Lock in

"Vicky, I know we talked about this a few weekends ago, so I apologise in advance. But you wouldn't ever have an affair with Stewart, to get that promotion?"

"No need to apologise baby. I know this comes across as the classic set up, boss and staff, career advancement, regularly working late. But there's nothing going between me and Stewart, I promise you. It's just a new project, with de-briefings, in his office on Thursday evenings. Everyone else is there anyway."

"And you know how damaging lies are."

"I do."

"Good. Then I trust you."

Later, I said I had to go out.

"Seeing someone nice?"

"Gordon."

I kissed her goodbye. She smelled of roses, usually she smells of coconut body wash.

"I'm afraid it's bad news mate."

"I'm ready."

"The cleaner was turned away again, but she managed to identify the two people there this time. It was Vicky, and her boss. No proper meeting. It was nearly seven when they left. I can't prove they had sex though."

"But they did have the opportunity, undisturbed in his office, for forty minutes or so." I said.

"Yes."

"That's what I feared. Is there a way I could see in there?"

"No problem. How does this sound?"

I had another meeting with Amanda.

"Will it be divorce?" she asked. "It will for me."

"Yes. But I fear Vicky will get more than she deserves."

"Anything else you want?"

"I want her embarrassed and humiliated."

"Maybe I can help. Has Stewart offered her a promotion?"

"Yes."

"Then I can always get him fired, but keep her on. And get her promoted with a payrise. If her salary is not too different to yours; you won't get stung for maintenance payments. I'll even lend you the money to buy her share of the house, if you want to stay there."

"That sounds fantastic, thanks!"

"Once you're divorced, and she's a manager, I'll work her fingers to the bone, so she deserves her payrise in the first year. Then we can discuss what to do. If you feel avenged, I can ease up on her. If you still want her to suffer, I'll find some reason to fire her."

"Deal!"

The plan rolled into action the following Thursday. I met Gordon at Heartlands. One of his the cleaning ladies took me up to Stewart's floor. We went in the service lift. It was bigger than the passenger lifts and could accommodate her cart. Also I would be less likely to run across anyone who might recognise me.

We walked down the corridor, me wearing a green uniform and cap, like hers. As she went into Stewart's office, I slipped into the one next door, and heard him say:

"No need tonight love."

She rolled her cart in with me. Did her duties for whoever had this office, turned off the lights, closed the door, and left.

I stood in the dark and looked out at the light from the secretary's office, spilling across the corridor. A large shadow appeared on the floor. I leaned back as Stewart looked out to see if the cleaner was far enough away. Then the lights went out, and the door was quietly shut. Next I heard the door to his office close too.

Only Security could lock these doors, so I had no difficulty creeping into the outer office and approaching Stewart's. The internal door had a glass panel to comply with fire regs, and I watched from relative darkness. The lighting was low in his office but my movie camera would cope well enough; I wouldn't need HD.

The first thing they did surprised me. After a brief kiss and a squeeze, they stripped off. I mean everything. I thought Vicky might at least keep her sexy stockings on; stockings I noticed she hadn't been wearing when she left home. I had a moment's panic as they both came back to the door. I quickly stepped to one side and realised they were only putting their clothes on a chair. Then I remembered Amanda saying how careful Stewart might be. He was making sure they didn't go home with any suspicious stains.

They moved away from the door to the large conference table. There was a desk lamp on a side table and Stewart turned it on. It was as bright as a spotlight. He laid full length with his head in the light. I soon saw why.

Vicky straddled his face and stretched over him in the standard 69 position. I couldn't see or hear her oral ministrations, but I knew full well what it felt like; she's good at blowjobs. Stewart was like a kid in a sweet shop. He spent ages staring at her cunt and arse in the bright light, holding them both wide open. My movie was showing every little fold and crease; details I was so familiar with. I could even see how wet she was.

I almost envied him, even though I'd done the same thing on hundreds of occasions. But I'd never actually seen oral sex from this viewpoint. I was never going to fuck my wife, or look at her naked again. So, as well as being used to threaten her, these images could also be used to remind me of sexier times. He thrust a finger into her anus. For the first time I heard something. Vicky was moaning with pleasure. Then they must have decided he was hard enough, and they climbed off the table.

She lay on her back with her cunt in the spotlight again. He still hadn't finished admiring it, and sat on a chair in front of her. More poking and licking, then he stood up. I have to say there was nothing special about his equipment. He pushed her knees back and entered her slowly, staring down at himself the whole time. It was fascinating watching his dick get wetter and wetter. I zoomed in.

After a few strokes he got more aggressive, ramming into her harder. Vicky seemed a bit detached from it all. As the fucking continued, I found myself evaluating my emotions. Firstly, observing them did not get me excited, as I'd expected it wouldn't. There was a certain tingling in my penis, but no more than watching any other porn. I suppose I might have got it up properly, if I'd stroked it. But the urge wasn't there. Yet I was more than just a detached observer.

Vicky and I had discussed this, and she'd promised it would never happen. And she fully understood the effects of lying and premeditation. What I was witnessing was prostitution. Ultimately she was fucking for money.

'A payrise of nearly fifty percent' she'd said. Fucking for money equals whore, equals divorce. He withdrew slowly and stood there a moment, staring at it again. As he leaned back, Vicky's cunt was highlighted and she lifted her head to watch what he was doing. The stark lighting made her face look evil.

