Barbarella

"I know," I said, rather too quickly. "I'll clear off somewhere for a while."

"Can you give us about two hours?"

I nodded mutely, rather shocked by the amount of time she had requested. I had more imagined half an hour - the length of time I believed prostitutes allowed their clients. Without another word I returned to the living room, picking my jacket off a chair back as I went. With complete arrogance and lack of subtlety, Rory was already standing expectantly at the bottom of the stairs. For some reason I had to speak. "I've got to pop out for a bit," I said without looking directly at him. He did not reply and I don't blame him for that. He knew why I was going and I knew why I was going, so why did I need to go through the motions?

I drove to a cliff top cat park and halted the car facing the sea. 'Two hours isn't long," I told myself. 'I can easily pass that listening to the radio and watching the boats." I was wrong - I did not even switch on the radio and the time seemed like an eternity during which I chain smoked rapidly through my supply of cigarettes. From the moment of switching off the engine my mind was filled with graphic images of what would be happening back at the house and I was consumed with bitter gut wrenching jealousy. When I discovered Babs in that storeroom at the reception, my emotion had been one of anger at betrayal rather than jealousy and with Pierre in Spain I had felt no jealousy at all. Now I felt real jealousy - the pain of being physically torn apart must surely be less.

I waited for the full two hours in the car park, even though I could have legitimately taken account of travelling time and started my return a few minutes earlier. The reason for this was that I had a dread of Rory still being at the house because I honestly did not know how I could face him. I did however drive home with a new determination - I was resolved that this was the end of it and from now on I would insist that my wife remained 100% faithful to me.

I entered the house with a degree of trepidation but I need not have worried because Babs was alone. She ran to me to smother my face with kisses and tell me that I was the kindest, most generous and understanding husband in the world. When I was able to step back and look at her my resolution crumbled because her skin glowed, her eyes sparkled and her face had the kind of beatific fulfilment one imagines is borne by angels floating on clouds. As I loved her, how could I possibly deny this kind of pleasure to her for the rest of her life?

In bed I felt completely drained with none of the sexually supercharge generated by similar circumstance during our honeymoon. Nevertheless I rolled towards her to be actually relieved when she said softly, "Can we give it a miss tonight darling?"

Next day she explained that Rory had tried to persuade her to go to a motel with him but she had refused to do anything behind my back. Apart from those few words nothing more was said about those two missing hours of my life and strangely, I quickly found myself able to dispel the whole thing from my mind. One benefit was that Babs was extra nice to me and I allowed myself to be more obvious in my appreciation of her.

It was after eleven o'clock at night the next time that Rory appeared at our door. He was so far from my thoughts that I never considered him as a possible caller while my wife went to answer the knock. She returned to say, "It's Rory again. He wants to sleep with me."

This time there was no need to ask her opinion because it was written all over her face. I tried to infer a protest by asking incredulously, "At this time of night?"

"He wants to sleep with me. I can make you up a bed on the settee - it's quite comfortable so you should be all right for one night."

Babs had rather assumed my agreement but seeing the excitement in her eyes I found it impossible to disappoint her. "You'd better tell him to come in," I said unhappily.

After giving her lover the green light, my wife ran upstairs presumable to get the wherewithal to make the enforced exile from my bed less intolerable. Rory entered and stood just inside the door watching me with disinterested eyes. I'm not sure what the civilised code of behaviour is for such situations but I do know that I could not think of a single damn thing to say to the man. Rory seemed to suffer from no such constraint. "A cup of tea would be nice," he said.

Like a waiter under orders I went into the kitchen, actually glad of an excuse to leave his presence. I put the kettle on and set up three mugs, adding sugar to all - if the bastard didn't like his sweet then tough luck. I had just removed the tea-bags and added milk when Babs reappeared. "I have got you two blankets, a pillow and a sheet - it looks quite comfy to me," she reported briskly. Then, picking up a mug in both hands she murmured, "I'll take his," stepped forward to peck me on the lips and headed for the stairs with undisguised eagerness.

