Pamela Gets a Tune-Up

Note: NSWF and 21+ only. In addition to voyeurism, has strong themes of bdsm, breast torture, and humiliation.

Dear Sir,

My name is Edgar Sullivan. I work at a bank in a small town adjacent to yours. When I married my wife, I was 26 and she was 21. I thought I had found the perfect woman and I worked very hard to provide all the material comforts she desired.

Little did I know then that my wife, Pamela, had a hidden side. Once we were married, I would sometimes come home to find her looking at dirty magazines. Her hand would be inside her panties, and she would be touching herself. She just laughed when I asked her why she felt the need to do this.

I thought we could keep this a secret and go on with our marriage. But now I know that is impossible.

I have long suspected that she was making a fool of me behind my back. To confirm my fears, I hid in a closet in the bedroom two days ago and watched while she carried on with a man who also works in our town.

At first, I thought he really was an intruder, and almost came to her rescue. That would have marked me for a fool. I realized in short order that this meeting was all arranged ahead-of-time to take place while my wife assumed I was at work.

I provide you with my account of that day, below. I hope you will agree that this marriage must end, no matter the harm a divorce may temporarily do to either of our reputations.

I would appreciate your discretion. If you agree to represent me, please call me at the number listed on my card (enclosed).

Thank you.

Yours truly,

Edgar B. Sullivan

September 12, 1958 -- A True and Honest Account by Edgar B. Sullivan

Today, I confirmed my worst fears about my wife. I left work early, making up an excuse about feeling a cold coming on.

When I got home, I could see that she was in the garden in our backyard, tending to the rose bushes. I snuck into the house and quietly hid in my bedroom closet. The closet is the kind with the slats in the door. You can peek through from the inside, so I had a clear view of the bed.

From my hiding place, I could hear Pamela come into our bedroom. Peering between the slats, I saw her take a washcloth and clean herself down there and under her breasts. She put on her make-up and even put a little bit of rouge on her nipples.

I wondered if she was preparing for a secret date and almost came out of the closet to confront her. It was then that I saw the window to the bedroom start to slide open. The young man who works at the gas station near the town square stepped inside.

My wife screamed and I thought our house really was being burgled at first. Yet when she started to smile, I quickly realized that this was some sort of strange game that she and this young man were playing at my expense.

He was twenty-one or twenty-two years old, in my estimation. I assure you that I do not usually notice other men and their physiques. However, as this man proceeded to take his T-shirt off right in front of me, I could not help but notice that he was in very good shape. He had broad shoulders and firm muscles, and a smooth chest that tapered down to a trim waist.

He was quite tanned and had grease on his hands. I was shocked that my wife would transport with this sort of a person, to be honest. I wondered briefly if she had begun to go a little crazy, since I'd read in the weeklies recently about housewives and how unhappy they seemed to be. All of my colleagues at work were talking about this problem and what to do about it.

I almost wish now that she had needed electroshock therapy. At least that, while embarrassing, would be something the neighbors would understand, and we could stay married.

Instead, already feeling foolish about worrying that my wife was about to become a victim, I saw her face light up when he started to take off his jeans. He was wearing tight white underwear and his, pardon me, penis started to poke upwards from under the waistband.

Let me repeat that I do not ordinarily make a habit of noticing such things. However, as he stood in front me, I could see that this young man has a penis that was larger than any I had ever seen before, even in stag films. It was quite overwhelming, to be honest. If I were a woman, I think I would have been afraid of it.

Pamela, however, though she pretended to be embarrassed, got a look in her eyes that I have never seen before. The only word to describe it is lust. She started stroking her own breasts and letting out these little sighs. She teased him by starting to take her bra off and then changing her mind.

The young man let her little routine go on for a few minutes, and then he took charge. I must admit I was impressed with how he ordered her around so well. I have never been able to get Pamela to pay a bit of attention to anything I say.

He ordered her to lay on her back on our bed. I could see her breasts start to slide to her sides, as she obeyed. I forgot to mention earlier that my wife is, as they say, built. I've told her before to stop being so self-conscious about her breasts, as I doubted that our neighbors were paying her all that much attention. She would look at me funny when I said this to her, but it is what I thought. She has always been very vain.

The young man told her not to move unless she wanted to get hurt. He left the bedroom and went into the living room and then the kitchen. I could hear him rattling around drawers and banging cabinet doors.

He came back with some twine, scissors, and some items from the kitchen. He proceeded to tie her arms and legs to the bedposts.

He then started talking to her in the vilest manner possible. I heard him say things like, "Look at those tits. You should be ashamed of yourself having tits that big. If my wife had tits like that, I'd never let her out of the house. But you sashay all around town like you own this place. You need a good spanking."

He kneeled beside her and started rubbing his large, rough hands over her breasts. My wife's nipples hardened under her bra. He could see them perk up too, I could tell, because he smirked at her and started rubbing harder.

When she started moaning, he took the scissors and cut off her blouse and then her bra. The sunlight flowing in through the curtains made it very clear that my wife was excited, not afraid.

She tried to put her hand down her panties, but he would not let her. He called her a "dirty slut" and moved her hand to his cock instead. It twitched when she touched it and he let out this low groan.

Then, with no warning, he slapped her right tit hard. Her moaning started getting louder and he said, "This is what you want, isn't it? You want me to look at those tits and get excited. You think you can control what happens next, but you can't. You've got me horny and now we are going to play by my rules.

"Can you feel that, slut? Can you feel how hard my cock is? I'm going to put it between those breasts of yours and tit fuck you until I cum all over your face."

