THE STORMS OF BRENTWOOD
Chapter 1. Declan Joins The Family
When Spencer Storm employed Declan O’Rourke in the summer of 2015, life became infinitely more interesting for the whole Storm family. Having inherited his multimillion-pound wealth from a long line of rich ancestors, Spencer had increased his fortune substantially after buying a string of hotels and restaurants.
Spencer and Eloise hated driving, so Declan had been taken on primarily as the family’s chauffeur. In between his driving duties, his older employer gave the thirty-year-old Irishman other tasks such as gardening, general handyman chores, and some jobs only Declan and Spencer knew about. Being a hard worker, the tall, rugged, dark-haired, strikingly handsome new employee soon made himself indispensable and was settling in well in their luxury detached property in an upmarket area of Brentwood in Essex.
Declan’s background and lifestyle were poles apart from those of the Storms. Born in County Donegal, he’d been put into care when his single mother hadn’t been able to cope with a fifth baby. Academically challenged, he’d worked in low-paid, manual jobs after leaving school.
Spencer Storm was sixty-three, fourteen years older than his French-born, trophy ex-model wife, and twice the age of newly appointed Declan. Compared to them, Spencer was out of shape and unattractive. What made him worth them knowing was his wealth.
It was a scorching afternoon in July at the sprawling residence, a year after he’d been hired. The family were sunbathing by their large pool as Declan tended their garden. Six hungry eyes ogled his ripped, oiled torso and long, well-muscled legs as he toiled under the sun. Unlike Spencer, he looked good in everything he wore, but as he pushed a petrol lawnmower around their acre lawn. the clinging denim shorts and trainers were attracting the interest of all three Storms.
Lookalikes Eloise and her spoilt teenage daughter wore skimpy bikinis that left little to the imagination. Each had secretly bought them especially to entice their hired help. They were both deeply tanned after a summer of lounging in the sun by their pool and exotic foreign holidays.
By contrast, Spencer’s rolls of blubber were still pasty white. He rarely had a chance to sunbathe due to working most days to keep his empire thriving. He didn’t even take time off work to join his family on their recent three-week holiday in Barbados. Today was a rare day off for him from overseeing the three luxury hotels he owned in Brentwood and nearby areas.
Sweat dripped off Declan’s chin-length tendrils as he emptied the grass cuttings onto the compost heap. In her strong French accent, Eloise shouted over to him, ‘Do you ’ave any swimming trunks under those shorts, Declan? Take a dip in the pool to cool off if you fancy it. You’re working so hard in this hellish heat.’
Walking back to the mower, Declan shouted back in his delicious Irish brogue, ‘I’m fine t’anks, Mrs Storm. I need to trim some of these bushes this afternoon after I’ve mowed the lawn. I’m scheduled to take Mr Storm to the hotel in an hour. No time for swimming.’
Damn. I wanted to check out his package, thought mother and daughter. Despite his exceptional good looks, Declan was quiet and painfully shy. The two women of the house couldn’t believe their luck that podgy, balding Spencer had hired such a dish to live with them, but they were unaware of the hotelier’s hidden agenda. Declan had his own small bedsit in the east wing but didn’t eat or socialise with the family despite Eloise badgering him to join them for meals.
Spencer lay like a beached whale on his sunlounger sipping an iced rum and ginger, trying to hide his grin. He gloated over how well-acquainted he was with Declan’s impressive genitalia. Their purely sexual relationship had begun only two weeks after he’d hired the Irishman.
Once he’d finished the garden chores, Declan showered and changed into the smart chauffeur uniform and peaked cap Spencer insisted he wore. Catching his reflection in the mirror, Declan sighed, worried over the daunting task ahead of him. Wearing the diamond-encrusted tie clip his boss had given him for services rendered was a constant reminder of Spencer’s hold over him.
As the classic Daimler purred towards the hotel with Declan at the wheel and Spencer in the back, Declan knew Mr Storm would soon lock him inside one of the free rooms where they’s strip naked and share a shower. It wouldn’t matter that Declan had only just showered after working in the garden. Which room will we be in today? he wondered, cringing as he imagined Spencer’s hand gripping Declan’s meaty manhood even before they stepped into the shower.
Having fantasised about his employee for most of the night, Spencer had sent Declan a text before breakfast saying, ‘Room 23 is free. Don’t forget what you promised.’
