Corporate Bodies Pt. 03: Reality

God alone knew what was going through my wife's mind. Her behaviour gave me few clues when I arrived home to take the kids to their Grandparents for a few hours, then take my wife to her appointment. The atmosphere was tense, and by the time I pulled the car to a halt in the car park outside Andy's apartment at five minutes to four, we had exchanged only perfunctory, one-or-two-word replies.

The journey itself had passed in complete silence. What on earth could I say to my wife and the mother of my children as I drove her to be fucked by another man? The etiquette books were strangely silent on that subject.

Instead, as we drew closer and closer to Andy's apartment, my chest grew tighter and tighter, my heart thumped louder and louder, my cock became painfully hard and tangled in my underwear, and I became angrier and angrier at my helplessness.

I pulled into an empty space and switched off the engine. We sat in silence for almost a full minute before Amanda looked at her wristwatch and drew in a deep breath.

"Mustn't be late; not for the first appointment."

It was the longest sentence she had spoken to me since breakfast. My anger broke out.

"First what Amanda? Say it like it is, you told me."

My reply was hard and bitter, using her own words cruelly back at her. It was cruel and unjustified, but I couldn't help myself.

She simply laughed hollowly at y obvious discomfort.

"Okay, Mister Junior Partner. If you insist, Mandy mustn't be late for her first fucking, must she?"

A bolt of pain passed through me. Although I had asked for it, the words were still painful to hear.

There was another long pause during which I took a last long look at my wife. Dressed in a short black cocktail dress over dark lacy lingerie, and with her long blonde hair tied back, she looked sexier than I had seen her since that terrible first evening. Her extraordinarily long legs were once again clothed in black silk stockings and she wore high black heels on her dainty feet.

It was ridiculously formal for four o'clock in the afternoon, but simply stunning.

As I looked, the full realization that my wife had dressed sexily for her lover, struck home hard. During the next two hours, this lovely woman - my own sweet wife - was going to be fucked half senseless by my Boss Andy's massive cock.

Although it was my stupid, dishonest actions that had put her in this situation, she had accepted her fate. Bathed, shaved and now on the pill, she had prepared herself to enjoy or endure two hours of whatever pleasures or pains Andy had in mind.

A small whimper of unhappiness escaped my mouth.

"Will you be okay?" she asked.

"You're sure you've got everything you need?" I said, avoiding answering.

She nodded and glanced at the small suitcase behind her.

"I'm think so."

"If you want to back out..." I began.

"We've been through all this," she interrupted impatiently. "This is the only way out. You know it; I know it and Andy knows it. Let's not prolong the agony."

She put her hand on the door and pulled the lever. It swung open and she stepped out, retrieving her case from the car's rear seat.

"I'll be back at six," I said, grasping her hand almost in desperation. She leaned into the car and kissed me on the cheek as I whispered: "Good luck... Mandy!"

"Thanks. I'll be back before you realise it," she said.

Then, drawing herself to her full, impressive height, she turned and without once looking back, walked along the path to the apartment block's main door. There she pressed a button on the wall and spoke into a stainless-steel panel.

A moment later I heard a faint buzz, my wife pulled the door open and stepped inside.

A moment after that, Amanda was gone and somewhere inside the building, Mandy had arrived.

As the door slowly closed, I felt a sudden urge to leap out, run after her, pull it the door before it could lock and drag her back to the car. To rescue her from her fate in the way I had completely failed to do at the party when Andy had first fucked her so very, very hard.

But I was weak and remained in my seat, gripping the edge of the steering wheel with all my might.

Chapter Fourteen

For the next two hours were hell on earth!

At first, I drove back home, but could not settle. Everything reminded me of Amanda and what was going on at that moment. Her coat and bots in the hallway, her academic books in the study, her apron and handbag in the kitchen.

Far worse awaited me in the bedroom, where the sight of her clothes on the bed and in the closet brought new agonies. Terrible images flashed through my mind; of the way she looked as she entered the building, of the look on Andy's face when he realised the treat he had in store; of him stripping the sexy dress she was wearing from her body or worse, of her voluntarily baring herself for him.

I had to get away from it all.

Our poor dog had already been walked twice that day, but I dragged him outside on yet another tour of the neighbourhood, wondering with every step what was going on in that apartment.

Had they kissed?

Was she naked yet?

Had he fingered her as he had done at the party? There had been no concealing the way she had enjoyed that!

Had she spread her long, slender legs to let him into her most private places? Or had he opened her forcibly, exposing once again the vulva that by rights, only I should ever have seen?

Was his cock in her pretty, sweet mouth? Was his tongue inside her weeping slit? Or even both at one?

Was she on her back on the bed? Or on her knees on the floor? Or perhaps bent over a desk or table?

Had he penetrated her yet? Had that long, thick cock once again found its way into her sweet, tight vagina, only the second time in her life that any cock but mine had been in that special place?

And of course, had she already had one of those incredible orgasms that I had been astonished to see in Andy's office? How could she not be affected after feeling pleasure as intense at that? How could she possibly remain the wonderful wife and mother she had been only a matter of days ago?

Could our marriage really survive this clinically planned and executed infidelity? Would we really be able to separate Mandy the whore from Amanda the wife and mother afterwards?

And above all, it was all my fault! My stupid, stupid fault!

I could feel big tears of regret and remorse welling up in my eyes. I tried hard to blink them away, but they kept on returning.

