Just Deserts

"Well there is my justification out of his own mouth," Di snapped with some annoyance. "How the hell did he expect my poor cunt to manage without any attention for three whole days. I tell you, if it depended on him my slit would heal up altogether." She simmered for a moment or two then went on more calmly, "For a long time I used to scour the house after a guy had gone to make sure Stan never noticed anything but I have let myself get a little careless. I've been a bit bored lately and Stan is so clinging that it can get rather irritating so perhaps I half hoped that he would find out just to liven things up. I will take more care from now on though."

"That's another give-away," I said pointing to the ashtray. "And strange brand tab-ends as well,

"I know, Stan did pull me on the cigarettes but ever since I make sure that every ashtray in the house is empty before he gets home."

This is where I compounded the betrayal of my friend, "That's not good enough. Stan knows that you tip them in the kitchen waste bin and he checks every night. He's already got a list of three cigarette brands he found which should not have been in the house." At least I never mentioned the watch.

"The devious shit," Di swore - but she was smiling and seemed impressed by her husband's resourcefulness.

"Stan also told me about two cigar butts."

This time Diane laughed out loud. "That was Maurice. Call me Monica if you like but I did enjoy what he did with the cigars getting them ready to smoke - he said it improved the taste. Maurice was a lot of fun but I had to stop him calling. The smoke lingered too long particularly in the bedroom and I was worried that Stan would smell it when he got home."

It goes without saying that this was the first of many days when I crept across the road to indulge in stupendous, if slightly sordid, sex. The two days per week that my wife packed her overnight bag, I was like a dog straining at the leash and was at Diane's door almost before Olivia's car had exited the end of the road. I very quickly appreciated the flower decked trellising leading to Diane's gate from the illicit lover's point of view because I found it invaluable. From its cover it was possible to view the road from perfect concealment so that it was possible to pick the optimum moment to emerge. It was so useful that I had to remark to Diane how fortuitous the decorative feature had proved in aid of her secret life.

She giggled. "There's nothing fortuitous about it. I asked Stan to build it because I specifically wanted to get that benefit. When I first started getting a bit on the side I went to motels a lot because I dare not let too many men call at the house with the nosy neighbours we've got round here. Stan did it exactly as I wanted it. The really funny part is that Stan is so proud of his fence, mainly because it's the only time he has ever achieved what he set out to do. He has absolutely no idea it's his hard work that has made it possible for all my lovers to come to the house quite safely."

One day I asked how long she had been married to Stan before she started cheating. "Nine months," she said without needing even a moment of thought. "After he got his injury he was in hospital for coming up to four months. Even after release he needed treatment and a physiotherapist started to call every Monday, Wednesday and Friday to work on his knee. For a long time this meant Stan lying in bed for an hour with his leg in some kind of traction. The physio, Stu was lovely, very blonde with a crew cut and he always wore a white T-shirt, tight white trousers and a little sleeveless white jacket that showed off his tanned muscular arms."

Diane smiled recalling the memory as she said, "The first two times he called I took a cup of coffee for both of them after he had got Stan fixed into the contraption and they chatted till the treatment was completed. Up to this time I had been a very good girl but after four months without I was going crazy for it and I thought what a terrible waste. So next time I only took up one mug and told Stu that I had got something for him downstairs. He came down thinking that I was talking about coffee. Just looking at him I had known he would have a fantastic cock and he did."

Over the next three months we spent some very pleasant hours happily screwing while my husband's leg was being stretched. Even when there was no need for traction Stan still needed massage on his leg and although this could have happened anywhere in the house, Stu insisted that it took place upstairs. Stu still came down for his 'coffee'. We didn't have so long and it was not quite as safe but it took ages for Stan to get downstairs - so with that much warning we still managed some excellent sex. I think that every woman should fuck a physiotherapist at least once because they know so much about the human body. Of course, by the time that Stan got a job and started work, I couldn't manage without my extra rations so I immediately started finding replacements for Stu."

"With all your gentleman callers, I don't really understand why you need to take a chance messing about on Friday nights."