Inside his small kitchenette, Declan almost choked on his toast and marmalade when he read the text. His appetite vanished. At least it’ll be an extra three hundred quid if I manage to go through with it, he thought, tossing the toast into the bin and grabbing his chauffeur cap and smart, black jacket. By the time he reached the Daimler, Spencer was already sitting in the back seat looking even smugger than usual. Knowing his family might be looking at them from the house, Spencer only shot him a short, but meaningful glance as he walked to the car.
As soon as they were on the road, he leaned forward, lifted the back of his driver’s black curly hair and kissed the back of his neck. He began whispering filth into his ear, leaving him in no doubt what would soon be expected of him.
Declan felt queasy remembering what he’d agreed to do for his boss during their last secret meeting. In the past, the Irishman hadn’t been expected to pleasure Spencer’s backside. So far, he’d only had to deep throat and masturbate him, which was bad enough. Declan had feared the worst would happen eventually. Sure enough, that hot July morning was to be the first time his boss expected Declan to fill his rectum with Irish cock. One of them wasn’t relishing the prospect at all while the other couldn’t wait for it to happen.
Declan had lost count of the mornings he’d stood in one of the hotel’s showers with his employer and watched his semen swirl around before disappearing down the plughole, forced out of him by vigorous soapy masturbation. The rubbing often started before they’d stepped under the shower, so Spencer could watch his employees precum form and lick it off his shiny glans. As soon as his lust object had lowered his boxers, Spencer would pounce on him. Grabbing his handy bottle of baby lotion, he’d rub and lick the Irishman’s eight-inch shaft to his heart’s content before dragging him under the hot water to finish the job.
Although grim and soul-destroying, sodomising his boss wasn’t as much of a car crash as he’d feared, but only because he’d closed his eyes during the act and thought of his only love. Declan’s handsome ex-boyfriend, Niall, still lived in Donegal. It also helped that Declan was handsomely paid to hammer Spencer’s rectum over the arm of the sofa in his elegant office. We are the Champions playing on the sound system and the din of a Rumanian cleaner vacuuming the corridor helped mask the sound of the hotel owner’s guttural groans and moans.
Declan and Spencer’s clandestine relationship was a purely financial arrangement, carried out in strict secrecy, although several hotel staff suspected something seedy and suspicious was going on between the pair.
Declan felt zero emotional connection with Spencer, but the gifts and occasional passionate kisses proved his controlling boss was a little in love with him. As a kinky dominant, Spencer always insisted Declan call him Mr Storm, sir, even master, during sex. Free board and lodging and the generous amount of money he received for his regular sexual favours sweetened the medicine.
Spencer paid him different sums of money depending on which sexual act he fancied that day. As Spencer held the purse strings, he called all the shots. If it was sunny weather, Spencer would usually say in his grand manner from the back seat of the Daimler, ‘We’ll take the scenic route to work today.’
His chauffeur would know this was code to drive into the countryside to a secluded beauty spot they’d often frequented. Under the pine trees, Spencer would unbuckle his chauffeur’s belt, lower his trousers and boxers, drop to his knees on the pine needles to deep-throat and masturbate him before bending him over the shiny bonnet of his car.
Declan hailed from a poverty-stricken single-parent family in Donegal and had left school without qualifications. Having amassed many debts after picking up a gambling habit from his days hanging around in amusement arcades as a teenager, the bi-sexual man allowed his employer to sodomise him once or twice a month, with random mutual blowjobs and handjobs throughout the week.
Still gambling online wiped out much of Declan’s earnings. He’d have gladly sold his diamond tie pin to gamble but knew his boss would be livid if his gift disappeared. As far as Spencer was concerned, whatever he paid his gorgeous employee was money well spent. In Declan’s opinion, it was extremely hard-earned.
The Irishman found his employer most attractive but decided to grit his teeth and tolerate the pawing and poking, seeing it as a quick way to amass more riches to feed his gambling habit than he’d earn in a normal job. All he had to do was agree to be humiliated by giving in to Spencer’s sexual peccadilloes. Spencer made it clear Declan would lose his lucrative job if he ever objected to his demands.
As if being the reluctantly willing plaything of an ugly dominant man wasn’t bad enough, Spencer’s wife and daughter also seemed to want a piece of Declan. Eloise Storm found any excuse for him to chauffeur her hither and thither, preferably without her husband. Despite her outrageous flirtation, the chauffeur stayed professional, verging on standoffish. She’d brag to her friends about Declan’s good looks and charisma, professing he could’ve been a model. She treated him like a fashion accessory when he accompanied her around town. He hated it when Eloise shared the car with her upper-crust female friends so she could flaunt him.
