The Lover's Children novel Chapter 113

MICHAEL

In the basement, candles lit, fire glowing, we assemble around the four-poster bed. Beth and Charlotte both wear light robes, covering whatever they have underneath.

Noticeably, Beth is barefoot, her make-up lightly applied. Charlotte wears boots. Dagger-heeled, they put her at eye-level with me and four inches above her cousin. Her lips are painted fuck-me scarlet and she’s shaded her eyes dark around their vivid green irises.

James stands behind Charlotte, hands resting at her waist. I stand behind Beth. Both women face Richard. His eyes dart between the pair. He knows something’s going on, but hasn’t yet divined what.

Reaching around, I unravel Beth’s belt, letting the robe fall open, then slip it from her shoulders. His eyes soften at the sight of his lovely wife: naked, head lowered, hands clasped, her long hair swinging loose. The perfect submissive.

James loops an arm around Charlotte’s waist and kisses into the crook of her neck, whispering something into her ear. Richard watches, transfixed, as he tugs the belt away, slides the wrap free, then stands back a couple of paces, eyes creasing.

Holy Fuck…

James cants his head as he takes in what his ‘sub’ has chosen to wear for the evening. Richard’s face goes slack.

Charlotte is not naked, and whatever she paid for the outfit, it was worth every penny.

The boots, a fine, soft, black leather, thigh-high, match the top. Not quite a vest, not quite a corset, it hugs her figure. Pinching in her waist, it mounds her breasts and deepens her cleavage. Silver buckles hold the front tightly closed…

That’ll give James itchy fingers…

Her waist is tightly belted in, the ‘belt’ supporting a series of leather straps, barely clearing her crotch and, while giving the effect of a skirt, allowing her more freedom to move than a skirt would. As she moves, from the flash of fire at her loins, I’d say she’s not wearing anything under there.

“Happy Birthday, Richard,” I say. “I’d say it’s going to be a good one.”

He blinks, shifting his gaze to his naked wife and sub. “Elizabeth?”

Her eyes twinkle. “Happy Birthday, Master.”

Richard's brow knits. “So what...?”

But Beth is still speaking.

“For my birthday, Master, you gave me Michael. Now, I'm giving you Charlotte. Or to be precise, me and Charlotte together.”

I've seldom seen Richard with the wind out of his sails.

“But, James and Michael...”

James sucks in his cheeks. “Oh, we're along for the ride, should you decide you need assistance.” He strolls to the side table, pulls out a chair. “Michael, red wine or white?”

“What are you serving with it?”

“I set out the cheeseboard and some crackers.”

“Oh, it’s got to be red then. Rioja?”

“Absolutely.”

Beth stands to one side, head demurely lowered. Nonetheless, behind a curtain of hair, a smile lurks.

No, a grin…

Richard darts glances between the two women like a man hunted. “Charlotte?”

She swaggers up close, hips swinging, chin raised. “Happy birthday, Richard.” There is nothing of the submissive about her. Her face almost level with the Dom, she meets him eye-to-eye. “Beth asked me to help in giving you your birthday present.”

“Charlotte, I’m not sure…”

But she’s already unravelling his tie.

Beth’s grin is wicked.

A little bit of revenge?

For introducing her to Michael the way he did?

Richard’s not quite backing away. On the other hand, with the wall right behind him, where’s he going to go?

The tie falls loose, then slides out from under the collar as Charlotte eases it free. She holds it across her hands, the ends dangling. “Beth did wonder if you might enjoy a complete role reversal.”

Richard’s jaw drops…

“… but I told her I thought that would be too much for you, even for a special occasion.”

Charlotte’s grinning too, and there’s a sparkle in her eye that’s been missing the last few weeks.

Beth’s instinct was good…

This is what she needed…

Plain, good old-fashioned fun…

Richard casts a helpless look my way.

“Don’t look to me for help,” I chuckle. “You’ve dropped a surprise on me more than once. It’s your turn.”

Charlotte works on his shirt buttons, flipping them open one by one as she works down from the neck, over ribs and belly. The shirt falls open and she strokes over skin and a scatter of iron-grey hair. “You’re a good-looking man, you know, Richard. Very appealing.”

Her fingers trace the line of his breastbone, slide down over belly and navel, then follow the narrowing line of hair which vanishes under his belt.