The kaleidoscopic nature of the human race being what it is however, with differing backgrounds, personalities, physical and mental attributes and so on, we all know that this is utter pie in the sky. People are different. Their attitudes are different. So are their paths through life and the effects they have on those around them. Each new person-to-person scenario will, likewise, be different... and surprising new things may be learned about those whom we thought we knew completely...

 Simon Jones straightened up from pouring the seed into its usual tray and cast a generally satisfied, proprietorial eye over the shed's interior and its fluttering, cooing denizens. These birds would be lost without his almost constant vigilance. There was the ever-present risk of disease and of course they needed regular tending.

Tending to them was now precisely what he was embarked on, as they fluttered, one by one, down to the feed tray and started pecking. He reached into the vacated boxes, clearing out the old straw and replacing it with fresh. There was also spraying to be done to sanitise and  prevent lice build up. He kept half an eye, as he did so, on the ongoing feeding happening around his feet, noting how there was the usual cast of characters in evidence. Simon knew all his birds well. They all had names. Some were more dominant, some more deferential - and you could see this in their mutual attitudes. Some made very certain they bossed the situation, getting the best seed and seeing off the meeker ones. The latter seemed to resent this not in the least and, indeed, expect it. He had never worked out how the birds formed these attitudes. It seemed to be there from the egg, so to speak, quite naturally, rather than something learned from later experience... instinctive behaviour.

Through the none-too-clean shed window, Simon caught sight of his back garden lawn, badly in need of mowing, and felt a momentary twinge of guilt. He knew his wife would be on to him yet again about spending too much time on 'those bloody birds' rather than things which 'really needed doing'. Oh well, better hurry this along and at least get back inside... And, putting aside longing thoughts of the next Oxford Pigeon Club meeting, he tried his best to finish quickly.

************************* 

Janet Jones was moody, no doubt about it. She stared into the hallway mirror as she mused, fingering the ginger hair around her ears into shape, as if the action would help her understanding of what was troubling her - but actually gazing past 'herself' into the distance.

Vaguely, she wondered what the cause could be, but did not pursue any particular thought. All right, she had just had to clean her husband's beard trimmings out of the washbasin yet again. He himself he had probably retired upstairs to play still more of his childish video games... or maybe had he gone outside to that messy shed where he kept his birds? But in the grand scheme of things these were pretty trivial. If obliged to analyse her feelings in detail, she would probably have ruled out things like sorrow, jealousy and anger. Nothing like that was involved. Closer to the truth was a feeling of 'sameness' - that life was going nowhere for her. Life at work not changing - a central Oxford secretarial job with no great prospects for either promotion or demotion. Life at home, likewise, certainly going on in the same old way... the same old boring way. Everything was drifting aimlessly. Something was not right. Something was missing.

 If pressed, she would have said that she felt... incomplete.

Suddenly, that thought loomed large in her thinking and it shocked her. She was definitely... bored... and missing something. Holding her coffee cup, her eyes glazed over as, for the first time, she did some applied thinking. All right, the children tested her patience at times but was this not so with all kids..? And she loved them to pieces. No, they were not to blame. Simon, her husband of eight years, did his best. A kind, 'modern' man who shared his feelings with her... well, that was perhaps another matter. 'Doing your best' is all very well except when it gets to be never-changing, exactly the same as the time before. She cast her mind back to their lovemaking of the previous night... and found that she could barely remember it. It had been the usual juvenile groping followed by the usual frantic poking as Jeff took his own relief. Short-lived, perfunctory and scarcely memorable, to put it mildly. And, oh yes, always 'equal partners'... no, no, darling... I don't want to hurt you... are you sure that's ok..?... let me put this pillow here... are you sure..?

Not liking the trend her thoughts were taking, Janet dismissed them as best she could. No, it could not be Simon's fault, surely. Maybe it was the same surroundings... after all, they had both lived in Oxford all their lives so far - and in this house in Fairview Avenue how many years now? Six? Seven? She let her preference settle on the house as a cause but found that thoughts still led back to her husband. That second bedroom had still not been redecorated... and the comparison any observer must make between their house and that of their immediate neighbours, Greg and Pam Turner... well, it did not bear thinking about.

