A Pre Nuptial Agreement.
I couldn’t believe my luck when Miranda agreed to marry me. I’d known her for a while but, generally, I’d only been able to admire her from afar. We’d originally met at a Women’s Institute fête my mother had helped organise; mother had dragged me along as my father had got the flu. Her friend and co-organiser had managed to rope in her daughter to help and she arrived with Miranda in tow. They put us together on a stall selling tea and coffee and we seemed to click, laughing and joking and chatting easily. Unfortunately, we only spent a few hours together before Miranda’s boyfriend turned up. He was quite athletic in build and had a sullen, disinterested look. I took an instant dislike to him, especially when Miranda introduced me; he gave me a cursory look and nodded as though I wasn’t worth the breath of a ‘hello’. Miranda dropped everything, made her excuses and left. I remember her mother watching Miranda walk off with him and saying to my mother, ‘He’s the latest, I wish she could find someone decent.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said mother, ‘she’s young, she’ll find someone,’ and she shot me a wistful glance.
I remember feeling a dull sense of disappointment as I watched Miranda walk off with her morose boyfriend. I fell in love with her that day; her looks were captivating, her personality bewitching. She was very special.
I saw Miranda several times during the next two years and each time we got on famously. Our rare meetings were enough to keep me smitten. She became a sort of fetish, she was never far from my mind.
Then an opportunity arose. My mother mentioned, as an aside to some other conversation, that Miranda had moved back home, temporarily. Her relationship had broken up and she’d had to sell the jointly owned flat.
‘Poor Miranda, as well as all that she’s being made redundant, her firm’s going to the wall, she does seem to pick them.’
At first, I couldn’t quite get my head around why anybody would want to break up with Miranda, but I didn’t dwell on this, I was far more excited by the prospect of her availability.
As luck would have it, we needed a temp at my firm. I run an estate agents, and, if I say so myself, it’s very successful, largely because my partner, Charles, and I work bloody hard. We have several branches and employ several secretaries to handle the various appointments and enquiries. One of our secretaries was due to go on maternity leave and we hadn’t yet bothered to get a replacement.
‘She could always come and work for us,’ I said, casually, and I explained the situation at work. ‘I couldn’t promise anything permanent but it might tide her over.’
‘Oh George, do you mean it?’
Mother got straight on the phone to Miranda’s mother. They called me a knight in shining armour; but it wasn’t chivalry that prompted the job offer, my motives were more self serving. Miranda’s gratitude would do me credit. If she took the job she would be able to observe me in my working environment, as the boss, which would give me the chance to demonstrate other characteristics which I hadn’t yet had the opportunity to display. Also, by having Miranda close each day, I could work on a plan to develop our relationship on a more intimate basis. I know I’m not exceptional in the physical department but I felt confident that my personality and economic situation would more than make up for any shortfall in that area.
I’ve always enjoyed work but from the moment Miranda started it became a pleasure. I tried desperately to impress her, as did Charles. I’d made him aware that Miranda had just come out of a painful relationship and, give him his due, he was very respectful and gentlemanly, although he couldn’t resist some of his playful quips from time to time. Charles is a bit of a ladies’ man but his relationships rarely last. He can be a bit arrogant and he does think he’s God’s gift, but he can also be very charming and attentive. I suspect he was of a similar mould to some of Miranda’s previous boyfriends which is why Miranda didn’t appear to be taken in by his charms.
I didn’t pay Miranda too much attention at first, just the odd chat over a coffee to check that she was settling in okay. Then, when she’d been with us for a couple of weeks, I casually invited her for ‘a quick drink’ after work. We got on terrifically and after a couple of drinks our conversation drifted from work and she opened up a little, became a little more personal; she began to confide in me. She told me about her previous relationships which generally ended disastrously and she mused about her inability to find the right man.
‘Why can’t men be as nice as you?’
I felt bolstered by this compliment and took it as a green light. We formed a connection and after several more Friday evening drinks we began to see each other at weekends. I’d go shopping with her and I must say I enjoyed giving my opinion and helping her choose clothes and make up. After several months we became physically intimate, a development in the relationship which blew me away.
We tended to make love about once a week. It never took long. I was so fired up by her physical beauty that I could rarely contain myself for more than a few minutes. We used to laugh about her effect on me but she said she was satisfied and I believed her. I couldn’t have been happier. Not long after that I summoned the courage and proposed.
‘Are you sure you really know me that well, George? After all, we’ve only really known each other for a few months, I can be a real bitch at times and I like to get my own way. Are you sure you can put up with me?’
She was smiling but she seemed quite serious. I had seen flashes of a hot temper, but these occasions were infrequent and I was always able to placate her. I assured her that I’d never been happier and I was elated when she accepted my proposal. The following few months were blissful as we planned and prepared for the wedding.
