Paying the Price

That was more than enough data for me but my promiscuous wife insisted on painting another intimate picture that I can't get out of my head. "I particularly like this thing we do with a dining chair," Fiona started, her face beaming with pleasure. "He sits on it and I straddle his lap in a facing position. His cock is inside me and I pull myself up and down using my arms round his neck. I love being able to kiss him while we're fucking and he enjoys feeling my breasts rubbing against his hairy chest."

My wife had bad news to deliver, but she waited until we were almost ready for sleep, starting by casually asking why I no longer stopped overnight at my club in the city after working late. I had once adopted that practice in the belief that it was better to enjoy a drink and conversation at the club before bed, compared to spending over an hour driving home in a mentally–exhausted state, only to go immediately to bed on arrival. Ironically I had only stopped that habit when my wife complained of feeling neglected.

"You better start staying again," she declared, "Grigor wants to sleep with me all night and that would be the perfect opportunity."

The new regime started immediately, because Fiona had pre-empted the issue by already telling Grigor that I wouldn't be home on two nights the following week. This change led to what seemed like progress on her espionage duties, but also led to a development that I considered a step backward. "Grigor fucked me in our bed last night," Fiona informed me the moment I got home on the Thursday. "Up until now I always took him into one of the guest rooms, and he hasn't objected, but knowing you wouldn't be home he insisted on doing it where you and I make love. I didn't particularly like it but I've got to keep him happy."

I had rather a grumble about everything getting out of control, but my wife put an end to my rant by pointing out that it seemed to be paying off. "I'm pretty sure that in addition to arms dealing, he's into drugs and at a pretty high level," she said smugly.

"What kind of drugs?"

"Cocaine at least, he produced some of that and asked if I wanted to try a line. He was bragging that it was pure, totally uncut and far better quality than the stuff even top class dealers are selling. He gave the impression that he had an unending supply."

"Did you try any?"

Fiona shook her head hesitantly. "Although Grigor had a couple of snorts, I refused to do that but I did let him rub some on my gums. He did it just before I sucked his cock because he said it caused special sensations. I believe him. He put some in his mouth just before sticking his tongue in my cunt and it felt as if I had been pumped full of rocket fuel. I absolutely went into to orbit and the sensations were completely out of this world." She grinned, "He suffered for it though, I was so unbearably tingly right up inside that for over an hour afterwards I couldn't bear for him to put his cock in me."

The weekend was much as before, and on Monday I had another visit from Mr Smith. He was already aware of the drug development and he brought new orders to pass on to my wife. She was instructed to get a sample from Grigor's stash so that it could be analysed to assess the actual quality and possibly discover the source. It was only the thought that an end to this "mission" might be in sight that kept me motivated, because that week I found my lonely nights at the club were almost unbearable. I had to resort to masturbation as the only way to find sleep, because otherwise the images of what would be happening in my bed at home would have given me no rest. Of course, to my shame, I could only get off by thinking of those same images.

When I arrived home on the Saturday morning, Fiona waved a small bag of white powder triumphantly under my nose. "Grigor says that this little bag is worth over a thousand pounds cut down for distribution at street level." Then she looked coy and invited, "Would you like to try it? Nobody will miss a little bit, and it is terribly good stuff."

"How do you know that?" Even as I asked I knew I would not like the answer.

"I've been doing some lines with Grigor," Fiona admitted happily. Then, seeing the disapproving look on my face, she explained, "It was the only way to get hold of some. As it was, before he left I just asked if he could leave me some for the weekend and he handed this over without any hesitation, it was as easy as that but I did feel a bit rotten for betraying him though."

"You're not meant to feel any loyalty to him, remember that you are meant to be doing this reluctantly," I said sharply.

