Penny's Promiscuity Ch. 41-42

Chapter Forty-One

There's always a price to pay for pleasure.

Although there was no denying that I had enjoyed every moment of our date with Adam and Eve and had discovered a wonderful new level of sheer physical pleasure, the degree to which it unsettled me afterwards was far greater than I had expected.

By now I knew how easily I could make bad decisions hen highly aroused, so my own actions and activities that evening came as no surprise. Penny Barker had behaved like the cock-hungry slut she was and had loved it.

No. The problem, such as it as, lay with Pete.

Now my husband had not only twice watched me being fucked in the most undignified way possible by another man, he had himself delivered the kind of stellar performance in bed that he and I hadn't enjoyed for decades, fucking a younger, much more attractive woman to a massive, clearly genuine orgasm far more effectively than he had ever fucked me.

Having just very successfully fucked such a woman, how would my husband now feel about me?

As if that wasn't enough worry, as far as I knew, he had previously provided my closest friend Julie with an equally impressive night of satisfaction in all her orifices.

Though his one night with her could still upset me, the details had mostly been in my imagination. Eve was different; I had been close enough to see, hear and even smell the two of them in action. Eve's orgasms had been real; the aroma emanating from their bed was unmistakeable.

And if Pete could do such a comprehensive job of fucking first Julie then Eve, why had our sex life become as stale and moribund it had?

And Pete and Julie had had at least one conversation without my presence since then. Why did that make me so uneasy?

Was it all my fault of all in my mind? Was I the problem? Or was it just pregnancy that was making me doubt my husband's commitment?

That question in particular haunted me for the next few weeks. The fact that the sum total of my husband's supposed infidelities was far fewer than the number of times my unfaithful body had been filled with another man's cum, provided little relief.

The one-sided selfishness of my behaviour over the last year had been brought home in the most basic way possible. Now I understood that I was not the only sexually desirable person in our marriage. I could not take his love and attention for granted.

My husband Pete was every bit as sexual a being as me; good looking, desirable and very good in bed. If he wanted another lover, he would have no difficulty finding one and keeping her satisfied.

It took all my willpower to play the role of happy, contented wife the next day, a problem made far worse by the regular reminders of our joint infidelities that sprang so frequently from the soreness between my thighs and buttocks.

I was far too sore to make love with my husband that night or the following two, leaving me without even that simple physical reassurance. Pete did not even try to persuade me to have sex. No doubt he thought he was being sensitive to my predicament, but at the time I couldn't help interpreting it as a loss of interest in me.

The physical evidence of infidelity on both our bodies did not help.

Indeed, the love-bite Eve had left on my husband's neck could still be identified if he wore a low-necked shirt; something he was obliged to do in theatre. The unmissable and unmistakeable dark patch had caused a great deal of amusement at work during the week. Well-meant but rather ill-judged jokes about the demands a highly pregnant wife put on her husband in bed had plagued Pete all week.

And why in God's name could I not keep the memories of my first infidelity from my conscious mind?

Why did vivid images of Tony's handsome-but-completely-amoral face visit me in my dreams, day and night?

Why did the incredible feeling of his thick, stubby cock being repeatedly thrust in and out of my vagina keep returning, leaving me highly aroused and in frequent need of a change of knickers?

If Pete could tell what turmoil was going around inside me, he made no mention of it. Indeed, he showed no sign of being anything but happy with our marriage, our sex life and our impending parent and grandparenthood.

I knew I had no right to feel ill-used; after the last year, this was nothing more than justice being done, but in my highly pregnant state there was no way I could keep such destructive thoughts from my mind.

Over the next days and weeks, the insecurities that any seven-month pregnant woman might carry -- feeling unattractive, tired, uncomfortable in her clothes, worried that her husband might no longer want her - were multiplied the fact that both Pete and I knew the baby was not his.

But I knew I could say nothing; all I could do was bite my lip, keep my silence, be grateful I had such a wonderful husband and pray for an easy birth in a few weeks' time.