He was equally reserved when Beth, Eloise’s blonde daughter, was around. When he’d first started working at their rambling, secluded property, Beth was a spoilt, precocious seventeen-year-old girl attending sixth-form college. She was as flirty, entitled, and audacious as her parents and also enjoyed parading him in front of her teenage peers at every opportunity. Declan spent much of his day ferrying various Storms around Brentford and nearby towns. At least when he was chauffeuring the women of the family around, he was fairly confident they wouldn’t demand to get inside his boxers like Mr Storm regularly did.
Mother and daughter were both tall, green-eyed, busty, natural blondes. Ever since hitting puberty, they’d both been accustomed to men lusting after them. Entitled and spoilt, it usually took minimal effort for either of them to get what they wanted from males. When the Irish hunk persisted in giving them the cold shoulder, it offended them and deeply wounded their inflated egos and pride.
Eloise’s ailing mother lived in France and was her only living relative. Marielle Le Brun had come to rely on her son-in-law’s substantial financial assistance. If her daughter walked away from her marriage, Marielle would’ve been left in dire straits. If she hadn’t enjoyed the trappings of her rotund husband’s wealth so much, Eloise would’ve gladly divorced him. If she did, she couldn’t have relied on her mother for any financial aid, so she was forced to plod on barely tolerating her emotionally distant husband. His wealth was also essential to subsidise Eloise’s prodigious extra-marital sex life.
Maintaining and enhancing her looks cost a small fortune. She always wanted to look her best and as young as possible when she met a new man. Her biggest nightmare would have been for a man to look at her with anything less than desire. Rejection would have destroyed her. The main differences between the two females of the house were a few lines on Eloise’s face and her fake breasts. Spencer lavished more hard cash and gifts than attention on his wife and child and had paid for his wife’s 32GG breasts when their daughter was two. No longer a fashion model, Eloise was now free to own large, glamour-model mammaries. Beth carried slightly more weight on her bones than her mother. Her large breasts had appeared naturally, much to the precocious teenager’s delight and the envy of her mother.
Much to Beth’s irritation, Eloise enjoyed acting as though men thought she and her daughter were sisters and made a big thing about sometimes wearing Beth’s clothes, even her ultra-short skirts when Declan was around. Like most teenagers, Beth found her parents’ behaviour a source of constant embarrassment. They only had to breathe for her to roll her eyes and sigh disdainfully.
Chapter 2. Keeping Fit
Spencer had wanted Eloise to be a stay-at-home wife, so she’d given up her successful modelling career shortly before their marriage. Boredom soon set in and she regretted her decision to comply with his wishes. With too much free time on her well-manicured hands, the beauty chose to cram her unfulfilling married life with as much sex as she could get away with, so long as it wasn’t with her disinterested, unappealing husband. She usually sourced new lovers from online dating sites with various degrees of success.
Their marriage had barely started before Spencer began to neglect and ignore his wife’s voracious sexual needs. Now Beth was a teenager, Eloise still wasn’t averse to waiting at the end of her leafy avenue in all weathers to be picked up by random lovers for sex on the back seat of their cars or in nearby woods if the weather permitted. A couple of the men were regulars and took her back to their homes. A sexual mania, verging on sex addiction, forced her to take risks most people would avoid.
For her most handsome and virile suitors, Eloise would risk her safety to drive to various towns, sometimes to the other side of England, for a few hours of sex with whoever took her fancy. Not trusting most of her lovers, she never drove or wore her more expensive jewellery to her trysts. The fear of robbery or blackmail made her hide her wealth as much as possible from them.
When Eloise first met Spencer, he’d been attractive enough for her not to blank him. His hair had been thick and dark, his body reasonably toned and his penis was average. As a good conversationalist, he’d eventually wooed the successful fashion model with his wit and humour. To Eloise, Spencer’s most important assets were the seven million pounds he’d inherited from his wealthy parents. Since she’d known him, he’d increased his family’s wealth by making a success of his string of hotels and a film studio. His flagship hotel was only a mile from their Brentford home and he worked there most days when he wasn’t visiting the other hotels to keep the staff on their toes.
