Penny's Promiscuity Ch. 49: Exposed

Chapter Forty-Nine

They say the road to hell is the smooth, straight one; the deceptively easy path that descends so slowly you hardly know you're on it until you reach your fiery destination.

They also say that the Devil makes work for idle hands.

As far as Penny Barker is concerned, they are right on both counts.

***

After the extraordinary revelations of that week and to everyone's surprise, life returned to what approximated to normal in our household and remained so for a long time. At the time, it felt as if stability was finally returning to my life after far too long an absence. Little did any of us know it was just the lull before the storm.

And what a storm it was going to be!

Izzy went back to University and to her boyfriend Jack, knowing that her both parents had cheated but resigned to keeping that fact to herself. In exchange for that, her sex videos and her short but very passionate affair with her boyfriend's father would remain a secret known only to me and our shared lover, Tony.

No-one else, especially her Dad, was ever to know.

Although I was trying to carry on as before, the disturbance this revelation had made to my peace of mind was profound and continuing. Along with a mother's natural instinct to protect her offspring, came unexpectedly powerful feelings I had not expected but could not shake off.

The idea of being in competition with my own daughter for a man's intimate affections, or worse, of the two of us being compared by him as lovers was deeply unsettling. Vivid images of how it had felt being fucked half senseless by him flooded back into my mind alarmingly often, usually triggered by random thoughts, memories or coincidences at any time of day.

Knowing that my daughter had shared those same experiences and had the same kind of memories made my belly ache with jealousy.

At least our recently outed gay son Tim was happy. His boyfriend Thomas's family had proved more supportive than expected and the two of them were now properly acknowledged as a couple. It did feel very strange preparing a double bed for the pair of them when they visited, and even stranger seeing them cuddling together and casually kissing, but they looked so happy it soon seemed only natural.

I even got to spend a day or two with Samantha, my son Josh's girlfriend and their baby, thereby temporarily relieving both Josh and Pete of their duties. Rather predictably, the boys used their freedom to watch live sport in a local pub.

As I knew well, secrets are not good for a marriage so Pete and my relationship was somewhat strained for quite a while, but once he realised that whatever magic spell I had cast had worked and that Izzy really was going to keep quiet, even he began to forgive me.

Although there was still an element of awkwardness between us, our life as a couple with a small baby returned to something like the barely regulated chaos in which all such families try to survive.

By midsummer, Leanne had started to sleep through the night too, or at least the gap between her late and early feeds had lengthened to around six hours. This was more than enough for me to feel I had enjoyed a fair night's sleep myself, so my energy levels were considerably restored.

Everything in our lives was finally going smoothly, or so I thought.

The truth was that is going too smoothly; so smoothly that I didn't notice the way in which my life was drifting until it was too late.

If I had to name an event, I would say that things began to go wrong when Pete's work started get much busier. Fully occupied with my baby and my writing, I wasn't exactly sure what had changed for him, but over time, he started coming home late more often, or later on, staying at the hospital overnight.

This wasn't unheard of, but for someone in his senior position it was unusual. He even had to work a few extra days at weekends too.

Thanks to his absence and consequent tiredness, Pete's libido reduced considerably and our highly active sex life deteriorated until it had become at best, sporadic.

Not even our recent change to predominantly anal rather than vaginal penetration and the resulting improvement in my husband's pleasure, was enough to maintain the sexual momentum we had developed, and which I had unknowingly come to depend on.

Still, at least it gave my body a break physically.

Since our change of orifices and the high frequency of rear penetration, my consumption of panty liners had dramatically increased. I was beginning to worry that if we kept up this pace, I might become permanently loose back there.

I had heard stories of men and women needing to wear nappies after too much anal sex. The thought disturbed me, but there was no way I was going to interfere with my husband's sexual contentedness.

As a result, the recent one-sided reduction in our sex life, though easy to understand, was difficult to bear. It would have been difficult for any couple, but for a woman with my baby-enhanced libido it was physically painful as well as an emotional strain.

Especially when I knew that Julie, my husband's only former lover was still single, waiting in the wings with her petite body, her tight vagina, her readily available sphincter and gold pierced clitoral hood.

With my increased energy, near-constant arousal and surging libido, I badly missed his presence in the house and in my bed and was forced to resort to masturbation and my toys on many occasions for the daily sexual relief I now desperately needed.

But at least it gave me much more private time in which to write, to correspond with my readers and, increasingly, to look online for what I told myself was research. This led to a positive plethora of new published compositions spilling from my keyboard, which in turn led to a huge increase in my correspondence with readers, which in turn... and so it went on.

From this new correspondence, a whole series of exciting, real-life erotic stories emerged, each as true as I could make it. Most were within my go-to cuckold genre, but there were other themes too, some light and cheerful, others darker and more brooding. Some were even quite disturbing.

Unfortunately, along with these new stories came new and sometimes appallingly vicious troll attacks. Though by now I was mostly hardened to these assaults, some still managed to cut through my defensive armour and hurt me, especially those few which appeared to be from other women.

Some of the accusations were extreme; some of the threats worrying but as my Grandmother used to say, faint heart never won fair lady.

