CHAPTER ONE: BREAKING MARY

Rolling over in bed, Jeff Urqhart put his hand on his wife's nightgown-clad hip and slid it slowly up along her side and around to her belly. He could feel the warmth of her soft skin radiating through the thick flannel as his hand travelled up towards her breasts, and his cock swelled even more in his shorts. It had been well over a week since the last time they'd had sex, and Jeff was starting to believe he would explode soon. He wormed his way closer to Mary under the duvet, until his hard cock pressed against the crack of her firm arse.

Jeff's hopes for the night were brutally shattered (again) as his wife gave an irritated shrug of her shoulders and pressed her right arm hard against her side, trapping Jeff's exploring hand before it could touch the swell of her breasts. Oh, stop it, Jeff, Mary said, more than a hint of exasperation in her voice.

Frustration welled up in Jeff's throat. Frustration had long been a staple part of his emotional diet, but in the past few months it had become tinged with increasing amounts of anger. For Christ's sake, Mary! he choked out.

Mary must have noticed something in his voice, for she released his hand and rolled over to face him. Jeff found himself staring into his wife's face from a few centimetres away, and as always he felt most of his rage evaporate at the sight of the woman he loved.

Mary Urqhart was 167 cm tall when standing up, with firm B-cup breasts, round, feminine hips and a firm, shapely butt that made men's heads turn when she walked by. She was one-quarter Vietnamese, which showed in her long, straight black hair and slightly slanted almond-shaped eyes, giving her a faintly exotic look. She was second-generation Londoner, though, born and raised.

I'm sorry, Jeff, but I just don't feel like it tonight, she said in a placating voice.

You never feel like it; that's the problem, Jeff said in disgust.

It was true, he reflected. In the first few months after their wedding 4 years ago, he was sure Mary had enjoyed sex as much as he had. While she'd always been shy and disinclined to experiment, Jeff hadn't worried, thinking he could get her to come out of her shell over time. Instead the opposite had been the case. Sex had become a less and less frequent occurrence, with Mary eventually starting to wear thick flannel nightgowns to bed more suited to a 70-year old maiden aunt. Jeff had to tease and cajole his lovely wife into having sex with him, and on the few nights where she acquiesced, she would usually just roll onto her back and pull her nightgown up over her hips. They would be under the covers, with the lights off, and while Mary would be making encouraging little noises in her throat, Jeff doubted that she took much pleasure in their lovemaking.

In his defence it should be said that Jeff had tried everything he could think of. He'd arranged romantic dinners and tender seductions, and tried many different ways to please his wife in bed. He'd tried going down on her many times, but the mere idea of having him use his mouth on her pussy seemed to shock and repulse Mary. Likewise, she'd never allowed him inside her mouth. A while back Jeff had wondered if she was cheating on him. He'd asked her flat out, and she'd been sincerely stunned to hear that he thought so. He'd even hired a private investigator to follow her around for a month, but there was nothing even remotely resembling an affair with a man or a woman. Jeff had, over time, simply come to believe his wife was becoming frigid.

Jeff had thought about leaving, but quickly dismissed the idea. Apart from the sex life, or rather the lack of one, their marriage was perfect. Mary was warm and caring, intelligent and funny, and they got along fantastically. He'd also thought about having an affair, and in the most secret corners of his mind, decided that if the chance presented itself, he would probably take it. He would not, however, actively seek out a mistress; that would taste too much like betrayal.

Maybe tomorrow, Mary whispered and touched his cheek tenderly.

Yeah, maybe, he sighed. Jeff knew that meant that tomorrow night Mary would let him climb on top of her and satisfy himself with her compliant but passive body, and then kiss him softly and go to sleep. The thought made him vaguely nauseous, and he felt his cock deflate in his shorts. It shouldn't have to be this way, he thought morosely. There must be something that can be done. Despondently, he rolled over on his back. Sleep was a long time coming.

# # #

Looking up from the slip of paper in his hand, Jeff regarded the stately old Victorian house in front of him. Located on the western fringe of London proper, it towered in exalted majesty in the middle of a large garden filled with neatly trimmed bushes, decorative flowerbeds and gravel paths, all surrounded by a tall hedge. This must be it, Jeff thought and opened the black iron gate.

His footsteps crunching on the gravel, he walked from the gat up to the impressive front door. A gargoyle head with a heavy doorknocker in its mouth leered at him from the door, but Jeff also noticed a discrete modern doorbell button. Pressing it, he heard a faint chime from somewhere deep inside.

He waited nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and took a deep, calming breath when he heard the door being unlocked from inside. When it swung open, Jeff stared in awe at the woman across the threshold. And she was indeed something to stare at.

The woman standing in the doorway was tall, probably around 180 cm. She had thick, blonde hair that hung straight down her back, and icy blue eyes that looked both challenging and appraising at the same time. She had a small, straight nose, high cheekbones and sensuous lips. She was slender in an athletic sort of way, with large breasts and long legs. The woman radiated authority and strength, along with a cool and aloof sophistication that combined to give her the appearance of a pagan ice queen of ancient times, cold and perfect, far above the touch of mere mortals. Her clothes should have spoiled this image, but somehow served to reinforce it instead. She was dressed in an ankle-length dress of cool blue leather, accentuating her hips and big, firm breasts, while leaving exposed both arms and shoulders and one long leg.

Realising that he was standing there gaping like a fool, Jeff tried to get his mouth to work again. The blonde woman, however, salvaged the potentially awkward situation by speaking first. You must be Mr. Urqhart, she said, her accent one of excellent breeding and expensive boarding schools.

Uh, well, yes, yes I am, Jeff stuttered.

The woman smiled, a smile that somehow conveyed glacial coolness and warm invite at the same time. Why don't you come inside, she offered, stepping aside. Jeff stepped through the open door, resisting the urge to shake his head violently to clear it.

With the door shut and locked behind him, the woman gestured for Jeff to follow her, then turned around and led the way deeper into the house. The hall just inside the front door was large and spacious, with black-and-white tiles on the floor and a magnificent staircase leading up to the first floor. As they walked, Jeff got a vague impression of passing through rooms with oak-panelled walls with paintings and wall lamps with dark fabric screens, and carpeted floors, but his attention was firmly fixed on the woman walking in front of him. The blue leather dress fit snugly over her swaying hips, leaving Jeff a fantastic view of her leather-clad arse that gave him a raging hard-on. Her arms and shoulders were subtly muscled, as was the leg occasionally showing through the slit in her dress. Her skin was smooth, pale alabaster, and her naturally pale blonde hair hung nearly to the small of her back. She was wearing some sort of leather ankle boots with high heels, also blue, and the heels made hard, thumping noises with unwavering rhythm as they waked across the carpets.

They emerged in a sitting room somewhere in the back of the house, Jeff estimated, the whole room decorated and furnished in a Victorian style that matched the façade of the house. His hostess indicated that he should sit on a sofa, and Jeff obeyed, while she took a seat in a straight-backed chair across from him.

Jeff searched desperately for something to say, but again his hostess saved him. I understand you were referred to me by Arthur Wexfield, she said, not making it a question.

Uh, yes, that's right, Ms., eh