Most women would have been hysterical by this point, but Pamela just started writhing around the bed like she wanted to break free from the twine. She started cursing him out in language that I never even heard back in my Army days, let alone in my own house. Her defiance seemed to work him into a lather, and he started to get more abusive.

In a low, mean voice, he told her, "Your fat tits actually disgust me, did you know that? You think you're better than everybody else around here because you've got a rich husband. But you are just a nasty piece of trash. I bet your husband loves those fat titties. Do you let him ride you around the bedroom at night? Slapping your ass and squeezing those tits? I bet they hang down to the floor when you are on your knees. Fat fucking slag."

For all the abuse he gave her and her body, you might think he would have just left. But instead, he never took his eyes off of her. To be fair, she did not seem to mind what he said. I started to hope that things were surely about to reach their natural conclusion.

Yet the show carried on and went to lengths that I never could have imagined when it started. I know it sounds unthinkable, after he stopped taunting her, he opened a bottle of barbeque sauce that he had brought from the kitchen and start dripping it on her breasts.

Her body started to come up off the bed and she seemed to be in real pain this time. He watched her for a moment and then, if you can believe it, he spit on her. He started to rub his spit into her nipples, which I cannot imagine any woman would enjoy. However, it must have cooled them down, because she cried out, "Spit on me again. Spit on me now, please! My breasts feel like they are on fire."

I think he enjoyed defying her because he chose not to spit on her this time. Instead, he started moving his mouth from one breast to the other, sucking them, and running his tongue over them. I thought I heard him say something like, "Now, these are good piggy tits. Pamela, your fat tits taste so good."

My legs buckled at this point, and I almost gave the game away. My brain felt like mush, and it was like I was looking at a woman that I didn't even know. I heard these weird burbling noises coming out of her mouth, as he sucked and pulled at her nipples.

When he had licked all the sauce clean and cooled her down with a wet cloth, he took her lipstick from the nightstand and wrote PIGGY across her chest with it.

She kept moaning, saying she could not take much more. He untied her and told her to get up and walk with him to the full-length mirror in the corner. He even put his hand between her legs and laughed at how wet she was. Her pussy was so squishy by this point even I could hear it trying to suck his fingers inside.

He told her to look at herself. She tried to resist but he put his hand gently on her neck and made her look at the two of them in the reflection.

He started taunting her, "This little piggy likes it rough, doesn't she? She sure does. I bet she'll let any man walking down the street suck her tits for a dollar. Look in the mirror and tell me what you are."

She muttered something quietly and tried to look away, but he wouldn't let her go.

"Louder, sweetie. I need to hear you tell me what you are."

This time she looked as if she might start to cry, and she said in a loud, strangled voice, "I am a piggy, you bastard, a fat, nasty, piggy."

"Ah, that's right, that is exactly what you are. And what is it men notice first about sluts like you, sweetheart?" he asked.

Her voice rose a few notches when she said, "They notice my big juicy tits. And I love it! Sometimes I don't even wear a bra so that everyone can see my boobs bouncing up and down when I walk down the street. I'd let every man in this town suck my tits if I could, because I am a fat, worthless, PIG."

She started pounding his chest with her fists until he caught her arms and held them down by her sides.

Seconds ticked by and the room got very still. She was breathing hard at first but started to calm down. He kissed her neck and tousled her hair.

I could not believe that either one of them would have the energy for anything else, after that exchange. Clearly, I did not know what it was to be a 22-year-old garage mechanic or an over-stimulated housewife.

He threw her back on the bed and told her to open her legs wide. He said it was time for her punishment.

I heard the click of his belt buckle, and then saw him raise it in his right hand. The first smack of the belt against my wife's breasts almost knocked the wind out of her. He hesitated for a moment, until he saw her nod at him, and then started rhythmically flogging her tits. The belt whooshed through the air maybe five or six times.

My wife arched her chest as if she wanted to take as much of the belt on her breasts as possible. She suddenly started moaning, "Ah, ah, that's so good, that's what I need. Beat my tits, beat them, punish me. Ah, yes, that's right, beat my fat disgusting tits to a pulp."

Even he stopped at that outburst. It was as if she had changed the rules mid-game. He looked at her coolly for a second or two, and then shifted his stance to bring the belt down on her pussy. She orgasmed so hard that her whole body shuddered.

Now that she was totally spent, he kneeled over her and shoved his cock inside her. I was expecting him to start in again with the dirty talk, but instead he started moaning, "You are so beautiful, Pamela. I need to cum inside you. Let me cum inside you, please baby. Ah, your pussy feels so good."

Despite the prior athletics, it still took him about five minutes to cum.

He finally rolled off her and the two of them shared a cigarette. She ran her hands through his thick, dark hair and asked him when she could see him again. He told her he would have to check his schedule at work and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

I thought he was about to leave, and I prepared to confront my wife about what I had just seen. My heart fell right into my shoes when, after he put on his clothes and shoes, he started walking toward the closet.

He opened the sliding door, and said, "So, Mr. Sullivan, how'd you like the show? It certainly looks like you've had some fun. I've got special rates for husbands if you ever want to try some of this, too. Couples or solo, I'm not picky, but men do have to pay me."

Then that little bastard winked at me, picked up his cigarettes and his keys, and strolled out the door.

I think you must now agree with me that this situation is intolerable. I beseech you to take my case and assist me in dissolving my marriage.

Once I am divorced, rest assured that I intend to have a very stern talk with that young man from the garage.