I followed into the room half-hoping for some small word of kindness but she had already gone. I smoked a cigarette while drinking the tea then put out the light, undressed and settled into my lonely pit. With all my will I concentrated on achieving sleep quickly for I knew that once in the arms of Morpheus, the night would pass in a flash leaving me oblivious of its happenings. But then I heard the bed starting to move.

I have mentioned that it was a noisy bed at the best of times but during the three prolonged but separate sessions that night it seemed to rock the house. Even when relatively quiet the sound was in my head and I had no difficulty visualised the motion that had generated it. I had thought those two hours parked by the see were intolerable but this was worse. If you are to be cuckolded in your own house which is worst, to be remote and depend purely on imagination, to have soundtrack to enhance the mental vision but no sight or to view everything in the role of spectator? These are certainly three of the circles of hell but which the inner and which the outer, I cannot say.

I could hear Babs as well - oh God could I hear Babs. Every time that he made her cum, the shrieks and vocal cries left no ambiguity about what had caused them. But this was different in both quality and quantity from anything I had known. With me, and even with Pierre, she built to a climax of greater or lesser intensity and then subsided. Impaled by this particular penis her orgasms were continuous, one rolling into another, gradually growing like foothills round a mountain. On the lower slopes she was verbal with worship of his prick, or various pleas to fill her with cum and fuck her to death, words that I had heard before if lacking the crude intensity. But when he took her to the peak of passion, it became pure sound, the groan of a soul in torment or the scream of a banshee as she was gripped in an ecstasy beyond my power to imagine.

It was an education. Perversely, although increasing the torment it did validate my having allowed her to go with him. Expressing it a noble sentiment - what greater love can a husband show than allow his wife to be fucked out of her mind by another man?

In the morning Rory came downstairs very early and left the house, his movement rousing me as he passed my resting-place. Some quarter of an hour later when I had risen and put the kettle on, my wife appeared in her dressing gown. She came straight to me, enclosed me in her arms for a deeply loving kiss. Then she said with total sincerity, "I love you so very, very much."

Some time in that first week, Babs suggested that we should do up the spare bedroom up as a guestroom, with a new modern bed and furnishings. Her reasoning was that it would allow us to have my parents or possibly her mother for a visit and if it ever needed converting into a nursery, we would not be starting from scratch. I agreed happily and willingly undertook the redecoration never dreaming that the primary occupant of the room would be me.

It was an example of forward planning because of course Rory began to call regularly after that. Babs no longer felt any guilt about her illicit passion but thoughtfully wanted me to be comfortable while she indulged herself, ignoring the fact that the bedroom next door brought me closer to sound of the action. He never turned up more than once a fortnight and often it was three weeks. It was always late in the evening in the middle of the week when his knock came but the nights varied.

I never stopped suffering as I lay listening to him with her but I did get used to it. I reckon that you can become accustomed to just about anything when it becomes an established part of life. It is human nature to discount the bad and make the most of consolations. There were consolations because nights after his visits were marked by heightened sexual activity between Babs and me, although I don't know if this was inspired by me working off frustrations or her still basking in residual passion from her time with him.

Although as stated I had become almost inured to sharing my wife with our occasional visitor, there was one later occasion when I took it rather hard. It was almost midnight on the last night of the week on which he might turn up making it look certain that this was to be a three week gap. We had spent a loving evening watching a very sexy film and I went upstairs first filled with anticipation of holding her lovely warm naked body in my arms. I had actually pulled back the bedclothes prior to climbing into bed when Babs called happily upstairs, "Rory's here." I had to walk through to the other bedroom resigned to lie in a solitary bed and listen to the other man drink my nectar from her cup of love.