As the years passed, lack of exercise and overindulgence in alcohol and rich food had turned her husband into an overweight, silver-haired blob. As his weight piled on and his hair turned silver and sparse, Spencer became increasingly depressed and snappy with his family.
Even before Beth’s birth, the couple’s sex life had dwindled from sparse to nonexistent, yet the amount of extra-marital sex had rocketed in secret for both spouses. Spencer had pursued and bagged a string of young male lovers, and so had his wife. Except for a few forays on Grindr, he usually managed to pick them up in the real world, whereas Eloise mainly sourced her young studs online.
Even though Eloise hid her identity, the words and promises she used to lure men into her web were so extreme and filthy, hundreds of horny online males clamoured to meet the beautiful yet deeply flawed, blonde. The body parts she chose to show in cropped photographs never included her face for obvious reasons, but were so pornographic, she magnetically drew a certain kind of man towards her.
During the eighteen years of her marriage, she’d had sex with almost a thousand men, despite only being able to meet them in the daytime while Beth was at sixth-form college. When Beth was too young to be packed off to primary school and needed her mother’s constant care, Eloise had been driven crazy with sexual and emotional frustration. She’d seriously considered hiring a nanny to free up time for her to meet men, but Spencer wouldn’t hear of it.
The first morning that five-year-old Beth waved goodbye to her mother at the primary school’s gates was the same one Eloise pounced on Essex boy Andy Langford. He was her young fitness trainer who’d been training Eloise in a group setting at the local gym for over six months. Back then, Eloise had been in her early thirties, and Andy had only been twenty-two, both were by far the best-looking specimens in the gym and they knew it. Assuming he was single, she flirted outrageously with him which raised eyebrows among the other women in the classes.
Thrills shot through her whenever he touched her skin as he corrected her posture. She would deliberately perform some exercises in incorrect positions just to feel auburn-haired Andy’s strong hands on her as he showed her how it should be done.
The other women in Andy’s aerobics class were irritated by the preferential treatment he gave Eloise, but she ignored their jealous glares. At the end of the mid-morning session, she plucked up courage and sidled up to him as he was packing the equipment away.
‘What can I do for you, Eloise?’ he said, bending to pick up a large box of skipping ropes destined for the storage cupboard.
‘I think you know,’ she whispered as the other women exited the room.
One short, plump redhead in her fifties turned to her friend as they left and said loud enough for everyone to hear, ‘Shameless. Knew she’d make a move on him eventually.’
Andy walked into the storage room and put down the box. Straightened up, he saw she’d boldly followed him into the small room, closed the door behind her and turned the key. With his hands on his slim hips, he gazed quizzically at Eloise. He looked gladitorial in his gym shorts and a sleeveless top, his muscles still shiny with sweat from the exercises. Never one to put much effort into the exercises, Eloise looked fresh and coolly composed.
The fitness instructor cocked his head to one side, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. Finally alone with him, she felt free to talk to him the way she’d always wanted to.
He seemed nervous, so Eloise put a slender hand on his bicep. ‘I’ll be discrete,’ she said. ‘Nobody will ever know, so your job and reputation are safe. Anything we do will be kept between us. I swear on my husband’s life I’ll never tell.’
‘Just to be clear, are you suggesting we have sex?’
‘Yes, Andy. What do you think of that idea? Interested?’
‘But, I have a fiancée,’ he said, nervously pushing his auburn fringe out of his blue eyes.
‘I’m not volunteering to permanently take her place,’ she said. ‘Think of me as a little something on the side to spice up your life.’
‘Who are you? The Spice Girls? Who says my life needs spicing up?’ said Andy, sounding defiant and a little concerned for his physical safety.
Eloise’s smile widened as she held out the waistband of her stretchy, figure-hugging exercise shorts and whispered in her sexiest French accent, ‘Please, Mr Gym Instructor, my pussy needs a good workout. Can you help? Pretty please.’
Andy said nothing. He couldn’t resist peering down the blonde stunner’s shorts. He looked around to check nobody was passing by the closed door and saw she wore no underwear. Her labia was smooth and inviting. Still staring down her shorts, he wished she would pull them down completely. To his delight, she yanked the front of the shorts to her mid-thigh and moved her feet apart so her labia parted. Moving her free hand downward, she rubbed her clitoris and jabbed at her vagina, then held her finger near his mouth, never taking her eyes off his stunned expression.