"That is how it started but it isn't anymore," Fiona said heatedly. "I've found out I love big cock and it's your fault. If you hadn't stolen that guy's idea in the first place, we wouldn't be in this situation. Anyway, if I do what's required, what does it matter if I enjoy it? I do enjoy it because going with Grigor has reminded me how much I love to fuck. I thought sex with him was the best but a little bit of coke makes it even better, at times my whole body felt as if it was on fire. If you think about it, this is the only way. If I had to keep opening my legs for a man I detested, he would soon have realised and then he would never have trusted me the way he is starting to do now."

Sex that day was not the best, partly because new developments had put too much on my mind but mainly because physically I couldn't help being aware that she had recently been fucked by a much larger cock than mine. Sunday was different because Fiona was insatiable, and every time I flagged she found new ways to inspire me to further effort. We had a long session during the afternoon and another in the evening, but even in between she couldn't leave it alone. At the end of the day I could hardly complain that I was getting short rations and was seriously thinking of acquiring a large sex toy to possibly ease the pressure on me in the future.

I have not mentioned my reaction to Fiona's new waxed look. At first, I did enjoy the startling difference and enjoyed the feeling when my lips and cheek touched her smooth mound, but now I'm not so sure. At one time, going down on her was almost my favourite sexual activity and I used to do it as a regular foreplay. Unfortunately I share Grigor's fastidiousness in that I didn't like the thought of doing it when Grigor had left a deposit in there from the previous night. After I started staying overnight at my club, it was even worse because then I knew he had put cum in her earlier that day. Consequently, I didn't go down on her until the Sunday and that's when I got a good look at her pussy. Regular ravishing by an overlarge cock now left her cunt more open and far less 'pretty' than it used to be and I thought a slight covering of hair might make the damage far less obvious.

Over the course of the weekend, we agreed that I would take the cocaine with me in to work, in the expectation that Mr Smith would almost certainly be calling in to collect it. It was actually on the Monday morning that Fiona had a change of heart. Producing an empty, much smaller bag she suggested that would hold a large enough sample for the analysis, which would mean we could keep the rest for ourselves. I vetoed the idea because I hated the idea of drugs in the house, and felt that might be the start down a slippery slope. Events were to prove that to be a wise assumption on my part.

One Monday morning a couple of weeks later, Mr Smith wandered into to my office and cheerfully asked if I had ever been to Singapore. I told him that I had stopped over there for a couple of days several years ago. "Well I hope you liked the place because you are going there for a week during the next month," he announced, "I'm afraid I have rather pre-empted your boss in giving you the good news."

"Why there, I don't deal with that area of the world?" I asked mystified.

My tormentor actually grinned. "There is nothing for you to do there, so you might as well take a nice holiday, have a bit of fun. The whole object of the exercise is to get you well out of the way for a short while."

He gave me a moment to assimilate the news but before I could ask he explained, "Grigor has mentioned to Fiona that he wished he could take her somewhere abroad for a few days. Now we think this a promising development, because he is likely to become far more relaxed in that situation. Unfortunately, your wife has explained to him that it would be impossible to do it without you becoming suspicious. With you off the scene it becomes very possible."

"I thought the only reason for him visiting my house was so that you could record what he says. If they go somewhere else you will be back to depending on what Fiona can remember," I pointed out.

Mr Smith shook his head confidently, "That's all taken care of. Every piece of her luggage has been fitted out with powerful transmitter microphones and anyone with the right receiver within 100 yards will be able to hear perfectly whatever is said in that room. Unfortunately we will not have visual but sound should suffice in the circumstances."

I immediately realised that the spook had made an uncharacteristic mistake. His words intimated that usually they did have visual and that in turn meant that there were more than just listening devices concealed in my house. Somehow I managed not to show reaction to this disturbing discovery for remainder of the short meeting. The only further thing of significance was that just before he left, Mr Smith instructed, "Don't tell your wife that the Singapore trip is a phoney. She's likely to behave more naturally if she believes it's genuine."

Fiona pretended disappointment when she heard of my forthcoming trip, reminding me that it was almost two years since I had been away from home that long and saying that she was going to miss me. She didn't mention her hoped for short holiday with Grigor and neither did I tell her of my intention to have a look inside that mysterious shed in the garden.

