Other Men's Wives

I would have liked to go on tupping that one all night but I knew that I was only there to provide a kind of demonstration. So once I had shot my load the show was over for me and I prepared to leave. Vivian was just collapsed in a heap and breathing heavily. I hoped that when I had gone she would give Tim a well deserved thrashing because at one point during the shag I had been tempted to tear the gold bell off his dick and ram it up his arse. He was just hanging loose from his restraints but I could tell from the hatred in his eyes that he was not dead. A white sticky mass was slowly trickling down his left leg (and the bell would need washing), so I knew that he had got something out of the experience. I didn't tell Viv that I was leaving but at the door I paused and gave Tim an exaggerated bow before closing it after me. I didn't hear him applaud.

I have fond memories of another 'home visit' with some similarities to the one described above. At that time I drove a rather neat two-seater sports job with the bucket seats not dissimilar from those in a racing car. It was fine for my image but sod all use as a passion-wagon - giving a simple blow-job could land a woman with permanent back injury. This particular night I had picked up a real doll and was panting to get into her. We went to the only two motels that didn't involve a twenty mile drive but both were full due to a local golf tournament. I also ought to mention that it was pissing down. "There's nothing else for it - I shall just have to take you home with me," Kathy said in the end.

From the way that she said that I felt that this was a last resort, so I asked her if there was any snag. "Only because my husband is at home and he won't be expecting us," she said, and then, before I could voice any objection she went on quickly, "Don't worry. He's quite used to me fucking around and won't cause any trouble."

I accepted this for a moment or two but then something about what she had said started to bother me, so I asked, "If you take other men home with you, why the hell have we been driving round trying to get into motels?"

"I don't take men home - you are the first," she explained. "Harry knows that I'm not faithful to him but he likes to pretend to himself that I still am." I had to grin at this and began to look forward to meeting this husband who was in for a rude awakening.

As Kathy ushered me through the front door of her house a male stepped out of the front room into the hall. "You're back early," he said happily. "I'm...." but the words died in his throat as he saw me.

He was about my height with a mild pleasant face - the kind of guy that you can easily imagine changing the baby, washing the dishes or pushing the trolley in a supermarket. I stepped towards him and stuck out my hand saying breezily, "Hi - you must be Harry. I'm Dave."

By reflex action he shook my hand but his eyes were on his wife. "What's he here for," he asked.

"Don't be silly Harry - you know very well what he's here for," Kathy said firmly. "Now lets all go through, you can pour us a drink and we can all behave in a civilised manner."

Harry grudgingly allowed me into the room but then said obstinately, "This isn't right Kath, I know what you do when you go out but for my own peace of mind I pretend that you have only gone to your sisters. I can't do that if you bring men back here."

"Didn't you agree two years ago that I was entitled to have a decent sized prick up me once a week," she demanded.

"Yes I agreed to that but I didn't agree that it could happen here."

"So, just for you peace of mind you want me to do it in some park, catch my death of cold and risk getting gang raped by a load of rampant black men into the bargain?"

"I didn't say that," he protested.

"Well then - all the motels are full so that leaves nowhere but here." Kathy concluded triumphantly. Harry conceded unhappily and poured three glasses of wine - that isn't my favourite tipple but I said nothing. The three of us sat drinking and going through the motions. He said nothing at all. Several times I found him staring at me but whenever I glanced that way he averted his gaze. Kathy said very little more - however I guessed that the rather smug smile on her face was in the knowledge that she was creating a precedent. I did try to make a modicum of conversation but it was hard making polite small talk with a man whose wife I was eager to hump.

Eventually to my great relief she stood and said, "Time for bed I think," then, to her husband she murmured, "You will have to make do with the settee love. I'll leave you a pillow and some blankets at the top of the stairs."

Very eagerly I went with Kathy out of the room, rather miffed to find her husband tagging along behind. Then suddenly at the bottom of the stairs Harry reversed his previous position by blurting out, "Can I watch?"

