Harry's App Ch. 03: Loving Wives

So in a way, it was a relief to hear him announce his own infidelity. It was like he was reassuring her that they were both allowed to fuck other people.

And when he phoned her at lunchtime, and let her listen to him fuck his new secretary, it felt almost like they were both fucking her. Emily and John were married, and partners in crime, so to speak. She worked her clit while listening to them fuck, and when the secretary described afterwards how John had come inside her, the thought of her husband's cum dripping from the secretary's well fucked pussy was enough to make Emily come too.

*

It wasn't until she met the secretary - a pretty young woman with an oddly slutty dress sense and an air of permanent embarrassment - that certain wheels of logic, rusty from disuse, started turning and clicking in Emily's head. The secretary, and Mrs Fisher too, seemed to Emily to be not entirely in control of themselves. And how, also, had John known even before meeting his new secretary that he would not only want to fuck her but actually do it too? Why had she agreed to be fucked while Emily listened?

And if they weren't in control of their lives, was it possible that Emily wasn't in control of her own? It would certainly explain how her life had changed so radically in the space of a day.

It was a confusing line of thought, because in truth she was a lot happier with her new life than she had ever been with the old. She was having so much fantastic sex, and was no longer angry every day with his lies and infidelity.

But it would explain why her bras were all suddenly too small for her.

And John's secretary... Emily had loved eating her out in sixty-nine. She had never been attracted to women sexually, but that had changed somehow since lockdown ended. She had found herself staring at women's breasts and bodies and having lustful thoughts. She thought about eating pussy an awful lot for someone who wasn't a lesbian.

Emily didn't really believe it, though, because it was all too fantastic. Besides, who wants to believe their mind and body are being controlled by someone else? But it intrigued her enough that she thought about it and tried to remember exactly how and when it had happened, assuming it had.

And it came to her in a flash: John's iPad. She had been so furious with him for ignoring her to play with the iPad - and then he had told her she needed to be whore for him, and later she had made herself come and pee at the same time.

The iPad? Was that how he made her forget her anger? Not that her anger at the old John - the liar and adulterer - was completely gone, but Emily liked the new John who fucked her while she slept, and again when she awoke, and again... The new John had manoeuvred her somehow into sleeping with other men, but the threesomes with Chris and her nights with the Fishers were undeniably fun.

On Saturday afternoon, while John was out at the game with the boys, Emily found herself home alone with John's iPad. She had her own tablet, so never really had any interest in John's, but she had seen him type in the pass code often enough - and she did so herself, feeling horribly like she was spying on her husband.

Which she was, to be fair. "But only to see if he's controlling me," she muttered guiltily. She swiped through the pages, looking for she knew not what, and the only odd thing was an app called simply 'The App' with a question mark as its icon. She pressed it...

Her legs nearly gave way, and she had to sit. There she was, in the App. Every detail of her life, her personality, her body too. Somehow, impossibly, it was all true - although there was no obvious way to change anything. A little padlock image appeared everywhere she touched, as if to suggest that change was possible, just not allowed.

For a minute she was in danger of hyperventilating, but gradually the dizziness passed. It made no sense that the App could know her so completely, let alone be able to change who she was. She studied her own details, wondering what she would change if she could. Her cesarean scar, perhaps; and she had often thought her nose was a little big; and she was a little self-conscious about the size of her inner labia; and she could definitely lose a bit of weight.

It was funny seeing her orientation listed as bisexual. Had that been something John had changed? And apparently she had fetishes for cum and for being fucked in her sleep - but maybe that was who she was.

A notification appeared suddenly for the App. A message titled 'For Emily'. She clicked on the messages icon to read: "Hello, Emily. You are now a registered user of the App and have one free profile to create. Choose well, and enjoy!"

Indeed, a second profile had been created, but without any data at all. There was just a camera icon that switched her to the camera app.

Emily put the iPad down, stunned by the realisation that she had just been given absolute power over someone else's life. "Power corrupts," she whispered. "Absolute power corrupts... absolutely."

If that was true - and clearly it was - she was grateful that John had not turned her into an absurd male fantasy of a woman. Were Mrs Fisher's huge breasts natural or App-induced, she wondered. And what about John's slutty secretary? Just how many users of the App were out there, twisting other people to meet their own disturbing fantasies?