She patted her russet locks into shape one final time and went off into the kitchen, still vaguely annoyed. A few minutes later found her in the process of sipping at some lukewarm coffee with a grimace, when the doorbell rang. She eyed three year-old Susie, their youngest, with a wary look. Playing with her dolls in the corner of the room. Was it safe to leave her for a few moments? Where was Jeff when she needed him? Upstairs with his games, as ever..?

On opening the front door she was more than surprised to see the bulky frame of neighbour Greg standing there, silhouetted in the evening sunlight. Despite living next door to them for these past few years, she did not really know the Turners too well. It was mainly a generational thing which had prevented much interaction - the couples were probably at least twenty years apart. On their few occasions of chatting over the fence and inviting around for Christmas drinks, the only impressions she had formed were of a fairly reserved and gently-spoken husband and an even quieter and meek wife, incapacitated and wheelchair-bound. That apart, Greg seemed to be forever outside even in the worst of weathers, tending to the garden or doing small DIY projects connected with the house... she guessed that this habit had probably given him that healthy, bronzed complexion of his. It went well, somehow, with that close-clipped silver hair...

'Hi, there, Janet... I've got a matter I'd like to discuss with you and Simon... have you got a moment?'

'Of course, Greg, come on in and sit down. Can I get you a drink? It's not often that we entertain you here!'

'No thanks, I have to get back to Pam and dinner shortly,' he said in that soft-spoken way of his while smoothing back his grey hair , 'It's just that I wanted to get this sorted out sooner rather than later.'

'Oh... yes?' Janet rather feared the worst - was this the start of some complaint from Greg? Suddenly she had images in her head of how the two houses compared and felt a little wrong-footed. Even in the few years since they had arrived, Greg had his place starting to look immaculate, almost in "show house" condition.

'Yes, look... I have a proposition for you about the fence between us... I know it's your boundary so in theory it's your choice about what to put there, but I have a hankering for a high spec, wooden fence as a replacement for that black wire thing which has been there for quite a few years now. How would it be if I funded a new fence for us and also paid to maintain it as and when necessary? What do you think?'

He turned a penetrating gaze on her which she found a little intimidating, while stroking his equally closely-clipped, equally greying moustache with a casual forefinger.

Greg's use of the word "thing" only served to re-inforce the feelings of shame in Janet's mind. It carried with it the implication that the fence was somehow tacky or shabby. She was saved from having to respond however by the arrival from the back garden, finally, of her husband.

Simon, now resigned at having to be parted from his pigeons, listened attentively as Greg patiently outlined the situation for the second time. It was all about their fence which separated the two properties. Greg thought it was looking old and tired and could maybe need replacing. He was more than prepared to foot the bill and any future maintenance costs - it was simply that he would like any visitors to his garden not to have to look at that concrete post and wire situation. A tasteful item in natural wood would be more to his liking. Simon thought this smacked of snobbery but kept the comment to himself - he was not about to jib at a free fence replacement.

For a while, the two men talked over the details and Janet kept half an eye on Susie. This was men's stuff. Gardening. DIY. Fence replacement. The other half-eye, though, was definitely kept on the two men. Greg was at least in his late fifties but carried his years with an easy grace. Clearly, he watched his diet and kept himself in reasonable shape... she could see the toned muscles... possibly the effect of those long hours working on the house, both inside and out. She could not help comparing the upright, almost military bearing of their neighbour, complete with brutal haircut and neat clothing with the tousled, unkempt-hair and casual dress of her husband. 

Likewise she could not prevent herself from taking in the firm grip that Greg had of what would be required and how he wanted things to be. Simon's contributions were more by way of jokey, light-hearted interjections that seemed to serve no great purpose. Janet felt that Greg was dealing patiently with her husband, in the same way as he would with a child who would not stick to the subject. There was a calm authority about this neighbour of theirs - something she had not noticed in all the time they had lived alongside each other. At one point, Greg drew her into the conversation with a quiet but pointed "Well, what do you think?" question, accompanied by the firm, unblinking gaze of his piercing blue eyes. Involving her had not been in her husband's repertoire. She felt herself suddenly blush and she gave out with a non-committal answer. She felt embarrassed and could not understand what had provoked this reaction in her.