***

Time passed slowly but pass it did. Our sex life resumed with me paying a great deal more respect to my husband and more attention to his pleasure than I ever had before.

Perversely, this brought me more pleasure too, though still no orgasms.

Pete remained as attentive as ever, delighted by his wife's unexpected enthusiasm in bed and apparently looking forward to being a Dad again.

The twice-weekly calls I had with our daughter Isobel did not help. Still lamenting the distance between her and Jack -- Tony and Julie's son and the new lover in her life - Izzy was angry rather than tearful and seemed to need to vent that anger on me, her embarrassingly pregnant mother.

I had heard the two of them having noisy, multi-orgasmic sex in his room on several occasions, so hearing her complain reminded me even more of my affair with Tony.

By late October I was huge but there were still six weeks to go. From my vantage point above it, my bulge seemed to have taken on monstrous proportions; far in excess of anything I remembered from my previous pregnancies.

My bladder on the other hand seemed to have shrunk to the size of a walnut, sending me frequently but with complete unpredictability to the loo, which was awkward given that this was Conference Season in my field of research, and I needed to sit still and concentrate for long periods of time.

About these conferences; everyone knows that the British National Health Service is strapped for cash these days. The drug companies most certainly aren't however, and it's usually they who organise the larger conferences in the hope of covertly influencing decisions made by the nation's medical practitioners.

With a month remaining before my due date, I was still very much working so attendance at the more important conferences was obligatory. I was on the train returning from one of these events in London one Thursday evening. It had been a long day; for a heavily pregnant woman, being on my feet for so long had been a trial, as had the need to sit close to the Ladies' room during the main presentations.

I had treated myself to a First-Class ticket, justifying the extra expense on the grounds that I no longer fitted comfortably into a standard seat and could not take the risk of having to stand if the train was busy.

As it was, there were plenty of spaces so as we left King's Cross station, I had a table and all four seats to myself. Tired though I was, recent events had provided plenty of material for my erotic writing so, given almost complete privacy and nearly two hours to myself, I pulled out my laptop and began to type.

The story featured Alice, one of my regular characters whose name I had adopted for both of our Manchester dates. Apart from the natural urge to remain anonymous, taking the name of a fictitious, unfaithful, sexually athletic woman had allowed me to suspend my own, more cautious personality and really let myself go as previous chapters have amply demonstrated.

Alice could -- and now actually had done those things that cautious Penny might have only fantasised about.

As usual, the story involved rampant cuckolding. As my train thundered through the flat Cambridgeshire countryside, my mind was focussed hard on the screen. Alice was being fucked by her second lover within the space of a single hour and was reaching the kind of climax few -- but by no means no men had ever produced in me.

I could feel myself lubricating as I remembered encounters I had enjoyed over the past year and, as those memories were turned into words, I typed like the wind, pleased that my dress was dark and the seat covered in leather so unfortunate stains would not show.

Immersed in my writing, as my character's body grew more and more aroused, so my own real excitement grew too, making me fidget on my seat until I became uncomfortably aware that the gusset of my large, maternity panties had worked its way into my slit.

In other words, I had a massive wedgie.

I knew I should remove quickly it but for a heavily pregnant women, going to the loo on a moving train is a major undertaking. I tried to ignore the sensations emanating from my loins but that was impossible. I tried to adjust its lie surreptitiously in my seat but to no avail; the wedgie simply stimulated my inner lips and swelling clitoris even further, making me lubricate more too and setting the whole cycle off again.

My embarrassment, discomfort and arousal increased to danger levels. I stopped typing to try and relieve the mounting stimulation, but it was too late; with constant pressure on my clitoris, mind would not move on from the scene of fornication I had been composing.

Eventually I had to make a choice; either go to the lavatory and sort myself out or risk having an orgasm on the train in front of the staff and other passengers.

Closing my laptop, I lifted the seat arm, wriggled my knees from under the table then struggled to my feet in the aisle. The First-Class lavatory was in the next carriage, so it took some time moving from seat to seat before I reached the automatic door, slipped inside, closed and locked it.