Anyway, what use did Emily have for the App. She didn't need a man slave. John more than satisfied her needs. Indeed, no. A woman, maybe, yes, someone she could share with John.

Emily laughed. What she really needed was a babysitter, someone to help look after the boys so that she and John had more time for themselves - to go out for romantic meals, or to the theatre, or (importantly) to fuck.

"Oh, you are seductive," she said to the App. Within minutes of being given that awful power, she was hooked by its possibilities. By the idea that she could capture some sexy young woman and effectively turn her into a happy slave. "I won't do it," she said, and switched the iPad off.

As Emily waited for John to return with the boys, she sat by the window with a mug of hot chocolate, watching her neighbours and wondering how many of them had had their lives changed by the App. The elderly couple next door clearly hadn't had sex in decades, and the family next door (five kids!) - well, probably not.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Emily switched through the App to the camera and pointed it at people outside. The button for taking images was greyed out unless she had one and only one person in view, and it stayed grey even then if that person wasn't an adult. Text would appear giving name, age and relationship status. Emily was surprised to see that young Rachel from across the street was actually eighteen now.

Emily pushed the iPad away as if it had bitten her. For a second there, seeing Rachel on the screen, the button red and giving Emily the power to enslave her, Emily had been sorely tempted. Rachel had grown into an attractive young woman, and the thought of being able to give Rachel almost as a gift to John, to let him fuck her virgin pussy while Emily watched...

"Power corrupts," she whispered fiercely.

She watched Rachel walk away into the distance, and imagined the pretty blonde's pussy full of John's cum. She imagined herself gorging on the blonde's cum-filled pussy, and as she played out the fantasy in her head, she rubbed her clit with urgent need; and as she imagined Rachel convulsing in ecstasy, Emily gasped through a long, intense climax of her own, there at the table by the window.

*

On her return from the shop at the corner, the bag of groceries heavy in her hand, Rachel was surprised to see Emily Richards watching her. "Hi, Mrs Richards," she said. "How are the boys?" She had been their babysitter a few times, before lockdown, and guessed that would be what Mrs Richards wanted from her now.

"Hi, Rachel," Mrs Richards said. "Do you mind coming inside for a minute?"

"Sure, I guess," Rachel said and followed her in. She knew the house well, of course. It was a good size and tastefully decorated while still being a friendly family house. She put the groceries down by the front door, and looked up to see Mrs Richards holding up an iPad.

She felt suddenly dizzy, and very confused, and allowed herself to be guided into the living room. How long she stood there, she wasn't sure, but eventually the fog lifted, and she blinked. "Sorry, I don't know what happened there," she said to Mrs Richards, who was looking at her with a concerned expression.

"Don't worry about it," Mrs Richards said. "Have a seat. Take your underwear off, if you like."

That was such a strange thing for her to say! Although... Rachel's bra was digging into her rather painfully. "I think I will," she said, feeling a little embarrassed by this. "Thanks, Mrs Richards."

"Call me Emily."

Rachel smiled. "Thanks, Emily. I wonder... Can you undo my clasp?" She turned her back to Emily, and shivered with unexpected pleasure as Emily's cool hands glided intimately up her back. The relief as the clasp was undone was profound, and when Emily's hands circled around to cup her breasts, Rachel felt herself almost melting within the older woman's embrace.

Emily pulled away from her, taking her bra with her, and Rachel stared down a little in shock at how much larger her breasts seemed. Her nipples, swollen from her sudden arousal, were like bullets beneath the T-shirt that stretched tightly over them. "Are you sure you don't want to take your panties off too," Emily asked with a sly grin. "They must be very wet."

Rachel blushed. She realised Emily was trying to seduce her, and the most confusing thing was how well she was doing. Rachel had never been into girls - or anyone, really - but Emily's touch had ignited a heat in her that had her yearning to be touched again. "Maybe you can take them off for me," she dared.

"I'd love to," Emily said and knelt before her. Rachel gave a quiet gasp of surprised pleasure as Emily's hands caressed her bare legs, drifting steadily up, under her skirt. She was very aware of how close Emily's face was to her pussy, and also of how wet her pussy must be. She had never been this aroused before.

"Down we go," Emily murmured, tugging Rachel's panties down slowly. They weren't sexy panties. She hadn't even suspected that her trip to the shop might end in sex. They were comfortable and stretchy, and now thoroughly soaked. She lifted her feet to allow Emily to take them away. "You smell divine," Emily said, and kissed her thighs.

