My Wife, the CyberSlut

Her: So, I have too much stuff. Anyone wanting to buy any of the outfits you've seen, DM me

The internet was absurd. One group would pay her to buy sexy outfits, another paid to see her in them, and a third paid to buy them off her once she'd worn them. I was in the wrong business - but I doubted anyone would want my sweaty second-hand boxers. I'd stick to selling my words.

I had a big trip coming up - a fortnight in Singapore. Meanwhile the clamouring for dirtier, riskier pictures was growing - and it seemed people were starting to go elsewhere. There was always someone newer, prettier, younger, dirtier, that they could turn to. But my wife didn't want to give up yet, it was too much of a rush.

The night before my trip, she handed me her phone. Told me to take some pictures of her. Then she stripped, completely naked, and posed for me - hands strategically placed over nipples and her pussy - in a succession of alluring positions. She said it would be something to take with me, to see me through those long lonely nights. But I knew what they were really for.

"Take your hands away," I begged.

"No way!"

I smiled. "I promise to keep them to myself. Don't you trust me?"

Her eyes twinkled. God, I hoped she was having the same thoughts I was having. I kept snapping away as she continued to pose - offering her tits to the camera, pinching her nipples, sliding her fingers inside herself, spreading her legs wide and holding herself open. Taking her favourite dildo and sliding it deep inside her. All captured, for our eyes only. Well, and a few thousand of her friends.

She posted a select few of the tamer, barely-concealed pictures first, to whet the collective appetite. Then she posted a heavily edited image - overlaid a frosted glass effect over one of the dirtier full-frontal images.

Her: Fans - if you want the filter removed, you gotta get me there. Target: $500

It was late on a Friday night; her target audience home alone, dateless and horny. It barely took a couple of hours. Over the fortnight I was away, she must have made several thousand dollars selling her nudes to her fanbase.

It was harder and harder for me to pretend I didn't know what was going on. As my internet alter-ego, I commented on her feed all the time, telling her how sexy she was, what I'd ever do to her if I got close to her. Riskily, of how she reminded me of my wife. Suggesting things to her that we'd done together. It was becoming untenable, and I'd have to broach the subject eventually, before either of us caught the other in an accidental lie. But I didn't really know what she thought about what was going on. Although I did get an inkling during the next trip.

Her: you naughty people made me break my favourite toy, thinking about you. Help me choose another!

This was posted along with a picture of her favourite vibrator, showing signs of wear and tear, all slick and shiny - from recent use? The thread underneath was full of recommendations - of comically-oversized dildos from the horny reply-boys, and of slut-approved vibes from other women.

Her: okay so this is the one I'm gonna go for. Get me to my target and I'll post a video review!

Did that mean what I thought it did? Was she going to talk about it...? Or demonstrate it? It didn't take long to find out, just had to wait the few days for delivery. I came so hard watching that video, listening to her moaning and screaming her pleasure, knowing that so many other followers were doing the same.

Her: I don't reckon this one's gonna fit. Who wants to see me try?

That was with one of those huge dildos; the photo had a can of coke beside it for scale; the shaft was almost as thick and over twice as tall. In real life, she'd never even taken my fist.

-- do you need help getting it in I'm there for you

-- lube is your friend

-- omg are you serious, $20 says you can't get it all in

-- if I had the money I'd pay anything to see you take that monster

Her: hehe well if the sky's the limit, I'd let you choose which hole it went in

Me: yeah, everyone's gotta have a goal, right? Stretch it out!

-- fuck me babe, you know just what to say to get me off

Her: <3

///

She sat in my lap, legs wrapped round my waist, my cock buried inside her. I kissed down her neck, leant her backwards to plant my lips delicately onto her firm breasts, as the post-orgasmic wave rolled over us.

"Why Pepperbury?" she said, from nowhere.

I froze.

"I mean... Dave, I get. Everyone knows a Dave; it's the name of a mate, that nice bloke from down the pub. But why the surname?"

I sighed. "How long have you known?"

"Months. Once I started reading your stories, after that one you sent me. So many of them are us, people we know, places we've been." She kissed my head. "Aren't writers supposed to have a great imagination?"