I knew my online identity was anonymous, so I tried not to let the trolls upset me and persevered and soon, among the many frauds and wierdos online, I found a few real gems too. People I chatted with often; people I got to know better, people I felt I had a real bond with and with whom I could share part of me.

Writing these true tales was fun, but often required long, detailed exchanges by email and in private chatrooms with the readers involved. I always enjoyed these interactions; as well as being the main theme of the story, many good ideas for other works came from them too, along with the opportunity to learn a great deal more about how others lived the life less monogamous.

Often this involved nothing more than listening to incidents in their lives that they believed only an understanding female ear could really appreciate.

Other times, the things I heard showed clearly that Pete and I were by no means the only middle-aged couple to have lived out our cuckold fantasies.

Often the true-life stores were so shocking that even my own more sensational stories were, by these peoples' standards, not at all as extreme as I had imagined.

Although I had used chatrooms for years and they had always been a source of ideas and information for real-life stories, they had also been a bit hit and miss so until then I had used them sparingly. Now, as Leanne's demands moderated and became more predictable, and as my own life became less demanding, I began to indulge myself more and, I quickly found, enjoy myself more too.

I already knew that if I logged in under any female name, I would be deluged with Private Messages from men who thought 'Hey Babe' was a sure fire chat up line, that they themselves were irresistible, believed every woman was a slut and that the thing I needed most in my life was their ten or even eleven inch cock thrust hard up my rectum.

I lost count of the number of unwanted penis pics I was presented with. All this did was reinforce my view that however good the male organ could make me feel, it was a singularly unattractive appendage to look at.

But I was a fast learner and soon found to my delight that, if I used a series of manufactured identities and used my author's imagination to the full, I could be exactly who I wanted to be and have whatever fun I fancied at the time, as well as gaining even more material for my stories -- which by then numbered over fifty.

So I became a woman of multiple personalities.

If I wanted, I could safely and anonymously be me; the fifty-something year old married mother of a small baby, temporarily paused Hot Wife and newly discovered lover of anal sex. In a strange way, it felt really liberating to be able to tell my online friends my story and my fantasies; anonymously, truthfully, in all the detail they wanted without fear of being discovered.

My seduction by a close family friend was considered good but unremarkable.

My flings with two young, fit lovers went down better with both my male and female friends.

My daughter and me having shared a lover was always very received well; though the consensus was it would have been better if we had all shared a bed.

Even the shameful truth that I had given birth to a mixed-race lovechild after a squalid one-night stand with a boy young enough to be my son could be broadcast in relative safety.

The most popular question from the many would-be-cuckolded men I met was undoubtedly, 'How can I persuade my wife to fuck other men?'

Interestingly it was never 'make love with other men' or 'have sex with other men,' it was always 'fuck'.

The most popular questions from their wives were: 'Why would my husband want me to?', 'Would he still respect me afterwards?' and often the worry, 'What if I fall in love and ruin my marriage?'

With Pete's well documented cuckold fantasies and my consequent, limited experience as a Hot Wife, I was able to provide some insight into these questions and occasionally some advice.

This allowed me to relive some of the more exciting, orgasmic aspects of the last year with a willing, eager audience.

The effects on my own arousal were significant. From their responses, I believe the effects on many of the women I chatted with were similarly powerful. More than one later admitted she had gone on to comply with her husband's professed fantasy and actually sleep with another man -- with or like me, without his knowledge or agreement.

But I could only advise only up to a point. Although my husband had tried hard to persuade me to sleep with other men, in the end, when it actually happened, it had been the confluence of opportunity and an effective seducer that had been decisive, rather than any pressure from Pete.

And even then, I had been pushed out of the realm of marital fidelity, not into the open and consensual wife sharing my husband had wanted, but into the secret world of the unfaithful, cheating wife.

When my marriage vows had first been shattered, it had not been with Pete's knowledge or agreement; it had been an act of infidelity on my part, pure and simple. I had cheated on him. It was only weeks later and after many illicit copulations with Tony that I had confessed to my husband and -- not without misgivings - he had made my status as a Hot Wife official.

Whether I would still have cheated if Pete hadn't tried to persuade me is something I will never know for sure, but it was too late to worry; the damage had been done. We were where we were. All I could do was tell my story as honestly as possible and try to listen and learn from my new friends.

I'm sure many of them thought I was making most, or even all of it up. But I wasn't. I had had enough imaginary sex in my stories.

For Promiscuous Penny, it was telling the truth that was the novelty and I indulged in it enthusiastically.

The problem was that over time, like so many vices, my online life quickly and insidiously became seriously addictive. The more time Pete spent away from home, the more time I spent online.

I could have used the extra time meeting real friends, or getting back into my work, or taking Leanne to visit the babies of other new Mums from our post-natal class. But over time, these outings ground to a near halt.

My coffee meetings with Julie had petered out long ago. I wasn't sure why. Soon, even those with my supportive Boss, Sandie became rare too; the magnetic draw of my online world was too strong and more often than not, I weakened and returned to it.

It wasn't a big step on the road to Hell, so I didn't realise it at the time.

But a step it definitely was, taking me deeper and deeper by the day!