The sound of the front door opening and kids shouting had Rachel in a sudden panic. "I need to go," she said.

"No," Emily instructed. "Sit." She pushed Rachel onto the sofa and snatched up the discarded underwear. "Wait."

Rachel did as she was told. She did actually need to get home. Her mother was waiting for the groceries, and was probably annoyed already at how long Rachel had been gone. But it felt important to wait for Emily.

After a minute, the boys raced upstairs, and Emily returned with John. "Guess what I know all about," Emily said, picking up the iPad and handing it to her husband.

Perhaps Rachel imagined it, but John looked frightened as he tapped and swiped at the iPad. He kept glancing at Emily as if she were a wild animal or something. Like an escaped leopard, perhaps. Which was funny, because Emily was clearly trying to hide a smile, and after a minute or two, John relaxed and said to her, "You're really okay with this?"

Emily laughed. "What choice do I have? And anyway, I am now equally guilty." She turned to look at Rachel. "We would like you to be our live-in babysitter. An au pair, of sorts. We have a spare room for you."

"But I just live across the street," Rachel protested.

"Yes, but we want you here with us, so we can use you whenever we want." Emily sat on the sofa beside her and ran her hand teasingly up Rachel's thigh. "So that I can use you whenever I want." Again Rachel felt herself melting beneath Emily's touch. She allowed Emily to part her thighs and lift her skirt, thinking only about how desperately she needed Emily to discover her clit. "See how wet she is, John. Isn't she perfect for us?"

Rachel came to her senses abruptly, realising that John was staring at her exposed pussy. "Stop it," she pleaded, closing her legs and tugging her skirt down again. She could feel her cheeks burning from the shame of it.

Emily laughed and kissed her on the cheek. "Absolutely perfect," she said. "You start tonight. I leave at seven, so be here before then."

Rachel, understanding that she was free to go, shot to her feet and rushed to the door. She picked up her groceries and fled, her heart pounding, her thoughts in a whirl. Her mother, at home and in the kitchen, started whining about how long Rachel had taken, but fell silent and stared in shock at Rachel's breasts.

Rachel retreated and fled to her room. She stripped out of her T-shirt and stared at her reflection in the mirror. There was no denying it. Her breasts had grown. Her B cups had turned into a pair of very perky DDs. How, she had no idea, but... they looked fantastic. She couldn't resist caressing them, as much to test their reality as to tease her nipples playfully.

Making sure her bedroom door was wedged firmly shut, Rachel lay on her bed, rummaged through her drawer for her vibrator, and trying very hard not to think about her mother being downstairs and very awake, she worked herself through a long and delicious series of orgasms while fantasising about being Emily and John's sex slave.

*

Rachel grew more and more nervous as seven o'clock approached. She knew she would go, because the thought of disappointing Emily was unbearable, but that in itself was part of what frightened her.

She had never been attracted to anyone before. Indeed, she'd been quite at ease with the label asexual, and perhaps aromantic too, so to feel such a powerful sexual attraction to both Emily and John was profoundly confusing for her. What she felt for Emily went far deeper, though. She didn't know if it was romantic or something else, but then she never understood romance anyway. What she did know for sure was that she wanted to please Emily.

Her breasts bothered her too - not because she didn't like the change, but because it had happened at all. Breasts don't change size like that. She couldn't help feeling like she was being manipulated by some capricious divinity into being someone she wasn't. Apart from anything else, none of her bras fit any longer.

The third thing that frightened Rachel was her mother. How was Rachel to explain her new breasts and her sudden decision to move in with the Richards? But that, at least, was an explanation that could be deferred until the following day.

At quarter to seven, she gave a heavy sigh and emerged at last from her room carrying a bag packed with essentials and hurried down the stairs. "I'm babysitting tonight," she said to her mother, the words coming out in a rush. She ignored the anxiety in her mother's eyes, knowing that there were a hundred questions there that she had no answers to. "Talk tomorrow..."

*

Dinner with Mr Fisher was, as usual, at eight. Emily, as usual, arrived at half seven, dressed elegantly with a hint of slut: a short, black cocktail dress, stockings and garter belt, and high stiletto heels to match.