"If I dance and snog a guy I get a terrible curiosity to know what he's like where it counts and I do pick up the odd regular from there," Diane told me. "The ones who visit me at home are mostly married men. I prefer them married because sooner or later they develop a conscience and stop calling so it saves me having to pack them in. I do hate dropping a guy when we have had a lot of good fucks together. Anyway a few frantic minutes on a Friday is hardly real sex compared to hours of comfortable screwing in this bed. To play safe, I always make pick-ups wear a condom but it's strictly bareback in this house - I do love to feel spunk spurting up inside me." That was the end of the conversation because I was immediately inspired to give her the sensation that she had expressed a liking for.

You may wonder how we carried on during the Saturday social afternoons after two days of fabulous sex. The simple answer is that it was interesting. I sat in my usual seat but Diane spent a long time lurking behind but to the right of her husband's chair. From that position she took great pleasure in tormenting me, devising a great many different ways of doing it. I can list squeezing her own breasts, flashing her cleavage, bending down to grin at me through her legs - not to mention lewdly rubbing her crotch with one symbolic finger. Once she even popped a tit out for my delight. Her objective was to force some reaction on my face and more than once she succeeded. On these occasions, Stan's head would whip round to see what I was looking at but all ever found was Diane innocently standing there apparently engrossed in the match.

In many ways those afternoons were hard because she and I shared many glances that told how we ached for each other. Fortunately several times Diane did manage to engineer chances for us to be briefly together, not for full sex but at least some physical contact. Once she said to me, "We bought a new chest of drawers for the bedroom last Sunday, do you want to come up and see it?" Pretending great interest, I obediently followed her, even though, I had had upwards of six hours opportunity to view the chest during the week and not cast a single glance at it. Another time I happened to mention that I had snapped the handle off my trowel while gardening. This casually remark was enough to cause Di to jump up with the offer, "I think we have a spare trowel down in the shed - do you want to come and look?"

That small diversion could have turned out rather awkward because the knees of her trousers picked up a lot of dirt from the shed floor.

Diane seemed to take pleasure in seeing how blatant she dared be in front of her husband but this was not a real challenge because Stan tended to be oblivious. I suspected that if Man United were on the box we could have shagged on the carpet at his feet without him noticing. However, the following incident did rather push the limits and even now I still have to smile whenever I think of it. Unusually, Di was wearing a little short skirt instead of her usual trousers and taking position behind Stan's chair she lifted the front to reveal that she was not wearing panties. From then on she kept repeating the action, thrusting her brown nest provocatively at me or alternatively turning round, flicking up the back and lewdly swivelling her hips. I was steaming and having great trouble preventing this from showing on my face so it was almost a relief when she retired to the kitchen to prepare our snacks.

After a short while she called to 'Come and get it' and I wandered into the kitchen to see the two trays already waiting on the kitchen table. Before I could move in that direction Di pounced and started scrabbling at my fly, whispering '"I want it inside me if only for a minute."

Having said that she turned, lifted her skirt and bent forward with legs splayed and hands resting on a kitchen stool. Without hesitation I released my rampant weapon and plunged it home. Unfortunately, all that build up had made me into a one shot wonder because a single thrust was enough to make me explode. Diane reacted and for what seemed an eternity I clasped her tightly as orgasms racked her body and she fought not to make a sound. The moment her spasms died, I pulled out, zipped up, grabbed a tray and hurried back to Stan.

I was just in time because he was in the process of pulling himself to his feet. "You are going to kick yourself," he said with some satisfaction in his voice. "Beckham just scored while you were in the kitchen - slid in a really sneaky one on the keeper's blind side and you missed it. He's playing away from home so that will count double on aggregate."

I dashed back to the kitchen struggling not to laugh out loud. Diane was standing where I left her with the fingers of one hand buried in her snatch. As I watched she withdrew her hand and, looking straight at me, slowly licked and sucked each digit in turn. Unbelievably I stiffened again, so to avoid further temptation, I picked up my tray and hastened back to the room. "They've been claiming off-side but the goal stands and that's all that counts at the end of the day," my pal reported. "Becks was actually well off-side according to the replay but all's fair in love and war."