Seconds later, his mood changed. Grabbing her hand, he hungrily sucked her finger. ‘Finger yourself again… Let me suck it,’ he whispered. ‘Okay, Eloise, you win. Come to the showers in the locker room. It’s closing time, so nobody should be in there. I can lock us in there for maybe an hour. No longer, though. I’m meeting Dianne at eight.’
‘Is she your fiancée?’ said Eloise, lifting one side of her top to reveal a breast.
Andy nodded. Trying to pull her top back down, said, ‘Put your boob away. Someone might see you.’
‘But you said nobody’s about,’ she said, pulling the breast upwards, tugging on the nipple with perfect teeth.
‘You’re killing me, Eloise. Put it away and come with me. Don’t worry. In about two minutes, I’m going to fuck you until you beg for mercy’
Eloise smiled mischievously. ‘I expect plenty of foreplay, mon cheri.’
Andy looked shifty as he walked along the corridor beside a composed and beaming Eloise. Glancing sideways, she softly wolf-whistled after seeing the large bulge in his shorts that hadn’t been there before she’d teased him.
‘Shush, Eloise. No whistling. Don’t draw attention to us. Some staff might still be around.’
Grinning, she whispered in his ear, ‘I love to live dangerously.’
Once in the locker room, they entered one of the many spacious shower cubicles, too aroused to speak. Eloise let Andy strip off her top, their breath coming hard and fast. Bending down, he sucked and tugged her nipples until they were erect and massaged her large, firm breasts. After he’d slid her shorts down her tanned legs, she daintily stepped out of them, then leaned back against the cold tiles with her knees bent and hips thrust forward. Rubbing her clitoris, she fingered herself so hard, he could hear the wetness within.
‘Hey, that’s my job,’ he said, squatting down to lick her clitoris as he fingered deep inside her.
Once she’d climaxed on his fingers, she said breathlessly, ‘Get naked, Andy. I’ve wondered what your cock looks like every time I’m in your aerobics class.’
‘I hope it lives up to your expectations,’ he said, confidant that it would as he removed his shorts and lowered his boxer shorts.
Her eyes lit up and she beamed with pleasure when his large, erect penis bounced up to greet her as soon as it was released. Squatting to examine it closely, she whispered, ‘Your dick’s even better than I’d hoped. Shaved balls, too. Such pale skin on them and your cock.’ He shivered as she licked his testicles and massaged them as she licked up and down his shaft. ‘Cocks can be so ugly sometimes, but yours is an object of beauty. No. Don’t laugh. I mean it. May I deep throat you? It’s a speciality of mine. No gag reflex, you know.’
‘Feel free. Never met a woman who didn’t gag on my dick. I bet you twenty quid you do,’ he said, swapping places with her so he could lean against the wall while she accepted the challenge.
‘Let’s make it interesting. I bet you five hundred pounds I don’t,’ she said.
Andy lost his bet as she knew he would. In her scandalous past, she’d once taken a ten-inch penis down her throat without gagging, so had no problem with Andy’s, much to his surprise.
Over the next six months, Andy repaid the bet in-kind inside the locked storeroom or showers after every aerobics session. She taught him sexual techniques which served Andy well during his marriage to his more inhibited fiancée shortly after he and Eloise terminated their arrangement. Andy was neither the first nor the last of Eloise’s extramarital affairs, but he remained in her top ten.
Chapter 3. Oh, It’s You
Spencer’s increasing clandestine interest in sexual activity with young men and his long hours working at his flagship hotel had long since forced highly-sexed Eloise to seek satisfaction elsewhere. No matter how old she was at the time, her lovers would always mainly be in their mid-twenties and thirties. It never ceased to amaze and delight her how many younger men online were eager to meet older women for sex. Occasionally, she hooked up with men her own age but men older than her were anathema to Eloise. Already got one of those at home, she’d think, deleting messages from any older man.
Circling like sharks who’ve picked up the scent of blood, thousands of predatory young males sniffed around her explicit, brazen dating profile pages uploaded onto the sleaziest dating sites. It thrilled her to be the centre of so much male attention when a steamy sexual encounter was always just a click away. She felt regal, in control of selecting whoever she fancied.
One sunny morning in July 2009 perfectly illustrates how quick and easy it was for Eloise to find sex with a stranger. As usual, Spencer was at work at the hotel and Beth was at sixth-form college, so Eloise was free to go out and play for a few hours. The tanned blonde beauty felt bored and restless as she lounged by the pool listening to an audiobook. Try as she might, she couldn’t concentrate on the narrator’s words. Heat always made her horny, so she padded barefoot into the house. Once in the marital bedroom, a long session with her electric wand massager pressed hard to her clitoris only made her more aroused. Firing up her laptop, she logged into her favourite hook-up site which professed to be for serious dating, but most people used it to sniff out casual sex.