I thanked God the kids weren't home, or they would have thought their father had gone insane.

But nothing last forever, though it might feel like it. At long last my watch told me it was time to collect Mandy from Andy's apartment. I returned home, settled the dog with one of his toys, washed some of the redness from my face and set out in the car.

At six o'clock, as agreed, I was sitting in my car outside the door to the block in the exact same place I had dropped her off. My stomach was churning horribly as I watched the car's digital clock count down the minutes; five fifty-nine; six o'clock; one minute past; two minutes past; three minutes past...

At four minutes past six, the back door of the car was pulled open sharply, making me jump. A small suitcase was thrown onto the back seat and a moment later, the front passenger door was opened, and my wife flopped heavily into the seat alongside me.

We sat in silence for a few seconds. Amanda's body was tense; her long, slim legs pressed tightly together, her hands on her knees. Her head was lowered and her long blonde hair, now freed from its bonds, fell like a curtain concealing her face from me.

For a moment I was struck dumb; what does a man say to his wife when she's just been fucked by someone else? Fortunately, the decision was taken out of my hands.

"Take me home!" she said, her voice cold.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice trembling, then added questioningly, the name "Mandy?"

She nodded.

"Don't look at me. Just get me home quickly. Please!"

She didn't speak another word throughout the journey to our house. I tried not to stare, but my curiosity was unbounded so I took every opportunity I could to glance across as I drove. I even angled the rear-view mirror so I could watch her more closely.

Mandy was wearing the designer dress she had arrived in, but from its still-pressed look I guessed she had not worn it for long during her appointment. Her long, slender legs were bare; her black stockings gone. Her knees remained tightly pressed together, and she fidgeted uncomfortably throughout the journey. Her hair was ruffled too, and from the little I could see in the mirror, her make-up was either smudged or gone.

But what struck me most was the vivid pinkness of her flushed face and chest. This could only mean one thing; Andy had taken her to those extraordinary heights of orgasm once again. My wife had cum recently and cum hard, a fact reinforced by the powerful aroma of recent sex that, by the time we reached home, had filled the car, my nostrils and my brain.

At one point when I looked in the mirror, I saw tears running down both her cheeks. I reached across to squeeze her hand and console her, but she swivelled herself away and refused my touch.

No sooner had the wheels stopped turning in our driveway, than she was out of the car and half running to the house. Carrying her suitcase, I unlocked the door. She pushed past me, ran across the hallway and up the stairs, leaving me to inhale the heady aroma of expensive perfume mixed with a woman's orgasmic vaginal juices.

It made my head spin.

Barely a minute later I heard the shower running. It ran for a long time.

***

It was a full half hour before Amanda came downstairs, during which the kids had been returned, happy and well fed, by their Grandparents. Dressed in jeans, a tight, high necked sleeveless top and completely devoid of make-up, she looked the sweet, innocent, pretty wife and mother that she had been until so very recently.

"How are you now?" I asked.

I handed her a glass of wine, hoping she wouldn't notice the painful, persistent swelling in my pants. She took the glass rather more eagerly than usual.

"I'm okay," she replied, downing half the wine in a single sip.

"Was it..." I began.

"Please stop!" she interrupted loudly, then carried on in a more measured voice. "Sorry, but Mandy's gone now. I don't want to remember or even think about what happened to her. Please don't ask me anything about it. If I can't keep the two separate, then you won't either and..."

She didn't need to finish. I understood, though it was almost more than my frustration and curiosity could bear. But I bit my tongue hard and resigned myself to remaining in frustrated ignorance and studying her as closely as I could without incurring my wife's justifiable wrath.

Her still-flushed face and slightly stiff gait were the only indications that anything had changed, but they were enough to push my imagination into overdrive. Nothing could distract me; everything I read, or heard, or saw on TV reminded me that something terrible had happened. Not even helping with the kids' homework or the trickiest of work papers could take my mind from the fact, and my body did nothing to help, maintaining an almost priapic erection throughout the whole evening.

Meaningful conversation was impossible. Unsurprisingly, the rest of the evening passed in stilted, awkward, trivial exchanges of words.

At bedtime, Amanda changed into her long night dress in the bathroom, which was not her usual habit. Try as I might - and believe me, I tried hard - I could not see whether the rest of her body bore any marks of her fucking.

Of Mandy's fucking, I corrected myself.

For a long while I thought my wife couldn't sleep. I lay awake, my cock still unbearably hard, waiting and hoping that she would want to talk about her ordeal, if indeed it had been one. But if she was still awake, she kept the fact to herself and did not say a word.

The frustration was unbearable. In the end I had no option but to go to the bathroom and, for the first time in many years, masturbate in front of the mirror in semi-darkness. I was so aroused by visions of my wife orgasming under Andy's onslaught again, that it took barely two dozen strokes of my hand to bring myself to a spurting, knee-trembling climax.

Physically relieved, I wiped the sticky, pale cum from my hand and the mirrored glass, then pulled my shorts back up and sneaked back into the bed where Amanda was still asleep - or at least, pretending to be.

Eventually, a long, agonising time later, I did fall asleep.

The terrible day had ended. Mandy's first fucking was over, and I was still married, though whether to Amanda or Mandy was by no means clear.

What was clear, was that whatever she had experienced in that apartment, it would it have to remain a mystery to me.

And that it was all my fault.