Mrs Fisher was in the kitchen, and had clearly spent hours preparing and setting out a delicious three course meal. That she did this wearing (only) a pink sweetheart corset and thigh-high patent leather boots only made it more impressive. Emily had always puzzled over this masochistic labour of love, but now she understood that Mrs Fisher was living out her husband's fantasy of a perfect wife.

"Margarita, Miss Emily," she said, presenting the drink on a little silver tray.

Emily took the drink and chose to follow the other woman into the kitchen. She knew she was supposed to ignore her, but this time she followed her out of curiosity. Emily studied her as she sipped the cocktail. "Tell me honestly, Mrs Fisher. What do you think of me?"

Mrs Fisher's expression twisted from its usual neutrality into contempt. "That you're a dirty slut." The hostility was quickly brought under control.

"Then why do you do all this?"

"Because I love my husband, Miss Emily, and this is what he wants." After a few seconds, she added quietly, "I'm not allowed to come when he fucks me. I'm only allowed to come when I watch him fuck other women. Sluts like you." Again there was that flash of hatred.

Emily nodded. She sensed a deep bitterness at work here. "Perhaps we should blindfold you tonight, Mrs Fisher. Will you be able to come just by listening to us fuck?"

There was definite panic in Mrs Fisher's eyes. "Please don't do that, Miss Emily."

"Why don't you get my pussy nice and wet for your husband. Do a good job and maybe I'll forget the blindfold."

There was a subtle flicker of resentment from her, but then she quickly checked the various foods and timers, and knelt in front of Emily. Her leather boots resisted the position a little, and the tight corset made it even more awkward, but Emily didn't care. She just parted her legs and waited for Mrs Fisher to get to work. She was already wet anyway, partly from thinking about Rachel spending the night with John, partly from her cruel teasing of Mrs Fisher.

The woman clearly lacked both experience with and enthusiasm for licking pussy. Her tongue licked tentatively at Emily's clit. "That's right, Mrs Fisher," Emily said. "Get my dirty pussy nice and wet. Get your tongue right in there." She suppressed a laugh as the tongue pushed into her. "Is my dirty cunt nice and wet, Mrs Fisher?"

"Yes, Miss Emily."

"Good." She stepped past the kneeling woman and strode away, into the lounge. Mr Fisher joined her there a few minutes later. They didn't talk. Talk was for the dinner table only. Mr Fisher was a man in his fifties, and although not handsome he was in good health and quite muscular. He'd been in the military at some point, and the police at another. He was a man who enjoyed fucking, and she suspected he took viagra because he would stay hard for hours.

He sat beside her on the leather sofa, tugged her dress down to expose her breasts, and bent to suck on a nipple. His hand went straight to her pussy, two fingers pushing into her, a thumb against her clit. Emily didn't need to do anything except try not to come. This time she was too aroused, and his rough fingers found the perfect spot within her, exciting her G-spot until she felt like she was going to pee all over the sofa. She knew if she came, it would be wet, but couldn't hold it back. She cried out as fluids gushed out past his hand, and again as she came hard, her cunt clamping down on his fingers. "Sorry, Mr Fisher," she gasped as she convulsed in his arms.

Mr Fisher shrugged, ordered her to stand up and bend over, and proceeded to spank her, hard, making her cry out, again and again, until there were tears on her cheeks, and her bum was on fire. Which meant sitting for dinner was painful, and Mrs Fisher was definitely gloating as she served crab risotto in coconut shells.

"What was she like before that you made her this way?" Emily asked.

Mr Fisher looked at her with real surprise, then after a moment he nodded. "Judgemental and unforgiving. Puritanical. There was love between us in the beginning, but it was over the years buried beneath resentment. But now we fuck every day. Or, if she's lucky, she gets to watch me fuck someone else."

After a delicious main course of mushroom spaghetti and an alcohol-rich tiramisu dessert, they relaxed in the lounge again while Mrs Fisher tidied up and cleaned the kitchen. This relaxation involved Mr Fisher presenting his very well proportioned cock for Emily to suck. It was a little thicker than John's, and almost as long. Emily, glad to finally get her sore bum off the seat, knelt happily and gave him a very wet and sloppy blowjob with lots of spitting; she wanted Mrs Fisher to hear her. She always enjoyed trying to make him come in her mouth, but he never did.