A long string of messages waited for her to open them. After deleting most of them, one young stud’s photo and message caught her eye. ‘Your photos are spectacular. You’re so hot. We live in the same town. Can I come to yours and make you come on my tongue?’
Harry expected her to rebuff him as most women he’d talked to played hard to get and wasted his time, but the woman with a fabulous body and no face replied, ‘Let’s chat on the phone. I only have a few hours free for a hook-up.’
After examining his explicit profile photos, she had a brief chat on the phone where she discovered he was only ten minutes’ drive away. Harry was on his phone’s dating app inside a café, so he paid for his coffee and bacon roll and exited the café so he could talk more privately on the phone to her.
His Scottish accent melted Eloise. She decided the tall, dark-haired fireman was well worth meeting although doubted he really was a fireman as so many men lied about being one on their profiles. She’d had sex with more than six alleged firemen but doubted half of them had told the truth on their profiles.
‘Sorry. You can’t come to mine. I’m married,’ she said. ‘If you fancy meeting at the picnic table in Snaresway Woods, I’d be up for it. It’s near the entrance to the woods.’
‘I was after a fuck more than a picnic, love,’ said Harry in his deep Glaswegian burr.
‘It’s just somewhere for us to meet. We’ll get down and dirty when we go deeper into the woods. Be warned. If you don’t look like your piccies, I’ll be off.’
‘I haven’t even seen your face, so the same goes for me,’ said Harry. ‘For all I know, your piccies might be fake. If you’re a minger, I’ll leg it.’
‘You won’t be disappointed. I guarantee it,’ she said.
‘Your sexy French accent has made me hard, love,’ said Harry, whose accent had worked its magic on Eloise. ‘See you at the picnic table. I know where you mean.’
Eloise pulled a skimpy sundress over her silver bikini, sprayed her wrists and cleavage in Channel No 5, grabbed a chilled bottle of water from the fridge and placed it and a vibrator in her shoulder bag. After rushing to the six-car garage, she jumped into her second-hand blue Vauxhall Astra that she used to hide her wealth when on secret trysts, and roared towards Snaresway Woods.
Within half an hour of chatting online to him for the first time, Harry was slipping his twenty-seven-year-old erection into her forty-year-old vagina. She never bothered to ask him for his surname. It was irrelevant.
Eloise took great care to keep her face well-hidden in her dating profile photographs. When any man she fancied gained her confidence enough for her to deign to Skype with them, they were always surprised and highly impressed when she revealed her beautiful face to them as well as her pornstar breasts and designer vagina. It was rare for a person to be more desirable when they video chatted than they were in their profile photographs.
The constantly dissatisfied, bored housewife performed like a veritable gymnast and purveyor of filth as her young entourage ogled her triple-X-rated performances on their laptops. She’d lost count of how many penises had spouted semen as a guaranteed reaction to her sex shows, but it ran into several hundred over the years.
Eloise sucked up their adoration like a sponge. Constant reconfirmation of her desirability was addictive and easy to obtain. The more outrageous she was, the more the men liked it. There was an unspoken understanding between her and the men. It was understood that their relationship would consist solely of casual, meaningless sex, so she never had to act like a woman they’d take home for their mother’s approval.
Years of sexless marriage to Spencer had made her feel less than a woman, so she justified her outrageous behaviour by blaming her husband. Their mutual indifference led to them being less aware of their spouse’s extramarital adventures, which suited them both perfectly. They never flaunted their affairs to their spouse and did their utmost to keep it from them as neither was sure how they would react if the truth came out. For different reasons, it suited them to stay married, so a degree of discretion was called for. Keeping all their extra-marital dalliances added spice to their jaded lives.
Having separate bedrooms with locks allowed them to carry on secret lives. Spencer had even had sex with Declan on the marital bed on several occasions when he was sure the house was empty. To avoid suspicion, he’d also bought the same aftershave used by the Irishman.