'Ok, well, look... if you're happy to go ahead, I'll do some research and get back to you with whatever I find. Maybe look in on you this coming weekend..?' Greg extended his hand to shake on matters with Simon... but simply smiled pleasantly in her direction. A man's man. Someone who had old-fashioned values. Janet did not mind this. It gave her a warm feeling, somehow. As her husband showed Greg out of the house, Janet caught sight of herself in a mirror. Almost automatically, she patted her short, red-brown hair into place and adjusted her top, pushing her shoulders back and her bust out - turning from side to side and examining the result so as to gain self-approval. Hmm... mid-thirties but maybe still capable of turning the odd head. She stopped, in some puzzlement. Now why exactly had she done that?

************************* 

   As with almost all families having to cope with young children, the Jones's were no strangers to the world of continuous chaos and particularly of a Saturday morning. Nothing much constructive got done beyond the success of a late and lazy get-up and breakfasting. Before you knew it, the afternoon arrived and still not much was decided as to how to spend it. Only the initial stages of thinking had creaked into gear on the subject when the doorbell sounded and, lo and behold, the front door was opened to reveal a neighbour clutching a pile of brochures and price lists. It was a case of "almost forgotten" and apologies were hastily offered for the toy-strewn floor as Greg was once more invited in. He waved these aside and this time declined the offered seat.

   'I've done a few hours worth of research and sent off for these,' he sighed, brandishing the brochures, 'and, well... the upshot is that I have some definite ideas but not yet come to any firm conclusion... in any case, we both have to be agreed on what would look good and be acceptable. One of the problems is that things look different in brochures from real life. I was wondering whether one or both of you could spare the time to visit a stockist with me and inspect the real thing...' I have the time now during Pam's bridge afternoon to run down to Travis Bodkins and check out what they have. Her lift arrives at three so I won't be needed. Anyone care to come along?'

   The suggestion was met with a nodding of heads from Simon and Janet... but it put them in a quandary regarding the children who certainly would not put up with a couple of hours comparing fencing timber and panels. Various ideas were quickly considered. In the end, Janet uttered aloud what her thoughts had been whispering to her.

   'Look, love... you haven't done much with the kids lately. Why don't you take them down to the adventure playground for a while and I'll go with Greg to see what's available?'

   From the pained look on his face, you could see Simon would rather, given the choice, be immersed in his video games or immured with his feathered friends... but grudgingly he gave his blessing to the idea and went to round up Johnny and Susie.

   She turned back to their guest.

   'Ok, Greg, I can be with you in just a few minutes... are we going in your car?'

   'Yes...' came back the reply in that now familiar, measured tone, '... be outside in five.' It was not shouted like an order. It was not said at all unpleasantly. It simply conveyed authority and firmness. Janet felt herself go slightly weak.

   'Of course, Greg,' she stuttered out in a croak. The neighbour, letting himself out, gave no sign of having heard her.

************************* 

   'And I'm telling you that I was told by your staff over the phone only two days ago that you had this item in stock... that in fact you had dozens of them available... so how is it that there's now not a single one that we can take a look at? It's no joke to make a fifteen mile round trip on the basis of false information, you know.'

   The manager looked nervous and caught off-balance.

   'I'm sorry, sir' he said, falteringly, 'but I think you must be mistaken. If there's nothing set out on the sales stands, it's because we have no stock at the moment. We do get weekly deliveries, however, and if you'd care to call back maybe next...'

   He was interrupted by Greg who took a step forward, remaining calm and keeping his tone under control. He held up a hand, towering over the hapless manager.

   'I think you misunderstand,' he said gently and, if anything, more quietly than before, 'and you must allow me to explain... I was given this information most definitely by a member of your staff... on the strength of which this lady and I have driven several miles to look at this fence panel with a view to purchase. If we do not see the panel... in the flesh... in the next fifteen minutes, I shall be contacting your superior, Mr Stafford, who happens to be a member of my golf club, to inform him of my experience here today...'

   The man blanched visibly at the threat and scurried away, issuing mutterings of 'seeing what he could do'. Janet marvelled, yes, at the information which seemed to be at Greg's fingertips, but more definitely at the supremely confident way in which Greg had handled himself. A man among boys. She wondered whether he had ever been in a position of command in the military. His whole bearing spoke of the kind of expectation of obedience which is second nature in the officer corps. If so, he had never said anything about it. The manager reappeared, offering profuse apologies about a computer 'stock error' - the item had been in last week's delivery but nobody had yet moved the panels from the warehouse to the customer display area... would Greg and Janet care to accompany him and they would be shown the items?