Raising the hem of my maternity dress high and with the help of the wall-mounted mirror, I inspected the scene between my thighs. I eased the gusset from between my labia and pulled my panties down to my knees to find that my poor vulva was red raw, my clitoris was swollen and peeking out from between my lips.

My panties were so wet they were practically see-through. What was worse (and forgive the detail here), other fluids seeping from my pregnant body as a result of my arousal and condition had rendered them unwearable. I pulled them over my feet and held them up to the light.

It was hopeless; they were damp, stained and smelled strongly of aroused female genitalia. For a moment I contemplated washing them under the tap but there was no way they could be dried on the train.

Naturally the spare pair of knickers that pregnant women routinely carry for just this eventuality was in my laptop bag not my handbag. I would have to return to my seat to get them. I thanked God that my maternity dress came to mid-thigh rather than the shorter dresses I had been routinely wearing since my transformation into a Hot Wife.

I screwed the soiled panties into a ball and thrust them into my bag. Then I washed myself as thoroughly as two wet wipes would allow and pulled the dress as far down my thighs as it would go. The wall mounted mirror suggested I still looked decently dressed so, nervous and fully commando, I left the lavatory cubicle and began to make my way back to my seat to what I hoped was the safety of dry, clean underwear.

It took a good few minutes of hopeless searching before I accepted the fact that there were no spare panties in my laptop bag. I cursed audibly; knowing it would be difficult to lug a heavy briefcase around London all day, I had swapped my usual, large case for Pete's spare one at the last minute as I left for the morning train.

I had transferred all my papers over but must have forgotten to swap the underwear too.

I swore again. An older man in a brown suit looked across at me. I raised my eyebrow in apology then steeled myself to spending the rest of the journey home bare bottomed beneath my dress.

But it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good.

I can say without hesitation that wearing a mid-thigh dress without underwear in public might be unnerving for a normal woman, but for an author of erotic literature, it is a Godsend.

For the next forty-five minutes, the words simply poured from me. Line after line of story appeared on my laptop screen, my mind as much stimulated by the idea of being so close to public exposure as my body was by the cool draught that rippled around my legs and private parts every time the train doors opened.

As the carriage tannoy announced that the next stop would be my own, I actually felt disappointed. I closed my computer's cover with considerable reluctance, but with the knowledge of a job well done. As I stood, I made doubly sure that the back of my dress had not ridden up and exposed my buttocks, then pulled my coat on as the train pulled up at the platform.

The station I use mostly for my London trips is what's known as a Parkway; an out of town stopping point, away from the city with plenty of parking and a good, frequent service. As a result, it is very functional, designed only to get passengers from its large car park to the train and back without the distractions of shops and cafes.

Now nearly eight months pregnant, my walking speed had slowed considerably. The First-Class carriages had been towards the end of the train too so by the time I had got halfway to the barrier, most of the other passengers had overtaken me.

It was then that I saw him; Tony.

A good twenty-five yards ahead of me and oblivious to my presence behind him, he looked as tall and handsome as I could ever remember in a long, dark overcoat, grey scarf and highly polished shoes.

It was after returning from London on a train just like this that Tony had first seduced me, fucked me and my decent into infidelity had begun. My heart began to thump. I froze on the platform so suddenly that an elderly lady walked directly into me from behind.

I turned we both apologised to each other in the classic British way though neither of us had done anything wrong. I looked up and saw my former lover passing through the barrier alongside a tall, slender woman in a short black business skirt, heels and a waist length jacket. Her hair was long and dark, hanging down below her shoulders.

He only had eyes for her. Though I could not see her face, she seemed similarly smitten. From what I could see of their body language, they either already knew each other intimately or would very soon do so.

I followed, watching from a discreet distance, crossing the bright station concourse in the constant awareness of my lack of underwear. The large glass doors slid open automatically as I and the handful of other passengers approached, then passed through and stepped into the darkness outside.