One September evening in 2018, Eloise was lying naked on her bed in her locked bedroom. Beth and Spencer were so self-absorbed and busy with their own lives, they believed she was probably watching her favourite television programmes upstairs or gossiping on the phone to one of her female friends. They’d have been appalled to discover she was Skyping on her laptop with a dangerous-looking ginger chef called Dan. Only twenty-four, Dan was half Eloise’s age, which bothered neither of them. His accent was northern as he’d moved from Manchester down to Essex four years previously. He’d recently lost his job as a chef and was receiving state’s benefits.
Mrs Storm had no intention of meeting Dan. Although he was handsome, his surroundings looked squalid and there was a whiff of danger about him, so she only tolerated him for filthy online fun. He’d often badgered her to hook up with him in the flesh but she’d politely refused. She was used to such harassment from the hordes of online men and had always been in control of what happened.
Eloise was chasing her third orgasm courtesy of her powerful purple vibrator. Watching intently at the close-up of her spread vulva, Dan urged her on as he sprawled masturbating on his bed. When she turned her naked buttocks towards her laptop’s screen and fingered her rectum, Dan exploded onto his belly. Wiping off his semen with a tissue, he said ‘Thanks for that, Mrs Storm. Spencer’s a lucky man.’
Eloise froze. Feeling sick, she stuttered, ‘How… How do you know my name? We’ve never met in the real world, have we?’
‘Don’t you remember me? I know you and your husband very well. Your pig of a husband fired me from my sous chef job at his hotel six months ago. Not surprised you don’t recognise me. Men like me don’t exist in your swanky world. I certainly recognise you, though. Hey, why are you covering your pussy? Show it to me again.’
With her mind reeling from the bombshell he’d dropped on her, Eloise said, ‘Never met you before. First time I ever saw you was when you messaged me on Fuckbook.’
Dan laughed. ‘Well, you certainly gave me a semi when you visited your husband at the hotel last year. When you came looking for him in the kitchen, I was prepping vegetables. You looked so fuckable in a low-cut, short, black number, high heels and all that blonde hair… Hey, I told you to show me your pussy. Spread those sexy long legs and push the laptop closer to your clit. Show me your clit, bitch.’
‘I don’t remember seeing you. Sorry,’ she said, reluctantly opening her thighs, hoping to appease him.
‘Dare say you were on your way to shag some guy. Wank your clit… Harder, slut. You’re always bragging to me about how many men you’ve banged. As a sous chef, I was probably too lowly a being for you to pay any attention to me in the real world.’ Seeing her close her legs again and reach out to terminate the session, he shouted, ‘Stop! Before you freak out and log offline, you’d better listen to me. Keep rubbing your clit.’
The menace in his voice made her change her mind about fleeing. Rubbing frantically, she said, ‘Go on then. Speak. I must check on my daughter. This was only supposed to be a short session with you.’
‘I’ll tell you when you can go. Haven’t finished talking to you yet,’ said Dan in a chilling tone.
‘Sorry,’ she said, worried by how dramatically the dynamics of their relationship had shifted.
‘I’ve recorded this Skype session and all our others,’ he said. ‘What would your husband and daughter say if I showed them you naked and fingering your arse, or spreadeagled on the bed coming on your vibrator? Look at you. What a whore.’
Eloise gasped for breath as her climax rippled through her. ‘So, you’re blackmailing me, are you? How much money are you after?’
‘I’m not after money. Want total control of your body,’ he said. ‘Come to my flat tomorrow morning at ten. Wear the dress you wore when you visited the kitchen and your highest heels. I’ve seen you on here in a peephole corset and crotchless thong, so wear them with black stockings. We’ll do everything you said you’d do to me during today’s session, and more. It’s a long list, so you’ll be at mine for at least two hours.’
‘But, I’ve arranged to have lunch with my friend, Clementine.’
Dan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Fuck sodding Clementine! Cancel the bitch. You’ll be too knackered and looking the worse for wear after I’ve finished with you. I’ve not had sex in over six months. Would Clementine be up for a threesome?’
‘Mon Dieu. Non.’
Her heart thudded in her chest, but Eloise knew Dan could have asked for more than he’d demanded. She’d have paid thousands of pounds to silence him. When Dan said, ‘You’ll come to my house at ten each weekday morning until I tire of you,’ she felt sick with anxiety.
‘Can we make it eleven o’clock? I’m not an early riser,’ she said, hoping to regain some control of the disturbing situation.