My departure was scheduled for the Sunday evening three weeks later but although I drove to the airport and went through the motions, I did not catch the plane. During the intervening period I had used time well, booking into a small hotel and hiring a car, both under an assumed name and paid for in cash. The car was waiting for me in the long term car park.

During those three weeks, the bi-weekly sexual assignations between my wife and the Russian assumed the nature of a routine. Fiona stopped telling me what they had done unless I asked and my nights spent at the club became far less onerous, (but that was possibly because my mind was full of plans for the days she was away). The only worrying development was that I felt sure that my wife had continued to dabble with drugs. Oh yes, the amount of rough sex with a far better hung man meant a lessening of tightness to her vagina which lasted through my weekend nights. I hated to think what it would feel like after they had enjoyed four solid days together.

I spent the Sunday night at the hotel and on the following afternoon phoned Fiona, pretending I was ringing from Asia. At the end of the call she said, "Don't bother ringing me this week. I'm thinking of spending a few days in the Lake District with my sister, we'll be stopping in different places and mobile reception is terrible up there." She had completely omitted to mention her planned romantic holiday, which I now knew was to be in Barcelona.

Tuesday I was in the hire car, parked in sight of the house in time to see Grigor arrive and a few minutes later. I witnessed him manhandling my wife's luggage into the boot of his car. I then trailed them to the airport and was able to see them going into departure for the Spain flight. I think that last was a mistake; after all this time I had become inured to my wife regularly copulating with the passionate foreigner, but to see them as two lovers happily setting off on holiday caused a very painful twinge to my heart.

Leaving the airport I drove at speed, retracing my path, but in the final stages veered off to a specific location to the rear of my house. The shed at the bottom of my garden was located hard up against a tall thick hedge beyond which was woodland. Sure enough on a track leading through the woods, I spotted an empty vehicle that looked like an unmarked police car. I found a spot to keep it under observation and was rewarded half an hour later when two incongruously-dressed males wandered out from the trees, each carrying a lap top and a large briefcase. When they had safely driven away, I made my way to the hedge beyond which was the door of my shed.

On examining the hedge, at first it seemed impenetrable but I soon found that there was a cleverly concealed access through to the shed. I was fully equipped with screwdrivers, pliers, a jemmy and even a bolt cutter. I hoped to gain covert access but was determined to see inside and if necessary was prepared to prise the door from its hinges. Seeing the door, I realized it was only a matter of unscrewing the back plate to which the heavy padlock was attached. It struck me as ironic that the country's premier security agency should use such flimsy security to safeguard its own property.

The moment that I stepped inside the shed, my suspicions were confirmed. High up on the right hand wall there was a row of monitors, with a larger screen centrally below. If they had only been recording sound, all that would have been required was some kind of controlling switchboard arrangement together with earphones or an amplifier. There were a pair of swivel chairs standing in front of the screens and a small armchair in the left hand corner of the far wall, with a large number of girlie magazines piled on the seat. For the creature comforts of the observers, an electric kettle and microwave had been provided and a portion of the far wall had a set of DVD racks with many of the slots containing labelled discs.

On a narrow working surface below the screens there were six switches labelled B1,B2, M, L, K and H. I guessed that the first three were the bedrooms with the others being lounge, kitchen and hall respectively. A bit of playing around and I soon ascertained that three of the rooms only had a single camera. The hall had two, one pointing towards the front door and the other focussed on the stairs. The lounge had three cameras with two centred on the couch with the third covering the dining table in the window area. They had really gone to town in the master bedroom, with no less than five cameras. There was one directly above the bed giving a birds-eye perspective, and one situated in all four corners, all focused on the bed. I found that the camera situated above the bed-head also picked up images reflected in the floor-to-ceiling mirrored wardrobes along the opposite wall.