I should mention that one of the first things we did on returning from honeymoon was buy a small car using left over holiday money and a bit of savings. It was just a banger but sufficient for our limited needs. Babs and I both worked and every morning I dropped her outside her factory gates before driving on to my own place of employment. Returning at night, I finished fifteen minutes earlier so could be nicely in place to pick up my wife as she left her workplace. Due to the nature of my job, not infrequently there was need for overtime but this seldom required staying on more than a couple of hours. However, this did not disrupt our lives because Babs prepared a meal in my absence - if I was not waiting at the gates she knew to make her own way home, either by bus or on foot.

One afternoon I had put in ninety minutes overtime on a rather tricky problem and arrived home with my stomach rumbling in anticipation of the evening meal. Just inside the door, I almost tripped over a large dirty kit bag with yellow waterproof leggings and a pair of wellington boots strapped to the side. "What the hell is this?" I demanded of Babs as she ran quickly to meet me.

It's Rory's. He's in a bit of a mess," she told me in a rush. "His trawler was decommissioned last week and now he has been kicked out of his digs because he can't pay the rent. I bumped into him walking home from work and I have said that we will put him up for two or three days."

"Where will he sleep?" It was the only thing that interested me.

"With me."

My heart sank but I knew that I could stand three days. Putting my hand on her arm I said, "Be honest Babs - how long do you really think he will want to stay?"

She smiled uneasily, obviously having hoped that it could just drift on. "It won't be longer than a fortnight - that's for certain," she said brightly.

"I can't go that long without......you."

"Don't be silly, of course you can - it's only two weeks," she laughed. "And anyway, I will make it up to you when he's gone - I always do."

My response was stillborn because at that moment, Rory let himself into the house and threw another large kit bag by the side of the first. He sniffed the air, said, "That smells good - I'm famished," then walked over and sat himself down at the dining table. For the first time I noticed that the table was set for three places. I did take note that the redundant fisherman had plonked himself down in my customary place but at that time did not give any great significance to the fact.

While dishing out my favourite meal split into three portions, Babs remarked cheerfully, "I've just thought. There was no need for you to hump your stuff over here Rory - if you'd waited, Stuart would have been happy to fetch it for you in the car."

Everything is relative and in many ways it was not so bad at the start. I have to say in Rory's favour that he did muck in to the extent that he at least cleared his own plate from the table and took a turn at making tea or coffee for everybody during the evening. As he spent his time either reading the newspaper or watching television, his presence could not be classed as aggravation. In fact, were it not for the fact that he slept with Babs instead of me, he was little different from any normal lodger, albeit one who paid no rent. I also do believe that he genuinely started out looking for work. There were various vague remarks that I built too much on, like, 'Tomorrow he's seeing someone who is setting men on' or 'As soon as someone gives him a job accommodation will stop being a problem'. The most definite was, 'If he is not fixed up by the weekend, he's clearing off to the south coast.'

On the Monday morning I got up slightly early filled with the joys of spring at the imminent departure of the unwelcome guest. To my surprise, Babs also appeared before her usual time. She came over, gave me an extra special kiss and then dropped the bombshell. "Rory's mate who got back this weekend says that the south coast ports are decommissioning more trawlers than round here - so Rory has decided to stay on here for a while longer".

I kind of slumped back against the wall and I think that my feeling of utter dejection must have been obvious on my face. Babs kissed me again and then slowly sank until she was on her knees at my feet. A heard a zip hiss and the next moment my cock was in her mouth and she was starting to use the Babs magic upon it. It was short but it was beautiful as she literally sucked all the tension out of me. When it was over my legs were kind of wobbly so she led me to sit on a dining chair and moved round behind so that her wonderful soft breasts were pressing against the back of my head. "It can't be for too long so try to hang on my love," she said softly. "You know that I will be good to you whenever I can."

Later thinking calmly, I realised that Rory 'had decided' to stay without even going through the motion of asking permission. It was as if a significant moment had passed because from then on everything became worse. Rory became an unashamed passenger and I was relegated to the role of house slave. My wife still looked after the cooking but now I did all the washing up and got up to make all warm drinks during the evening - usually at my tormentors prompting. Eventually he became openly hostile to me. Over a period, from occasional snide remarks, it degenerated until I became the butt of almost constant derogatory remarks slandering my manliness, sexual ability and penis size.