   'Ok, fine... but just one more thing... when your customer service counter called you over to see us, you came up to us and greeted this lady with a barked 'Yes?'.  Now, I want to be clear with you that this is no way to treat a lady. Basic courtesy costs little and, no matter how hard your day has been, there's never any excuse for outright rudeness like that. Do we understand each other? I have no particular wish to take this further.'

   'Oh, of course, sir... of course...'

   The manager, now totally cowed, squirmed with embarrassment as he led the way onward into the warehouse. A beaten individual, defeated by a superior male. Janet herself squirmed - but with pleasure at being championed in this way. She could not recall any instance of Jeff standing up for her in such a white knight fashion. He tended to avoid confrontation.

   On the way home in Greg's car, he offered an apology that she had been 'barked at' by the store manager. Janet thought this was another supremely gentlemanly thing to do - to apologise for someone else's bad manners.

   'Such an incompetent and lazy type', Geoff muttered disparagingly, 'and very typical of the men of his generation. Spineless, to boot.'

   Janet could not help but think that the generation of men to which he was referring included her husband. She thanked him anyway for his chivalrous defence of her at the store.

   'Think nothing of it, my dear.' That soft, deep voice filled the vehicle effortlessly once more. 'The man needed putting in his place. I always do my homework on the people and places I intend doing business with. I happen to know who he reports to as line manager. Simple. I couldn't let him get away with addressing you like that.'

   He laid a large hand gently on her knee.

   'I hope you're ok after the experience. Anyway, we have all the info we need now, I think, at least as far as what fencing's available. We need to make a decision and then get some quotes in from installers. I would normally do the job myself but I have too many other things on my plate in the immediate future.'

   Janet was almost wet between her legs. This man was positively exuding masculinity. She had never experienced such a rush of response before and she fought to keep her composure.

   'Oh, well, the... the way you defended me was wonderful!,' she said, struggling to keep things light-hearted, 'I felt like a princess being rescued from the dragon. Thank you, bold Sir Greg!'

Why Do We Propose on One Bended Knee? | Reader's Digest

************************* 

   Janet pressed the "finish call" button on her phone and reflected on what she had heard. Greg needed someone to go around and share in the final decision as to which design to order. Apparently, he was bringing his evening's work in the back garden to a close and would be available in a few minutes. A sudden thought came to her head and she made her way up the stairs to the half-way landing where there was a window looking out to the side and rear of the house. From it, she would have a view over Greg and Pam's place. Drawing the long curtain discreetly open, she saw Greg trundling his wheelbarrow to the side of his garden shed where he raised the handles aloft so that its load of heavy earth was shaken out. My, how those biceps stood out. How he filled out his T-shirt... all right, he was large-framed but there was not an inch of spare fat around that frame. She wondered if Greg's many hours spent in gardening and DIY around the house could really account for that toned and bronzed physique. Surely, he must also work out or visit a tanning salon..?

   Somewhat reluctantly, she pulled herself away from her speculations, allowing the curtain to slip back into place, and resumed her progress upward to  the spare room serving as a mixture of office and computer room.

   Simon paused the game at his wife's insistence and turned to face her. He had really not taken much interest in this fence replacement business. The main thing that mattered to him was the idea that they would be getting a new fence, free of charge. Surely that was about all there was to it..?

   'Sorry, what did you say?'

   'I was asking you,' said Janet in some clear irritation, 'whether you'd picked out any particular style of fencing from those brochures I left on the table last weekend. It's Wednesday already. I put circles and highlights around the ones which are reasonable in price and available from Travis Bodkins. Greg and I went there specially to do research. He's just called - he wants one of us to go round with our final choice and also look at some of the installer quotes he's had in.'

   'Honestly, it makes no difference to me, love.' Thumbs continued busily on the games console. 'It's all just wood, right? You go round and fix things up. Er... just make sure the kids are ok.'

   Being allowed to at least half-way focus on his game was fine by Simon. All right, he might have to check on the children occasionally... but Janet could surely sort something out at Greg's, he thought.