There they were, on their way to the car park. Away from the main crowd, they were walking very close together indeed; in face as they crossed the road towards the park entrance, they were holding hands, their heads only inches apart.

Unable to contain my curiosity, I followed, keeping my distance but they were so focussed on each other I could have been singing a Christmas carol and they wouldn't have noticed.

The walk to the car park was only ten minutes long, but provided plenty of time for the cool air to work its way underneath my coat and dress and find the damp, unprotected flesh between my thighs. I shivered, not entirely because of the cold, my thighs rubbing together as I strode purposefully along.

Crossing the service road myself, I approached the paved walkway, paused by the station's tall, red and silver automatic ticket machine and watched as the couple walked slowly, hand in hand towards a car I did not recognise.

The woman opened the car's rear doors, placed her bag on the seat then turned towards Tony. I caught a glimpse of her face in the streetlights.

She was about my age, about my height, about my class and looked as professional as I used to look before my pregnancy. She was the sort of woman who would move in the same kind of circles Pete and I moved but to my relief, I didn't recognise her.

I watched while they took an age to say goodbye. From her expression, the woman was clearly enthralled to a degree that looked perilously close to that which I had suffered -- and possibly even now still suffered.

Tony's charm was running on full power as he helped her with her coat and as they finally began to take their leave of each other, they exchanged a long lingering kiss that immediately confirmed my suspicions.

I should have resolved to warn her about Tony in the way Julie had warned me but to my fury, the overpowering emotion I felt as I saw them together was jealousy; intense jealousy.

I watched as their kiss continued an impossibly long time, hands held tightly together, bodies pressed close. When their lips finally parted, I saw Tony's hands flash up to their usual Goodbye Grope positions on her buttocks but, like me nearly twelve months ago, she made no attempt to remove them.

They kissed again then the woman looked at her watch. There was an exchange of words, she climbed into her car and drove slowly from the parking area.

I stood in the shadows as the man I had known so well and for so long stared at the woman's disappearing vehicle, then made his way into the dark recesses of the car park, out of my line of sight.

I exhaled then inhaled deeply, unaware that I had been holding my breath throughout their embrace. My heart was thumping, my face flushed, my mind in turmoil and those parts of me that the cool air could unexpectedly reach, were tingling madly.

Go home Penny! Go home you stupid woman before you do something you'll regret.

My SUV was at the opposite corner of the car park, which is probably why I hadn't noticed Tony's distinctive number plate when I arrived. I gathered my wits and my bags together and turned towards the pathway.

"Penny? I thought it was you!"

The voice that made my heart stop instantly was soft, close by, and alarmingly familiar. I froze dead still in the lamplight then turned towards it, my knees turning instantly to jelly and my tummy heaving with... was it fear?

"Tony! Oh my God!" I shrieked in astonishment and horror.

My former lover; the man who had first seduced me, fucked me, had an affair with me so intense that it almost destroyed my marriage then completely abandoned me was standing only a couple of feet away.

The expression on his face was one of genuine pleasure and surprise. I can only guess what the expression on mine might have been.

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" he asked, a broad grin on his face.

"I'm sorry..." I stammered. "You caught me by surprise."

For a few seconds we stared at each other. The skinny, swollen-bellied, guilt-ridden, knickerless scientist in her soiled dress staring at the successful businessman in his tailored, well-pressed suit, shirt and tie. His hair was immaculate, his face tanned, his eyes fixed on mine every bit as seductively as they had that first day less than a year ago.

Be strong Penny Barker. Be strong.

"I've not seen you for so long," he smiled. "I've missed you."

The barefaced cheek of the man was incredible. Wasn't it Tony who had broken our relationship the moment he realised I was about to leave my husband for him? Wasn't it Tony who had a stream of affairs with married women behind him and a wife in mid-divorce? Hadn't I just seen him with another women in his arms?

And yet here he was, acting as if the last year hadn't happened; as if we were still the close family friends we had been up until the moment his stubby, thick cock had first entered my body as I lay legs wide open on our lounge floor.