It was about a month ago that the shock came. It was a Saturday. I usually work on Saturdays, it’s one of our busiest days. Unusually, two successive appointments were cancelled from midday so I decided to surprise Miranda and take her out for lunch. Charles was already out on an appointment so I just let the secretary know and made my way over to Miranda’s flat. En route, I stopped to buy some flowers. It’s difficult to find a parking space in Miranda’s road but I was lucky enough to find a spot about fifty yards from her flat. Having manoeuvred and parked I began to open the car door when I saw Charles leaving the block of flats where she lived. I felt a lurch in my stomach as I watched him stride jauntily to his car and drive off. Did he have an appointment in the flats? Was he seeing Miranda for some innocent reason? I got out of the car, left the flowers on the back seat, went up to her flat and knocked, nervously, on her door. She answered, smiling, but her face dropped when she saw me and she looked flustered.
‘George, darling, what a pleasant surprise, I thought you were at work.’
‘I was,’ I said, ‘but a couple of appointments were cancelled and I thought I’d surprise you and take you to lunch.’
She was dressed in a red, three quarter length, silk chemise which she self consciously tightened around herself.
‘To tell you the truth I’ve only just got up, I’ve not been feeling well, I think I’m coming down with something.’
‘Oh my goodness, you poor thing,’ I said, feigning sympathy. ‘Come on, get yourself back to bed.’
She began to protest but I waved my hand. ‘Nonsense,’ I said, as I led the way to the bedroom, ‘let’s get you settled in bed and I’ll go and get you some paracetamol.’ I walked into the bedroom and feelings of anger and jealousy overwhelmed me. The duvet had been thrown from the bed (‘I was so hot last night I kicked it off’), and on the floor I noticed panties, suspenders, stockings and high heels (‘I was trying them on as a surprise but felt too ill to put them away’!).
‘You fucking two-timing bitch,’ I heard myself shouting, ‘you fucking whore. I know what’s been going on, you’ve been shagging Charles haven’t you?’
I expected my fiery accusations to meet with protestations of innocence.
Miranda sat calmly on the bed and said, ‘I’m sorry, George, but I told you I was a bitch didn’t I?’
I was flummoxed. My anger left me and was replaced by a sort of foreboding. I was suddenly frightened that I was going to lose her.
‘But why, darling, why?’ I said, unable to hide the sound of a whine in my voice.
She just shrugged her shoulders.
‘I just love sex, I love fucking. I have a very healthy sex drive, George, and I’m afraid, as much as I love you, you cant fulfill it.’
I was stunned.
‘So why the deceit? Why go out with me?’
‘Because I love you George. You are kind and nice and stable and good company but you just don’t do it for me sexually.’
‘But why Charles?’
‘He knows what buttons to press.’
‘But he’s my partner for God’s sake, and he’s an arrogant sod.’
‘Perhaps that’s part of it.’
She raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes in an expression of exasperation. ‘George, when you make love to me it only lasts for a few minutes …’
‘That’s because you’re such a turn on,’ I said, defensively.
‘Yes, but it does nothing for me. It’s not fair,’ she said, a little sulkily, ‘I need to be fucked properly.’
Fucked properly! I’d never heard her talk like such a slut. Shamefully, I began to feel rather aroused.
‘Then how would you like to be fucked properly?’ I asked, aware that the intended tone of anger and sarcasm actually sounded petulant and curious.
Miranda came over, sat beside me and took one of my hands. She held it between hers.
‘George, darling, did you know you have a rather small cock?’
I pulled my hand away. I felt as though I’d been punched in the balls. I did have an inkling but my few sexual partners had had the decency to conceal the fact from me. I was silent.
‘Well, did you?’ she pressed, without a smidgeon of sensitivity.
Again, the tone of my response was inappropriate, it should have been angry and indignant.
‘Yes,’ I said, meekly and apologetically.
Then she punched me in the balls again.
‘And when you make love, darling, you sort of chug along on me, which is pleasant … for a while.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘You’re a bit like Thomas the Tank Engine, you have a sort of plodding enthusiasm which is commendable but a little dull.’
Plodding fucking enthusiasm! I felt a mixture of outrage and shame but was now too shocked to vocalize my feelings. I felt as though I’d been emotionally raped.
‘There’s not much more I can say darling, every relationship has its shortfalls, its weak areas, we’re lucky in that we have so few.’
Fuck me, I could not believe it. She was treating my lack of sexual prowess as though it was some kind of domestic irritation like leaving the toilet seat up or not picking clothes off the floor.
She took hold of my hand again and adopted a look of wearied confusion.