   His wife turned away, sighing audibly, and made her way back down, pausing once again at the half-way window and peering cautiously around the curtain. That was fine by her, too...

************************* 

   Janet was, as ever, impressed. Greg had set out the possibilities so simply and with such clarity that it had been the work of moments to decide on the 'winning' design, who would do the installation and when. Greg said that he would take care of all the ordering and confirm things back to her. She could hardly help contrasting this no-nonsense, organised approach with what would have happened if she and Simon had been left in charge. Little short of chaos. In fact, they had saved so much time that Greg proposed a drink and a stroll outside in the evening sun. Pam graciously accepted her Gin and It from her husband, too, but preferred to stay indoors and watch TV.

   How pleasant this was, Janet thought as the two of them sauntered around Greg's immaculate rear garden, drinks in hand and looking at the carefully tended herbaceous borders. How... different... She was almost at pains not to turn in the direction of her own tired-looking house, the looming roof of the smelly pigeon shed and that dividing fence.

   'I... er... we want to thank you for all of this, Greg.'

   'How do you mean?' came back the response in that tone she had come to know.

   'Well, it was so kind of you to make this offer... and then going above and beyond to actually organise everything...'

   He gave a wry, attractive smile.

   'Oh, I've probably annoyed you with my control-freakery. Pam's always telling me I should let go occasionally.'

   'No, no, not at all. Really, I'm so grateful to you. It's the kind of thing which we... well... we... oh, we just never seem to get around to...'

   Greg paused them in their slow walk by laying that same, large hand on her shoulder. He turned her to face him and looked her directly in the eyes. That same, penetrating gaze. That self-assured maturity. The grey hair and clipped moustache. She felt her legs turn to semi-jelly.

   'Listen to me, Janet. A woman - a real, red-booded woman - needs more from her man than only love and a house and car. She needs a sense of direction. She needs to know the way he wants things to go. It's a fact. I'll say no more.'

   Ten minutes later, Janet was under a shower, trying to stop trembling... and also trying, in vain, to stop her fingers from exploring between her tightly closed thighs...

************************* 

   Janet lay in a state of agitation and no little perspiration next to her snoring husband. It was three in the morning and she had still not been able to get to sleep. She was in a surging state of arousal, as she had been now for hours, her hand working away urgently between her legs. In her mind she ran and re-ran the feelings that had coursed through her earlier. Greg's face appeared again and again, speaking those words... 'a red-blooded woman'... it was like being told, in translation, 'you are MY red-blooded woman'. She imagined that bronzed, toned body outlined in sweat and poised above her own nakedness, plunging repeatedly between her welcoming thighs...

*************************                                                                                                                      A week goes past quickly in busy lives. Janet was clearing up after another lazy Saturday morning in which the family had done little other than get up, have breakfast and make a general mess of the house. In fact, the clock was actually showing early afternoon - 1.30pm - and she was only halfway though tidying when she felt her phone's vibration rather than heard it: the kids were being louder even than usual. Through the window she could see Greg's wife, Pam, leaving for her Saturday afternoon cards session as she opened the SMS and read a short but blunt message:

 'I need you. Come, now. G.'

   Her heart skipped a beat and she felt flustered, not knowing what to do. Reasoned thinking slowly returned as, hand pressed to her chest to calm her breathing, she took stock of the situation. All right. All... right... She took hold of her phone again and typed in a return message. Turning then to the mirror, she spent a few moments in adjusting her appearance, patting at her hair and smoothing her eyebrows. Next would come the hard bit. She knew where she would find Simon.

   'Love, tear yourself away from the game for just a moment, would you? I have to go next door to finalise some details about the fence with Greg. Hold the fort, could you please? And watch out for Johnny pulling Susie's hair... he's developed a nasty tendency lately.'

 *************************

   Simon sighed as his wife scurried out of the house, not really giving him an opportunity to answer. This damn fence business was getting out of hand. Why was he always being landed with the kids? Oh well, he had nearly finished this particular game, anyway. The level was too easy and should have been set higher. It would have been good to go and inspect the pigeons afterwards but now it was kindergarten duty yet again...