Once I had worked out how to operate the equipment I investigated the DVD racks and almost immediately spotted one dated for a Sunday when I knew for certain that the target had not been in my house. We had been meticulous about setting the privacy switch so in theory this should have been a no action day, so why had a recording been made?

As soon as I started viewing the recording it was immediately obvious that my wife and I had been filmed and listened to while going about our normal life, with the only detail of possible significance being a small flashing 'P' in the top left corner of the screen. I quickly flashed forward to the afternoon, vainly hoping that when it came to the bedroom they might have shown some restraint.

I remembered that afternoon vividly and I had an involuntary smile at the memory. I had been lounging on the settee reading the Sunday papers when Fiona leaned forward before me with the front of her blouse undone. Cupping her hands under her breasts and thrusting them under my nose, she said seductively, "Nice aren't they?" Then turning round she flipped up the back of her skirt and bent forward with legs spread to reveal that she wasn't wearing panties. Waggling her butt provocatively, she delivered her ultimatum, "If you want some of this you better grab it now or else I'm going to save it all for Grigor on Wednesday and then you'll have to wait until next weekend for your turn."

I saw myself lung forward to grab her but she eluded my grasp and scampered behind the settee. I chased after her but after a couple of circuits, I tried to end it by vaulting over the back of the furniture. Again I was a fraction of a second too late, allowing her to dash down the hall and up the stairs with me in hot pursuit. In the bedroom she threw herself on to the bed to lie in her back with bare legs flailing, still trying vainly to fend me off. With my passions fully aroused and not to be denied, I grabbed her thighs and prised them apart to plunge my mouth on the prize between them. I savoured that saliva- producing delicacy for some ten minutes or more until, as if on an unspoken command we both leapt up and began tearing off our clothes.

Watching as we began coupling in a naked state on the recording, I suddenly wondered how many pairs of lascivious eyes had watched our moments of intimacy. My first reaction was that inbuilt sense of shame that is the basis of modesty, but then I thought that Fiona at least had nothing of which to be ashamed. She was perfection in both face and body, and I doubted if even the Greek goddesses of old would have looked better. I know I enjoyed a feeling of pride, knowing the envy those illicit viewers must have felt.

After viewing more of the sex, I decided that I wasn't acquitting myself too badly either. I had always kept myself in reasonable shape and was pleased to note how much of my sexual expertise I had managed to retain from my early years. I reckon that I even performed better that some of the so-called studs I've seen in porn films; at least I didn't need to continually handle my dick to keep it stiff. It was while watching this I realised that all of the cameras in the marital bedroom were equipped with a zoom facility.

Seeing myself having sex from an outside viewpoint was a strange, but not unpleasant, experience. Even so, after watching a part of out afternoon session, I quit that disc and dug out one dated for a Wednesday when I knew I would get a first-hand view of my wife being fucked by the Russian.

Fiona had said that Grigor was rough with her, but I could see a more apt word in my view would be 'brutal'. Had I walked in on that scene unprepared, my first reaction would have to be to seize something to use as a weapon and rush to her rescue with no thought for myself. To my amazement, I didn't have to watch for long to realise that Fiona loved taking it that way. She even goaded him to greater excess, using crude words that never heard pass her lips with me.

From the opening sequences it was obvious that for Fiona, having sex with the Russian was unlike anything she had experienced with me. The thought that crept uninvited into my head was that what I was seeing was real fucking. My earlier pride in my own filmed performance quickly evaporated as I acknowledged that compared to this, I was an untalented, small-dicked novice. From that first DVD I willingly admitted to myself that I could never match the kind of sex that my rival provided so easily. There was some consolation in wondering if he was capable of my more tender kind of lovemaking.

When standing, Grigor looked around four inches taller than me and he had the heavy muscular shoulders of a boxer. His thighs were as thick as tree trunks, and that cock I had heard so much about was indeed enormous. The man was also extremely hairy. Apart from his admittedly rather handsome face, he was very reminiscent of pictures I've seen of Neanderthal men.