‘But why spoil such a marvellous relationship by reacting in such a silly way? You’re behaving like a spoilt child who won’t give any sweets away from a big bag even though he can’t eat them all himself ‘
‘What kind of fucking analogy is that!’
‘Oh, you know what I mean darling.’
I was flabbergasted by her mendacity, her casual attitude, her cold reasoning and by her slur on my masculinity. I was also confused by my physical arousal. I needed time to think. My arousal increased as images of Miranda enjoying other men fogged my mind.
I stood up, thankful, at least on this occasion, that my erection was unlikely to be visible. ‘Miranda, I’m shocked and hurt. I don’t think I can handle this, I’m going to have to think our situation over very carefully.’
My weak attempt to be assertive sounded rather pathetic.
Miranda held on to my hand.
‘Darling, I do love you and I don’t want our relationship to fail, but I just need that extra bit on the physical side and then things would be perfect. Do you understand?’
‘No, I don’t think I do. I need to think.’
I recognised the subtle ultimatum. She was giving me a simple choice. Accept her terms or we wouldn’t last. She could live without me, she would never have a shortage of admirers, but what would I do without her? End up, at the best, marrying some dowdy old frump who looked on sex as a chore. I wanted to take her there and then she looked gorgeous. All in all I was feeling quite sorry for myself.
I left her flat, called the office, cancelled the rest of my appointments and went home. I spent the rest of the day and the whole of Sunday mulling over the situation. Oddly enough, the initial hurt regarding her sexual infidelity I got over quite quickly. My main focus there was the humiliation of having been cuckolded by my business partner and friend. But I found the idea of Miranda being taken by another man sexually stimulating and the fact that I could clearly visualise Charles copulating with her increased that stimulation. I often fantasised about Miranda having torrid sex with her previous partners. Our sex life, admittedly, was very tame. I don’t really have the type of personality to indulge in bodice ripping sex, it probably has something to do with my upbringing. And I’ve always found Miranda’s beauty a little intimidating. I’ve never felt I could treat her in anything other than a chivalrous fashion, it’s what she expects of me. I became quite fired up with the idea of Miranda being sexually fulfilled by other men.
I called her late on the Sunday afternoon.
‘I need to talk to you, can I come round?’
‘Of course, darling, I’ve missed you so much.’
I was a little surprised, there was no note of contrition in her voice, just a welcoming tone as though I’d been on holiday.
When she opened the door I was struck, as ever, by how gorgeous she was and all my prepared speeches and arguments fell out of my head. She took hold of my hand and led me through to her sitting room. I sat down on the sofa whilst she disappeared to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of chilled wine. She settled down next to me.
‘Well,’ she said, vivaciously, ‘had any thoughts?’
God I’d missed her. I began talking and didn’t stop. I was entirely honest with her. I told her how I loved her, how I was afraid of losing her, how I was hurt by her deception. I admitted how I was turned on by the idea of her acting with sexual abandonment, being sluttish and greedy for sex. I was honest about my fantasies and she listened attentively; smiling, raising her eyebrows appreciatively, nodding encouragingly. By the time I’d finished, I felt strangely unburdened as though I’d confessed to a priest or a psychiatrist.
‘I’m so pleased that this has all come out,’ she said, enthusiastically, as though our current situation had arisen entirely as a result of my perverse fantasies. ‘And wouldn’t you like me better if I was sexually fulfilled? And then I could concentrate on pleasuring you without feeling frustrated.’ She was subtly stroking my hand and I could smell the faint tang of her perfume. I’d been aroused since she’d opened the door, now I felt excited.
‘I never really thought of it like that. My pride was hurt and I’m afraid of losing you but the thought of you being serviced by another man really does turn me on, I don’t know why.’
‘Well, does it matter darling? If it turns you on then it’s healthy isn’t it?’
I knew what Miranda wanted. She wanted me to give her the green light to go ahead and enjoy sexual adventures whilst I provided her with a secure and stable domestic platform. She was being quite upfront about it and I had a choice; either embrace that arrangement or lose her. I was in turmoil.
She put her hand on my thigh and giggled.
‘I have an idea.’
She left the room and returned a few minutes later, having changed. She was now wearing the red, silk chemise she wore when I’d confronted her about Charles. She was also wearing stilettos.
‘I thought I’d demonstrate what Charles did to me, so you can make your mind up about your feelings.’