Kathy gave a rather forced laugh and said, "Don't be silly - men don't like having a spectator when they are doing what we intend to do."

"He can watch as far as I am concerned," I offered. "I know that I've got nothing to be ashamed of." This tipped the balance because she nodded permission for him to accompany us upstairs.

So as a threesome we trooped into the bedroom but once there Kathy had second thoughts stating that although Harry had permission to stay in the bedroom, she wasn't happy to have him see her having sex with me. "You can lie on the floor at the bottom of the bed," she stipulated, "I don't mind you listening but you mustn't watch."

Kathy and I stripped off and got to it, performing our carnal dance on top of the covers and with the benefit of full illumination. It was a long session because she was insatiable - I try to tell myself that this was due to my personal magnetism but objectively have to concede that, allowed only one good shag a week, she was probably equally eager with all her other pick-ups. Throughout the three hours of fucking and other sexual activity I kept constantly glimpsing a pair of tormented eyes peering furtively over the bottom of the bed and this provided the extra spice that I so enjoy. Eventually we reached a point where, frankly getting weary, I decided that I should aim for a grandstand finale. With this in mind I started to play her like a musical instrument, pulling all the tricks I know, gradually building her up and up and up. When her climax came it was a lulu. Now I doubt if poor Harry had ever heard her cum but if he had it was certainly not of this magnitude. Her thrashing and squeals and lewd pleas that I should 'fill her to the brim with my spunk' drew poor hubby's head above the parapet out of sheer curiosity and once exposed I caught his eye and held it. For a long moment I read his agony and he felt my triumph then, slowly and deliberately I winked at him. His face went bright crimson and he wilted like an overheated candle out of sight below the level of the bed. The pure poetry of that instant caused me to shoot my final load - my pumping loins synchronising beautifully with the tail end of her orgasm.

For quite a long period of my life I responded to the 'Will you fuck my wife' graffiti on toilet walls and the same message more tactfully phrased in contact magazine advertisements. A great number of the women were real slags but a surprising number turned out to be surprisingly attractive. The main drawback was that their men were far too happy about it when I do like the cuckold husbands to suffer at least some degree of angst. I also did not care for the way that these husbands expected to enjoy an amount of involvement themselves. One guy intrusively got his head in position to try licking my prick while I was actually shafting his wife and then, to make matters worse, the moment that I shot my load, he almost elbowed me aside in his eagerness to lap my cum from her soppy cunt. It was that incident which stopped me finding women that way.

The next story illustrates a rather sneaky side to my nature and comes from a period when I was going through a rather hard time. Once again I had found myself unemployed with no references, (why do I have this predilection for shagging my boss's wife?) I had managed to get a one nights employment working as a waiter at a society do - and that shows just how low I had sunk. Anyway, by the end of the evening I had pulled this married titled tart called Lady Cristobel and she saw me all right for sex for quite a while. Now most upper class women are very horsey but some are utterly lovely and Krista slotted very firmly into the latter category. She was not all that well stacked in the tits department but she had the most delectable twat and at times her hips were positively pneumatic. The other good thing about this girl was that she always picked up the tab whatever we did and this was a dire necessity given the state of my finances.

There has to be a snag to everything and this one was that she regarded me as nothing more than her 'bit of rough' - she treated me as if I was pig ignorant and it seemed that in her eyes my only merit was the muscle between my legs. Granted that I thoroughly enjoyed humping her to heaven and back but an underlying resentment on my part permeated the whole relationship. Eventually my pride reasserted itself (aided by a nice little win on the horses) and I decided to get out. Krista had always zipped us about in a recent model red Ferrari sports car so, knowing there was money about, my devious mind worked out a plan to dump her and get a bit of an earner in the process.