You will have realised by now that his stay extended from weeks into months. I managed to let his abuse wash over me and apart from that and other obvious differences; life went on much as it always had. One blessing during the whole ordeal was that Rory always disappeared during the days at weekends. I don't know if he was doing casual labouring or picking up his beer money some other way. Babs and I still went supermarket shopping on Sundays and we both followed our Saturday routine of house cleaning tasks. I kept up my evening visits once a week, (without mentioning my home situation), and my wife had now reverted to accompanying me. We also started going to the cinema a lot where we sat holding hands and at other times just drove somewhere and parked near the sea. During the brief periods of privacy we kissed a lot and although she happily let me grope her, all my entreaties to get in the back seat were resisted. In fact all real sex was out. Babs was terrified of being spotted by someone who would tell tales but she said, "He can't object to me kissing you - you are my husband after all."

One Friday, I think it was eight or nine weeks from the start, my wife came into the kitchen where I was washing up. Quite loudly she said, "Rory is broke - can you lend him a tenner to buy drinks in the pub?"

After all that had happened, I found myself about put my foot down about this stupid issue. The words, 'Like fuck', were already forming in my mouth when Babs put her fingers over my lips and nodded her head violently. Puzzled I handed over the cash and still did not understand when, after he had left the house, she pulled me upstairs giggling. I was led to my bedroom where Babs stripped off her clothes and jumped onto the bed like schoolgirl. "Come on," she urged happily. "As long as you don't cum inside me he need never know."

The following Friday he requested that his loan be rolled up to £20 and I already had the required denomination banknote hopefully to hand. That was the last reference to it being a debt and from then on he took the money as unspoken tribute, not realising that it was gladly given. Although the proscription on leaving tell tale semen inside her cunt remained, I found the sex nothing less than wonderful even though, when the critical moment arrived, I had to pull out and finish either in her mouth or between her tits.

One night the inevitable happened and I was too late. Although Babs removed the evidence as best she could Rory was suspicious when in bed with her later. In my bedroom I caught my breath as he harshly accused her of fucking around. "Honest Rory - I'm wet because I'm exited for you. I haven't left the house all evening - Stuart will tell you the same," I heard her reply with utter conviction. It is a measure of how low I was in his opinion that he never even considered me as the possible culprit.

When the next eagerly awaited Friday finally arrived, I went after my weekly ration like a greyhound out of the traps but Babs fended me. "I'm sorry love but I daren't do it after last time."

I slumped in total despair feeling the tears well up inside me because this was about the only thing that had kept me hanging on. Babs gave a big laugh. Whatever am I thinking of," she said. "You can fuck me the other way - Rory never wants it like that." Backing her words with actions, she rolled over on her stomach and thrust the two soft globes of her buttocks temptingly up at me. This proves my naivety and sexual inexperience for in all the time I had been with Babs I had never considered having sex with her that way. However my need was such that I was willing to seek any port in a storm - but still I had to endure a slight delay while my wife, as an afterthought, ran to the next room for hand cream to use as lubricant. Then, after all that, I had hardly got my dick inside her when it was all over. I don't know if it was tension, the novelty or simply that my wife's anal passage was a better fit for my size of penis and the unaccustomed friction triggered my ejaculation long before I was ready for it.

The temptation to give way to tears almost overcame me again but Babs threw her arms around me saying, "It's not the end of the world - that often happens first time. Just take a minute to catch your breath and I'll have it stiff again in a jiffy." True to her word I was soon back on top, happily thrusting away in the traditional manner. After while, at her suggestion, I moved until we were lying side by side fitted together like spoons, content for me to progress matters with long languid strokes. I found lying this way to be far more sensual than conventional intercourse in the missionary position to which I was accustomed. I was more aware of her body and was able to have one hand over her shoulder fondling a breast while the other toyed with her clitoris. I felt that I could go on like that for ever and from my warm happy haze I murmured, "Have you done it a lot this way?"