Again, I was taken aback by the way she was pursuing her agenda, without any subtlety, without any uncertainty. She was full on, throwing the fact of her infidelity, her duplicity, in my face as a kind of challenge. I could have walked out disgusted, but the truth was, I didn’t want to. And Miranda wasn’t particularly bothered by my predicament. She wanted me on her terms but if that was not to be then there were plenty more fish in the sea. But I enjoyed dangling off her hook, I didn’t want anyone else taking my place and this side to her character really excited me. She sat down on the sofa beside me, crossed her legs and leant towards me. The chemise had slipped further up her thigh and the twist of her body accentuated the curve of her hip, the fullness of her thigh, the line of her leg. My mind clouded with lust. She began to stroke my chest and spoke softly in my ear.
‘Do you know that was the first time George has fucked me, but it won’t be the last.’
There it was again, the self assured taunting. I wanted to hear more.
‘I knew we’d end up fucking that first time I saw him, he had such a wicked glint in his eye. It’s been building up for several months. Do you remember last Friday when I left the office with you and Charles?’
I nodded, my breathing heavy.
‘You walked out first, he was behind me. He had his hand on my bottom, it was such a turn on. Then he rang me the other day and said. ‘‘I’ll be round in an hour there’s something I need to do to you.’’ Can you imagine what I felt for the next hour? He didn’t want to speak to me he wanted to do something to me. I spent that next hour getting myself ready to receive him’
The idea of Miranda dressing for sex with another man sent a feeling of sickly lust through me.
‘When he came I answered the door and he almost pushed his way in. He pushed me up against the wall and I felt his delicious, thick tongue filling my mouth. He just took my breath away and I stood, pressed against the wall, my arms hanging around his neck, sucking his tongue as if it was a cock.’
I moaned, the image firing my desire.
‘Do you want to hear more?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Yes, please?’ she teased.
‘Yes, please,’ I corrected.
Her hand moved to my crotch, her voice still breathless and excited in my ear, and she began to stroke the material of my trousers as she resumed her narrative.
‘He pulled the front of my negligee apart and cupped my breasts in his hand and then began to lick my nipples; long, slow licks with the flat of his tongue. Oh George, he has a wonderful tongue, he’s very experienced.’
I felt a stab of envy, but this was subsumed by my arousal.
‘And then he gently bit one of my nipples and ever so gently massaged it between his teeth.’
Her breath was heavy and warm, soothing my ear as her words excited me.
‘I felt his hand slip into my panties and his fingers played with my pussy and my legs nearly gave way as these wonderful feelings in my breasts and pussy spread and met each other and my whole body was just tingling with pleasure.’
She let out a sigh and a rush of breath tickled my ear.
‘And then he scooped me up in his arms and carried me into the bedroom where he threw me on the bed. If you’d seen his face, George, the look of animal lust, you’d know what turns a girl on.’
Her hand was now fiddling with my fly, trying to undo the zip. Then I felt her hand inside my trousers and then her cool, slim fingers curled around my cock and she eased it from my trousers. She began to play with me, running the tip of her forefinger up and down my shaft, her nail gently scraping the skin. She did all this as she carried on with the account of her assignation.
‘Charles undid his belt and pulled his trousers down and I’m not kidding you George, he has a lovely thick cock, it just sprang out as if it was going to attack me.’ She giggled, breathlessly, ‘And of course it did. He grabbed my ankles and pulled me towards him. He knelt on the bed, spread my legs, pulled my panties aside and just plunged into me.’
I felt her grip my cock tightly, as if bracing herself against the remembered assault. And then she began to work her hand up and down its length. I knew I couldn’t contain myself for much longer.
‘After a few strokes he eased my legs over his shoulders so that he could plunge deeper. Oh George, he was relentless and as he pounded into me he massaged my breasts and gently squeezed my nipples …’
The image was raw, stark and vivid and it was then that I lost it. Her hand had been working rhythmically on my cock, whilst her eyes stared searchingly into mine and I gave myself up to her. I came, experiencing an intense orgasm. My hips thrust up from the sofa and my body stretched, rigid and shuddering, whilst Miranda milked me. And when my orgasm was complete she laughed and exclaimed, triumphantly:
‘Wasn’t that fun!’
As my body relaxed and my ardour dissipated I felt a flush of humiliation wash over me. There I sat, semen splashed over my shirt, dishevelled and defeated. I’d given up without a fight. I was hers. She wiped her hand on my shirt and then stroked my head and cooed in my ear:
‘Wasn’t that beautiful? I do love you darling, we’re going to have a great life together.’
Subdued but happy, I relaxed in her arms, comforted in the knowledge that I wasn’t going to lose her.
Since then, Miranda has been true to her word and ensures I get all the sex I can handle, both personally and vicariously. At least we’re open and honest. I know she will stay with me because she’s got what she wants.
The arrangements have been made; the terms and conditions of our marriage have all been tried, tested and agreed. We’re getting married next week. Charles is The Best Man.