   He spent a further five minutes on the game and then, heaving a further sigh, rose from his comfortable chair and went in search of the children. He found them being remarkably well-behaved and engrossed in their own little worlds. Johnny with his racing cars , Susie with her dolls house. How volatile kids are, he thought, one moment shouting their heads off and fighting like crazy, the next, behaving like little angels. Finding himself not needed currently as fight referee, his thoughts turned back to the matter of the fence. It was Janet who had handled it all from the Jones's end. He himself had hardly made any contribution to things.

   Vague guilt feelings arose and he wondered whether there was anything he could actually do at this late stage. Yes, this was a late stage... come to think of it... had Janet and Greg not 'finalised' matters midweek? Maybe there was still some input he could make regarding which firm could be given the installation work..? Checking on the kids one more time and seeing them still 'miles away' in the world of imagination, he took the risk and tiptoed out of the house, making for Greg's back door.

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

   Coming up onto his neighbour's immaculate decking which led to that door, Simon was more than a little surprised to find it slightly ajar... it was almost as if someone had been in a great hurry to get into the kitchen. He wondered whether he should knock... but thought that would be too formal, especially for a back door and even more especially because Janet was already inside. He opened it and stepped inside, expecting to hear the sound of conversation coming from the living room, through the archway to the kitchen.

   Instead, he heard the sounds of ragged, heavy breathing and short cries.

   His heart in his mouth, Simon inched forward across the kitchen floor to try to gain a glimpse of what was happening. Eventually, he beheld a scene which did not allow him to move further - it stopped him, frozen, in his tracks.

   He looked on, aghast, at what was in front of him. Janet had been stripped and was on her back on the living room coffee table, her arms grasping around Greg's back, The glint of her wedding ring made a repeated appearance. Her legs flailed in the air high around Greg's pistoning buttocks. Her ragged and repeated moans almost matched the jolts her body was receiving from his powerful thrusts. And those thrusts were slow in tempo, insistent, totally masterful...  not accepting of any refusal. Each one made her breasts bounce and her whole body shake. Jeff could see how his wife's labia were being stretched wide by a truly massive penis, how Greg withdrew almost completely each time before ramming fully back up and into Janet, as far as his large and weighty testicles would permit.  He could see the glisten of her juices around that shaft - how her body was responding and supplying lubrication for that huge member's intrusion, as it would indeed probably need to.

Stretched, pounded and Creampied on the Couch. Ball Slapping Missionary ...

   What Simon could not see on account of Greg's back obscuring Janet's head from view, was how her eyes widened with each of these jolts. She was in a new and different world from the one of only fifteen minutes ago... and her only thought now was to please this man and to gain her own pleasure from him.

   As she had entered Greg's house, he had been waiting. He had taken her gently but with firmness by the arm and turned her to face him. Lifting up her head to look directly into her eyes, he had made things clear.

   'Remove your clothes, Janet.'

   No 'please' or 'would you kindly'. Just that quiet but masterful tone which went straight to a dark and deep place within her brain. She had obeyed without a moment's hesitation, even if wondering at her reaction.

'Yes, Greg...' ... in a meek and feminine, more than usually high-pitched tone which her husband would scarcely have recognised.

Stripping herself as fast as she could, she had watched Greg similarly engaged... and had been dumbstruck to see the size of his equipment. His member, standing fully erect and proud, made her husband's tool pale into insignificance.

'Lie down there.' Greg had pointed at the table, at the same time removing from it his own wife's sweater.

'Of course, Greg.'

There had been no foreplay, no 'are you ready?' or 'does this hurt?'... just a man claiming a female as his possession. It had hurt... but she had wanted it to hurt and the pain did not last long as her body responded to its new owner. That moment of penetration had truly formed a watershed in her life. And now... oh God, and now...

All thoughts of her weak and ineffectual husband were now purged from her mind. Pleasing this man was all that counted.

He wants me and he means to have me... oh God...

She began to realise at a deep level that what had been missing from her life was this feeling of possession... of being truly needed and owned by a male. All of the 'best friend' and 'partners forever' nonsense began to melt away as she was simply taken by her new master and lover, as he wanted, in the way he wanted. And she loved it. She sighed... an odd thing to be doing in the middle of lovemaking... but it was a sigh born of relief... and of homecoming, in all but name, to a situation she now realised she had always wanted and needed.