He pushed his cock into her and started again; long slow strokes, bringing it nearly all the way out. Vicky laced her fingers around his neck, pulling his face into hers and I had no doubt spit was being swapped. Suddenly I realised why prostitutes never kiss you on the mouth. Giving up your cunt, even giving a blowjob, seems somehow less intimate than passionate kissing. To reinforce how much she was now into it, Vicky wrapped her legs around his waist. Her thighs flexed as she pulled him in closer. This was more than just getting a promotion; my wife was enjoying herself.

'Make the most of it.' I thought.

Stewart didn't last long. Maybe the twirling tongues set him off. I know it does for me - did for me. He held her waist and her back arched off the table. It was not clear whether she was rising up to him, or if he was lifting her. Either way she looked like a contortionist. Then they froze. He was emptying deep inside her.

I'd got enough, and lowered the camera. The most precious part of my life was over. A wave of depression swept over me, and I felt a huge sense of loss. The feeling got worse and my depression became hatred. He lifted his head from hers and she spoke, clearly enough for me to hear.

'That was nice!'

That's what she used to say to me. It didn't get more intimate than that. I stopped feeling sorry for myself and the lump in my throat disappeared. Stewart picked up the towel and they walked past me to the shower. I left.

The next week was tough, not least for putting off any sexual contact, while trying to appear normal. For the most part I pretended to have a flu bug that was doing the rounds. Amanda and I revamped our plan, adding some little extras. We got quite gleeful about it all, like little kids. Gordon and some of his staff had parts to play as well.

I took the following Thursday afternoon off work and met Amanda for a late lunch. Then we went to our respective banks and a lot of credit cards got cancelled. And a lot of cash was transferred. Later, we got a taxi to Heartlands, as the staff was coming out. Once the crowd had dissipated, she went to her husband's BMW. Using the spare key, she drove it off, giving me a little wave as she passed. I went in, found Gordon, and donned my green uniform again.

The trip up to Floor Three was uneventful, but had two differences. The cleaning lady was with me, but this time I also had a cart; basically just a framed bin bag on wheels. And I was not carrying a camera. She entered the outer office and was dismissed. I waited next door again.

At last, the light went out and Vicky and Stewart slipped into his office. I hung around where I was; no need to witness all that again. After fifteen minutes, I slipped into the corridor and put my ear against the wall of his office. I could hear better from there, and could tell it was nearly over. Towards the end, Vicky makes an 'nng, nng' noise. Then I heard sounds telling me they were heading for the exec shower. I had to be quick.

I listened at Stewart's office until I heard the bathroom door closing. Perfect! I got to work. First I picked up all their clothes, including shoes. Along with Vicky's handbag and phone, they were dumped in my cart. Then I went through his desk drawers and the rest of his furniture, taking his mobile phone, one spare shirt and a tie.

I wheeled the cart back into the secretary's office, nearly bumping into Gordon.

"Ready?" he whispered.

"Not yet."

I searched the desk, it wasn't Vicky's but I wanted to make sure there was no more clothing.

"One last thing." I said.

I crept back into Stewart's, rechecked there was nothing that could be worn and quietly opened the bathroom door. Naturally, they were sharing the shower. I could just make out their pink bodies through the frosted glass door. On the floor was an empty body wash sachet; roses. I drifted through the steam, grabbed the two towels from the rail and, as an afterthought, took the toilet roll too.

I returned to Gordon, and dumped it all in the bin bag, along with a pretty box of tissues. He locked Stewart's door, and when we got into the corridor, locked Vicky's as well. They couldn't get out, couldn't be heard, and would not show up on any security cameras. We ran back to the service lift, laughing like schoolboys.

In Gordon's maintenance cubbyhole, he immediately cut off the water to Floor Three. Then he disabled all their office phones and lights. I could just picture them, in a stopped shower, in the dark, wet and hopefully covered in soap. They'd be groping for towels, and their clothes, and trying to call for help on a phone that wasn't working.

"I hope they're still wet and sticky." I said.

"Even better if they need a dump later. They've only got one flush!"

"And no paper!"

"We turn the air conditioning off about now anyway. I'll also turn the heating down a bit for them; they'll start shivering."

"Won't that look suspicious?" I queried.

"Don't worry. I've been fucking about with the a/c, desk phones and water, all week. I've told the top brass it all needs an overhaul, which is mostly true."

I did an inventory of my haul. I'd got everything, credit cards, phones, the lot. There was four hundred pounds in Stewart's wallet, which I removed.

"Could you give this to my cleaning lady accomplice?"

"Good idea. Not all of it though. There are two security guards on at night. They're supposed to do the rounds every hour or so. Fifty each will ensure they're deaf!"

"Tell me," I said, "What time does your company unlock the offices in the morning?"

"Six fortyfive."

"And when do you open the main doors?"

"Seven."

"Are many personnel there, at seven?"

"A dozen or so."

"So, what would be your policy if you found intruders in the building at, say, six fifty a.m.?"

"If we didn't recognise them, we'd call the police."

"And escort them outside when the cops pulled up?"

"That sounds reasonable."

"Have you ever seen McGregor, or my wife, naked?"

"Never."

"You might not recognise them then!"

I used Stewart's mobile phone to call Amanda.

"It's all done."

"Excellent work, when will they get out?"

"Just before seven in the morning."

"Naked?"

"Should be."

"I've hidden Stewart's car, and changed the locks in the house. How about you?"

"Not gone quite that far, but I've done enough."

"Good. Well keep in touch."

Finally I made an anonymous call to the local newspaper. They would not want to miss out on a photo story of a naked couple, caught in an adulterous relationship - even if they did have to blur bits out. Then I left.

I'd arrived by taxi of course, so I took Vicky's car home.