"Whatever you say Stan, " I said sitting down beside him.

One day in the canteen, deciding to have some fun at my friend's expense, I said, "Yesterday morning, I caught a glimpse of a male figure disappearing into your gate so I started to keep watch." Stan stopped eating and stared tensely at me but I waited until he said, "AND?" before providing the punch line, "A few seconds later the guy came out again and I realised that it was only the postman." I burst into laughter but it was a moment or two before Stan grasped the fact that I was having him on. I must admit that he saw the joke but his sense of humour was less in evidence when I tried a variation of the gag a couple of weeks later. That time I said, "Shifty kind of character in the street a couple of mornings ago. He kind of sneaked up the street looking all round and then stopped outside your gate."

"Postman again," Stan nodded, not rising to the bait.

Looking very serious I said, "No, never seen this guy before. Very big he was and from the way he walked he must have been hung like a horse." The effect on Diane's husband was devastating. He seemed to shrink in his seat and when he asked, "What happened?" his voice was barely a whisper. "Oh yes - he went on to number 43," I told him, as if it had no importance, "The chap who lives there came out and they went off together."

Stan gave me a reproachful look and said, "If you had any idea how much this is tearing me apart, you wouldn't finding it so funny winding me up."

Ironically it was the very next day that I so nearly did come unstuck. As I wandered into Stan's house for the usual Saturday football session, Diane removed an item from under some papers and advanced towards me waving it in the air and saying loudly, "Look what you dropped last time you were here. Stan found it down the back of the settee while he was vacuuming this morning" It was my ID card from work. I had indeed lost it the last time that I was there but that happened to be the Thursday morning. During the course of the affair, I had shagged Di all over the house but on the Thursday, unwilling to waste time going upstairs, we had started off on the settee. Glancing at Stan I found him glaring and guessed that Diane had pre-empted his planned interrogation.

For a moment I was flabbergasted that Di had dared to say what she had but then I realised that she had very cleverly prompted me without seeming to have done so. Catching on I said, "Thank goodness for that, I have been looking for the damn thing all week. If it hadn't turned up I was going to apply for a new one on Monday." Critically, Stan relaxed and smiled - and I lived to ride again.

How many would not envy me my fabulous loving wife and possibly the sexiest little mistress ever created by god. I know that my good fortune rather went to my head. Both Diane and I subtly teased her husband, sometimes a bit cruelly, but it was not really malicious being prompted by the heady euphoria of our pleasure in each other's body. I felt that the world belonged to me and could see no real reason why it should ever end but one dire Saturday morning, on my way to the shop at the end of the road the sky fell. Leaving my wife in bed sleeping off her night out, I was heading to buy a newspaper when I spotted Diane waving frantically to me from her front gate. With no sense of impending disaster I wandered over, keeping a wary eye open for Stan. "Olivia knows about us," Di hissed as I drew near.

My heart sank and I mouthed rather than spoke the word 'How?' At close quarters I could see that that the right side of my mistress's face was red and rather puffy. "I'm afraid that I rather spilled the beans last night," she told me looking rather shame-faced.

"But why, I mean - how?" I asked casting my worried eyes towards the front door rather than at her. I was desperately eager to hear what she had to tell me but half expected her husband to emerge from the house at any minute.

"It's OK - he's down at the supermarket," Diane reassured me. "I'm afraid that it just slipped out. We were having a good time and O started telling a joke about some guy with a growth on his penis. I was already laughing and without thinking I said, 'You mean a bit like Ken?' Well O stops telling the story, looks at me real hard and asks, 'How the fuck do you know about the wart on Ken's dick?' I had no idea what to say and I wished that the ground would just open and swallow me up. Olivia got very angry. 'You've been shagging my husband haven't you, you slag,' she says. I could not admit it just standing there but I didn't deny either. Instead I said, 'You've no right to call me a slag - and anyway, you've got no room to talk.' That's when she hit me. Punched me right in the eye and I didn't even see it coming. I go down and she stands there saying, 'I'm going to teach that miserable bastard a lesson as well.' Then she left."