I found out where she lived and knocked on the door at a time I knew she was out but in the hope that her husband was in. It was a mews house in a very select neighbourhood - the kind of house where you need half a million in the bank before they even let you look round. The Porsche parked outside indicated that her husband was at home but also served to increase my envy and grievance at the injustices of life. I better point out that I had dressed down rather than up for this visit and had also taken the trouble to cultivate a two day growth of beard.

The gent who opened the door was your typical 'chinless wonder', Krista had mentioned vaguely that he was 'something in the city. He stared at me with ill-concealed distaste.

"You can wipe that snotty look off your face Squire - especially as I've come specially to do you a favour," I said belligerently. "I just thought you ought to know that your lovely wife is having it off behind your back."

The news stunned him and he stepped back in shock. Quick as a flash I followed up into the hall and pushed the door partly closed behind me. He was suddenly afraid and retreated even further but I remained where I was and put my empty hands to my sides in a pacific manner.

This gesture sufficed to let him regain composure and even add a sarcastic edge to his voice when he said, "I suppose that you are going to tell me that it's with one of your unsavoury friends."

"Actually it's me," I said. "I'm the one who's fucking her - have been for the past three months and more."

"I don't believe you," he kind of stuttered.

"Tuesdays and Fridays, regular as clockwork and other nights in between," I told him. "Do you remember that weekend she said she was spending with an old school friend in Maidstone?" I let his mind churn for a moment and then went on, "Then there were the races - when you let her go alone to the Derby meeting at Epsom. Your Krista didn't set a foot on the course all week - hell I don't think she even put a foot out of bed all week. A real hungry lady your wife - what you might call 'a glutton for cock'."

He slumped. "Why are you telling me this?"

It was time to put my cards on the table. "You are very rich and I'm not," I stated. "On the other hand I do seem to have acquired the affections of your delightful wife. Now much though I enjoy the pleasure of her company, I am prepared to disappear from the scene for a suitable consideration."

The husband studied me for a while and then his face seemed to change. "Come through and have a drink while we talk about this," he invited. I followed him through to a luxuriously appointed lounge where he poured me a very generous measure of whiskey. He then offered me a rather large cigar, which I refused but he took one himself and spent some time lighting it. I expected to start negotiating cash straight away but instead he started pacing backwards and forwards. Leaving him to his thoughts I perched on the arm of a chair, sipping my drink and studying the room until he was ready. Eventually made his decision and walked to stand directly in front of me. "I will give you rather a lot of money but not to leave my wife alone," he announced. "Instead I want you to let me know when your next assignation is to occur and arrange it so that I can watch you with her."

I had to look down at the floor to hide my smile - 'There's one hell of a lot of them around,' I thought. So that the next time that I saw Krista, (in the good class hotel she always booked us into), I had her husband Quentin safely ensconced in the wardrobe. I tried to give him value for money - everything I did to Krista that evening had the viewing pleasure of that unseen audience firmly in mind. Knowing that her husband was watching I did rather try to demean her but with Krista that was virtually impossible because she revelled in the dirtier kind of sex.

Afterwards I dressed quicker than usual while Krista moved at her normal pace, taking time to check for bites, scratches and other love-making marks. When I was ready I said, "I've got a surprise for you."

Her face lit up. "Where, where?" she cried.

"In the wardrobe," I told her, backing to the door of the room as I spoke.

"You shit faced fucking bastard," I heard her shout as I headed along the corridor with a satisfied grin on my face and £1000 pounds in my pocket.

I'm sure that there are other anecdotes that I could relate but, as they have escaped my mind I will finish with a story that is very dear to my heart. Early in this narrative I told how I refused to pleasure myself with an older wife's body as inducement to ignore the deficiencies of her farm but still signed the clearance certificate. Lest this should show me in too favourable light I must tell of another occasion when I not only took advantage of a similar offer but did much to engineer it. This happened comparatively recently when I was much older and in a far better financial position than that illustrated in the last story.

With the aid of impressive but spurious qualifications and a genuine amount of computer literacy, I secured the position of accounts manager for a medium sized company. I had not been in the job long before I noticed that there was a blind spot in the system, i.e. original records were destroyed after entry onto the database and were consequently not available for manual back-up (or checking). You will see that this made it potentially easy to massage the figures.