"You never complained before," I said, flexing my cock inside her. She giggled. "Besides, the best lies are based in truth. And I might ask you the same. That handle of yours... really?"

She had the decency to blush, a little. "Well, you gotta draw the punters in." A beat. "Were you mad? When you first found out?"

"Honestly? I wasn't sure. I was horny, when I found your pics, and I guess it turned me on, thinking about men thinking about you." I stroked a loose hair back behind her ear. "It would have been hypocritical of me to get jealous."

"Mmmm." She considered that.

"When you knew it was me, that I must have known what you were up to, why didn't you mention it?"

She wriggled, rocking her hips and bringing me back to attention. "I dunno. The thrill, I guess. I wanted to know how far you'd let me go. Wondering if you'd ever stop me." She leant forwards, brushed her body against mine, heavy breasts rubbing over my chest. I lay back, let her set a slow easy pace with her hips. Felt her start to ride me.

"All those filthy things your followers said to you. I bet they sent you pictures. Were you ever tempted?"

"Are you sure you're not jealous?"

"Nah. Just interested."

"Maybe a few times. But they're mostly jerkoffs, or desperately shy. None of them would ever do anything."

"Bet you saw some big cocks."

She smiled. "Of course. I got dozens a week, all sizes, often wrapped in a cum-covered fist. But there's only one cock I'll ever need." She clamped her walls round me, as if to claim me.

"Did you want me to stop you posting?" I asked, teasing my hand across her waist, over her hip, across the soft flesh of her peachy arse.

"I'm not sure," she breathed.

"You wanted to be naughty. To be caught." I reached into the cleft between her cheeks. "To be punished?" I pressed my finger against the bud of her arse.

"Please," she whimpered. So, I drove it in, to the knuckle. Felt myself hard inside her, felt her tense up and then relax into it, as I stroked my fat finger in and out of her arse in counter-rhythm to her riding my cock.

"You're... trying to... distract me."

Guilty.

"But you've not... answered my question," she gasped.

"Well, the truth is I was setting up my alter ego in a bit of a rush. I was flailing round for a surname, saw your lingerie catalogue, and something caught my eye."

"So you named yourself after a clothing brand for women with big tits?"

"Hey, I like big tits!"

"Really? I'd not noticed," she said, arching her back and raising her nipple to my lips. "Why don't you show me?"

"My pleasure," I said, and drowned myself in her cleavage.

"Weren't you worried they might sue for ruining their image?"

I paused. "Honestly? Not until now, I wasn't." I considered. Should I change my nom-de-plume? Or was that small risk part of the thrill?

Eventually I came up for air. "I'd take the photos, if you like."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Like those Hallowe'en ones, and the ones we pretended were private."

"You can't be in them, you know."

"I get it. It'd ruin the illusion, them seeing you fucking me. Even though they know you're married. Doesn't seem fair."

She frowned.

"Well, you're in most of my stories, after all," I explained. I kissed along the smooth skin of her neck, nibbled on her shoulder. "You're gorgeous," I muttered.

"You're gonna write this up, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Make this one of your stories. You know, like how all the other extreme stuff we've done has turned up in your dirty tales."

"I dunno. Maybe," I smiled. "Not sure how it would play."

She wriggled. "Oh, I think some people would like it very much," and clamped herself tighter around me. I felt her muscles working me over, tight yet soft, the thought of being the subject of another story helping her get off.

"I'll be your cover girl," she whispered.

"What?"

"You should publish a book. A real one, or at least a real e-book. You can use a photo of me on the cover, saves paying for art." She smirked. "I'll do anything you want."

I raised an eyebrow. "You have read all my stuff, right? You want to do that?"

"Well, I'd do anything they'd let you publish on a cover, sure. It's mostly dress-up after all."

My words, her pictures; our fans, frigging themselves senseless over our combined art. The decadence of it brought me to the edge, then she threw us both over.

Later, as we lay in a damp sweaty heap, feeling a cooling breeze on our skin, I hugged her close. What had I done in a past life to deserve her? We were both doing something we loved, with each other's blessing - supporting each other, and making countless others happy, too.

THE END