"Oh Christ, the shit is really going to hit the fan when she gets out of bed," I groaned. "I might as well start packing my bags straight away."

Diane noticeably hesitated and then said, "Look love, if she comes on too heavy with you; ask how she spends her time when you can't keep an eye on her."

"What do mean? What do you know?" I asked reaching out to grasp Diane's arm.

Di stepped back pulling her arm clear. "I'm not saying any more - it's up to Olivia to tell you if she wants you to know. I just thought you deserved to have a bit of ammunition of your own. She can be a right cow when she wants to be."

Despite my pressing, Diane was adamant that my wife should be the one to answer my questions. I was turning away when a sudden whim made me ask, "Why do you always refer to Olivia as O?"

Diane grinned. "That's what she calls herself when we are out - it's from 'The story of O', if that gives you any clues."

That cryptic remark left me none the wiser and I returned home very worried about what would happen when Olivia returned to the land of the living. It did help a lot knowing that I had something to throw back at her - even though I had no idea what it was. When she eventually emerged from sleep it was the middle of the afternoon. This gave me plenty of time to remember that it had been 5 a.m. when the sound of the shower woke me shortly before she crept into bed beside me - a good three hours later than her usual return from a girl's night out. I sat tensely with my nerves at breaking point as I finally heard her coming downstairs but Olivia just poked her head round the door and said quite pleasantly, "I'm making myself a coffee, do you want one?"

Nor was this just the lull before the storm because when my wife carried through the two steaming mugs she said, "I'm afraid that I was a bit late in last night - sorry." I tiptoed around on eggshells for the rest of the day but nothing untoward was said. In bed Olivia quickly let me know that there was nothing doing but on the other hand she didn't push me completely away as was usual when I was in her bad books. Sunday morning I did dip my wick. In fact it was more than just that because we had quite a heavy session and this completed my mystification. I could just about understand that my wife might be prepared to let my dalliance with Diane go without comment but for her to also be affectionately passionate was completely out of character. By that evening my relief at having escaped Armageddon was being replaced by morbid curiosity - what exactly had been Diane been hinting at and had this unknown factor got any bearing on my wife's behaviour.

Monday Olivia worked at home and I was out seeing customers. That evening was pleasant if uneventful but I did tend to find her studying me with a thoughtful look on her face whenever she thought I wasn't looking. There was no sex that night. On Tuesday morning I went through the motions of preparing for another day of customer visits but the moment that my wife drove off for another two-day stint away from home, I was across the road and knocking on Diane's door. The exciting creature seemed startled to see me but she forced a smile to her face and said, "So you are still alive then?"

"I can't understand it - she hasn't said a damn thing," I reported. "From the way she is behaving you would think that nothing had happened."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"Yes - but it leaves me very unsettled not knowing why." As I spoke I made to move forward into the house."

"Is this wise?" Diane asked showing reluctance for the first time.

"Olivia is half way down the motorway by now - anyway, I'm only here to ask some questions."

"Then you are wasting your time because I haven't changed my mind - ask Olivia if you want to ask anybody but if she hasn't mentioned that she knows about you and me, your best bet is to forget that I ever said anything to you."

"That's fair enough," I said. "I actually want to ask you about something completely different. Roughly what time was your fight that night and how much later did my wife leave the club?"

"It was early - definitely not later than eleven thirty and O left less than five minutes later. Why do you want to know?"

"She did not get home until 5 a.m. and I'm trying to find out how much time is unaccounted for."

My information had a strange effect on Diane. She bit her lip and stared down at the ground for a few moments, breathing heavily through her nose. But then she looked back into my face and said, "I have done a load of things for a laugh that I am not particularly proud of but that is just not on. OK, I will tell you. Olivia left the club with three Paki's - or should I say Asian gentlemen. They were smart and prosperous looking but before the taxi even pulled away, all three of them were pawing her and leaving no doubt about what they had in mind."