A quick lesson in business practice might help at this point. All firms work on the basis of projections - projected cost, projected sales and most importantly - projected profits. As long as the figures fall within certain tolerances everything ticks along happily. If profits fall then alarm bells ring but if profits are in excess of expectation, no one is any the wiser if the surplus fails to be registered in the company accounts - this is the fact that I turned to my advantage. I have possibly made this sound easier than it was because records cannot be changed in isolation, for example - sales figures artificially reduced reflect on stock in hand if the difference is not explained by increased wastage (again while staying within acceptable limits). A similar rationale applied to production figures. I also gained leeway by shifting some sales made at full price down into the discount category. With all this needing to be carefully done, a month before quarterly figures were due, it was my habit to spend a full Sunday at work alone, ensuring my personal bonus. Over my three years at the firm, without being greedy, I had done very nicely - furnishing my house, buying a nice car and paying for a good holiday every year.

Now a year before this story really starts I had taken an assistant called Steven. He was fresh out of university and had married very soon after his graduation. I found him appealing, he was very good-natured, some would say 'soft, but I liked him. Steven was a clever lad and I quickly shifted part of my workload onto his shoulders, gaining extra afternoons for myself on the golf course. I had rather taken to the game - quite apart from the social functions that gave access to many neglected wives. Relations with my protégé were so good that I invited him round to my home for the evening and his young wife came too. Debbie was a revelation - one look and it was instant desire.

She was an exceptionally beautiful girl but seemingly quite unconscious of the fact. It may seem trite to say but I saw her as fresh, untouched - almost virginal. Debbie dressed demurely as if deliberately trying to conceal rather than enhance but loose clothing could not hide the fact that she had a lush ripe body just ready for love. Despite the truth that she was young enough to be my daughter, during the four evenings they visited, she several times caught me looking at her in a far from paternal way. This always caused her to blush slightly and I worried that if I did not restrain my eyes she might soon refuse to come to the house again. It was plainly a case of unrequited lust.

It was time to think about my holiday money so I settled in at work early one Sunday morning, happily wondering how much I would safely be able to take. I started by running a graph comparison between actual and projected profit because that would give a good early rough indication. The result shocked me because the figures were already dangerously near the lower end of the expected band and with a slack month ahead this would almost certainly trigger a post-mortem, if not a full investigation. Nothing during the previous two months had given any intimation of this result so I started to dig in an attempt to ascertain the cause.

The reason was not hard to find. I said that Steven was intelligent - well he had certainly been smart enough to spot the blind spot in the system. The trouble was the he had not enough knowledge to do it cleverly and on top of that he had been rather greedy. Where I took between £30 and £40 thousand in four bites over the year, he had grabbed seventy-five grand all in one lump. His cover-up record correlation was deficient and even if the present accounts did not cause a direct enquiry there would be a significant blip when compared to my already depreciated figures from the corresponding quarter of the previous year.

The following morning I called Steven into my office with the printed evidence spread out on my desk. He made no denial, just slumping into a chair and asking with a catch in his voice what I intended do. "You know I like you Steven but there is nothing I can do," I told him sternly. "If I cover this up it makes me as culpable as you - I've got to report this to the managing director."

He was tearful as he asked, "What is likely to happen to me?"

"You'll go to prison for certain, probably for three years, two if you're lucky."

"Oh God," he sobbed. "Debbie likes........ If I'm away from her for so long she is going to let herself get picked up by other men."

I nodded my agreement at this likely outcome. "And then there are the rapes to think about."

That stopped him. "Rapes? Why should Debbie get raped?"

"Not Debbie - you. You are just what the old lags dream about - they'll love you," I told him cruelly. "Even after only two years in prison you're likely to come out so queer that you won't give a damn how many men have been humping your lovely wife."