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

   Simon heard his wife sigh and saw Greg accelerate his rhythm slightly in response. He watched as Greg lifted a flat palm high and then brought it down in what must have been a stinging slap to Janet's cheek. To his astonishment, he could make out, just, his wife turning her head to invite another slap on the other cheek, which Greg promptly delivered. No cries, no alarm, no shouts for help... merely a rapidly rising crescendo of his own wife's moans and gasps beneath this man's attentions, while her cheeks slowly reddened to provide a pink counterpoint to the red-brown of her hair.

Simon was still frozen in time, transfixed by the spectacle of what was happening. He realised dimly that he should be reacting to this in some way more appropriate to a screen hero... charging in and separating them, shouting and yelling, starting a fight... but in that same dim awareness he knew... just knew for an absolute fact... the extent of his own cowardice. Confrontation was not going to happen. His grip on what was his...was slipping away forever... and he was not going to fight for it. That was beyond him. That would be for the likes, if not of screen heroes, at least of real, red-blooded men... ones who went single-mindedly for what they wanted. Men like Greg. Men like Greg, who brushed men like him aside...

He could only look on, still frozen into inaction.

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

Janet received the slaps not only with meekness but also with pleasure... the pleasure of being put in her place by a powerful male. It was a glory. And she now felt that wonderful reddening spreading down her neck and over her chest as her breath grew ever shorter, making a contrast with her stiffening, brown nipples and areolas. How her body was ready! She felt like a concubine... one of a harem plucked for the night to do a specific man's bidding and give him total satisfaction. Oh yes, she was ready... and more. Between her legs she was gushing as never before in her life and the tickle had already begun some moments back... she had been fighting it, trying to wait so that Greg could gain his own satisfaction, too, but now she gave herself over to the feeling, overwhelmed by the dynamic of the moment.

'Oh yes... Greg... fuck me, fuck me fuckmefuckmefuckme...' She was carried over the edge by his next thrusts and went through the most earth-shattering, long-duration climax she had ever known, accompanied by a long drawn-out, mewing cry as her body rode the waves of pleasure spreading out from her groin, her hips bucking uncontrollably with a life of their own as they sought to meet Greg's pounding. Her nose tingled, as it always did with a good climax... but this time almost to the point of actually hurting. At this stage, she was barely aware of the passage of time or what was happening... and yet somehow it penetrated through to her brain that Greg was simply continuing. Absolutely nothing, it seemed, would stop that relentless, pounding rhythm. He was master... her master. It excited her so much. This man would have it his way... for him, she was a toy, if a convenient one. Her vagina was being used for his convenience. Again, that dark area of her brain was teased into arousal and she felt herself starting to come again... so soon... so very soon... after the first...

Again, she lost herself in the tidal wave of exhausting, orgasmic pleasure and submissive delight, if not so long lasting as the first. Never... never like this before... never happened with Simon... what a completely useless creature he is...

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Simon saw his wife ride a second wave of pleasure... and this time realised that Greg was joining her in coming, his relentless rhythm finally becoming a more ragged sequence of thrusts. Greg raised himself up and arched his back as he spurted his long streams of hot seed into Janet, a small, ragged cry coming through his clenched teeth and a look almost of pain on his face. His last thrusts loosed off their final drops of sticky semen as the head of his still erect member nodded gently inside her.

Simon realised that his wife was now lost to him... Janet had now been claimed by another, superior male... and she had given herself quite willingly and with joy. Retreating backwards now as quietly as he could, he could see Greg's massive torso lowering itself onto Janet's much slighter frame, her breasts being pressed flat by the pressure. Exhausted, the couple clung together and Janet's hand went up to cup Greg's silver-haired head as her legs encircled him, his massive member still deep inside her, if no longer completely rigid. Simon's last view of the scene was of his wife's arms and legs embracing the form of her new master and owner... and of Greg's white-grey milk, oozing and dribbling down towards his wife's anus...

Silently, he made his way out and back to his own house, shaking and filled with a feeling of complete, defeated inadequacy... a feeling which would be repeated in hammer blows nine months later. At that moment he did not consider, still less know what the future might hold... but he did realise that he had been given a lesson... one of life's lessons...

... know your place.

There is a pecking order among men just as there is among birds.

Know your place...