‘No, bitch. You’ll be at mine at ten in full makeup, wearing your sluttiest lingerie and highest heels. Make sure to bring all the sex toys I’ve watched you use, especially that long, purple, double-ended dildo and your electric wand vibrator. You’ll leave them at mine as you’ll be needing them here each day. I’ll text my address to your mobile.’
Watching him tap out his address on his phone, she thought, Wish I’d never given bloody Dan any of my time. What was I thinking to even talk to such a lowlife? I was an idiot to have phone sex with him because now he has my phone number to harass me. If I don’t do as he says, he’ll show Spencer what I’ve been doing. Couldn’t face Beth finding out her mother’s a slut. Dan’s videos would prove what a filthy bitch on heat I am.
Normally, Eloise would be excited by the prospect of having illicit sex with a young stud, but, until that evening, she’d always called the shots. Dan had made it clear he’d be in total command the next morning. The thought of him bossing her around and making sexual demands brought her out in a nervous sweat. One reason she hadn’t agreed to meet him before was he’d often displayed a cruel streak. His manner was uncouth and verbally abusive, which was fine when he was confined to a laptop screen, but it’d be entirely different if—no, when—Dan was in her personal space.
His foul language had been a turn-on when they were egging each other on to climax online, but she didn’t want to hear it face to face. From what she could see on the laptop’s screen, Dan’s bedroom looked rundown and dirty. He was unemployed, and the wealthy ex-model had always made it a rule never to jump the bones of anyone on benefits.
Once he’d logged off, Eloise prepared for the morning with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner on death row due for execution. She selected her most provocative purple peephole corset and matching crotchless thong to wear with the figure-hugging, lowcut black dress Dan had demanded. Her ensemble would be set off with sheer black stockings and her highest strappy heels.
Pulling out a holdall from her vast walk-in closet, she packed it with a wide range of sex toys. It’s too risky to ask Declan to drive me to Dan’s place but I can’t face hiring a cab and there’s no way I’d take public transport. Haven’t been on a bus for decades. I’ll tell Declan to drop me off nearby.
Knowing her brain would race all night, Eloise swallowed a couple of sleeping tablets before setting her alarm for eight a.m. Her bed was normally her sanctuary but that night it was her torture chamber. Despite the pills, she tossed and turned in a hot sweat for a couple of hours before the tablets won and she fell into a fitful sleep.
Her slumber was rudely interrupted by her alarm clock. She groaned under the duvet and broke into another sweat as she remembered what would be happening to her in the next few hours at Dan’s flat. Down the corridor, she heard Spencer getting ready for a new day. They no longer shared a bedroom after objecting to his loud snoring, caused by his weight, drinking too much alcohol in the evenings, and a botched cosmetic nose job. Luckily for Eloise, he didn’t need Declan to drive him anywhere that morning because a classic car dealer was coming to the house to value Spencer’s classic car collection for insurance purposes.
When Eloise booked Declan to drop her off a few streets from Dan’s house, he thought, Thank God I won’t have to endure Spencer’s sexual abuse at the hotel today. Little did he know he’d soon be driving Mrs Storm to the scene of her own sexual abuse.
As the Daimler purred towards the seediest part of Brentwood, Eloise thought, It’s only sex. Dan’s vile, but I can do this, but she knew she was whistling in the wind. Everything about the young man was threatening and unpredictable. She kicked herself for getting into such a nightmarish situation.
Watching the normally composed blonde beauty in his rearview mirror, Declan was puzzled by her nervous, distracted behaviour. He’d never taken Eloise anywhere as rundown as the depressing, low-value housing area she’d told him to drive to. It wasn’t anywhere a person would want to find themselves at night. Morning, too, for that matter.
‘Do you want me to park here and wait for you, Mrs Storm?’ said Declan, opening her door so she could exit the car.
‘Yes. I hope to return here by noon,’ she said, fiddling with her hair and visibly shaking.
‘Are you okay, Mrs Storm?’ he said. ‘You don’t look at all well.’
She wanted to vomit with nerves, but lied and said, ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
Climbing back into the driver’s seat, he watched Eloise teeter on her ludicrously high heels up the litter-strewn pavement, and thought, Why’s she walking so far up the road? She’s taken a turning. Why didn’t she ask me to drop her at the address of wherever she’s going? I’ll follow her to make sure she’s okay.
He locked the car and set off in pursuit along the road that branched off in several directions. Despite her impractical footwear, she’d disappeared down one of the side roads by the time he’d started to track her. He headed back to the car and pushed his cap over his eyes to take a nap.