With Pete out of the house so often and few social events I my diary, I had enough private time to indulge my fantasies in areas far outside and far more extreme than my usual cuckold or cheating, both in my writing and in chat.

Sometimes I would forget being myself altogether and become a girl like Izzy; young, pretty, tight, insatiable and with my daughter's apparent penchant for older men. This character was always popular online and never failed to find a partner either for chat or for roleplay; something that at first, I had thought inane, but which I soon discovered my life as a writer made me rather proficient at.

I had expected to be asked to play a young virgin and had no problems with this -- memories of my own defloration were still fairly vivid - but it did bother me just how many men wanted me to pretend to be underage.

This was something I always refused to do.

It also bothered me how brutal and violent many of their fantasies became, but over time this worry became less and less until I actually began to enjoy the imagined pain and humiliation my online lovers wanted to inflict on the young me.

Besides, I could always simply bring these conversations to an abrupt end if things became too disturbing.

Most often though, I pretended to be a man very like Pete, or indeed Pete himself; a cuckolded husband, a watcher of his wife's many infidelities, an occasional swinger and I discovered to my surprise, an enthusiastic enjoyer of pictures of other men's wives and girlfriends.

As a way to understand the cuckold mindset, it remains by far the most effective mechanism I have ever found.

At first when I used Pete's name, I was largely ignored and could only watch other peoples' conversations taking place. I learned a lot from this, certainly about male desires, but also about the way men behave with each other when they believe no women are present.

This was something I could never have discovered in real life. It made me want to find out more.

If I took a more positive, proactive role as a would-be cuckold male, I found I could join in some outrageous fantasies of wife sharing, wife seduction and even prostitution, something I found as exciting as it was disturbing.

It wasn't long before my desire to learn more and be aroused more, led me to kick off some of these sessions myself, pretending to be my cuckold husband.

It wasn't long after that before I began to use my own real name and description as his wife too, and to listen to all the wonderful, terrible, often painful and humiliating things these unknown men wanted to do to me.

The arousal this brought was exquisite.

During these chats, I often found myself presented with actual photos of other users' wives or girlfriends, sometimes simple family snaps, other times in various states of undress, offered by would-be cuckolds so that other men could look at, admire, pass judgement on, or in many cases, provide intimate detail of what they would like to do with the girls concerned.

The pictures were usually home-made, mostly faceless and often taken secretly, the camera focussed on their boobs or vulvas. Some had even been taken in the act of having sex, or just afterwards when their bodies still bore the messy evidence.

Sometimes the women had obviously posed for the pictures. Whether they knew their bodies would be exposed to strangers or believed they were only souvenirs for their partners was unclear, but in either case, I began to find the idea exciting.

Sometimes links to the pictures were sent, other times I was invited into private chatrooms where many pictures were posted for all occupants to see. Up to half a dozen men would all be looking at and lusting over another man's wife, girlfriend or daughter at the same time, telling each other and the man who had exposed her exactly what they thought of every part of her anatomy.

And, often in the crudest of detail, how they would like to treat her.

The deeper the admiration expressed; the cruder, more detailed and more brutal the comments made, the more the girl's husband, father or boyfriend appeared to enjoy it.

It didn't matter whether she was twenty or sixty, skinny or plump, pretty or plain, there was never a shortage of admirers prepared to describe in detail and with passion how they would like to undress, fondle, finger and with varying degrees of force, fuck that girl in front of her partner.

It took a few sessions for me to realise that this was a new form of vicarious cuckolding, but when I did, my understanding of the male psyche improved dramatically. As a result, the quality and verisimilitude of my stories improved dramatically too, and many unexplained behaviours about the men in my real life began to fall into place.

Encouraged by these successes, still masquerading as Pete, I began to join in the comments too, and to my astonishment and shame, really enjoyed doing so.

It genuinely surprised me just how extraordinarily erotic it could be, playing along, pretending to be an aroused male, offering to do unspeakable things to women I had never met, and who probably had no idea their bodies were being exposed online.

By the end of each session, the towel on which I sat was routinely soaked.

Who were these women whose bodies I was looking at so closely and who were evoking such powerful emotions in the men in the room? Were they sluts; Hot Wives as I had been? Women who both knew about and enjoyed taking part in their partners' perversions?

Or were they innocent, unsuspecting wives, mothers and daughters, all exploited by the men in their lives?

Did they have normal, day to day lives completely oblivious of the way they were being lusted over, desired and abused online? Did they make breakfast for their families every morning, in complete ignorance that their husbands had made them the objects of massive male lust only hours before?

And what about the daughters? Oh my God, what about Izzy?

I already knew there were videos of her having sex, so why not stills too? Had one of her ex-boyfriends posted photos of her to be drooled over by large numbers of unknown men? My daughter's youthful body was much more worth watching than most I had seen.

At least one of those intimate videos had already been shared at least once so why not more? Were Izzy's sex tapes now being exchanged freely on the internet? Was my daughter unknowingly a porn star?

The mixture of fear, concern and arousal at these thoughts was extraordinary.

And what about me? After all, videos of me having sex existed too, and what about all the explicit pictures Pete had taken of me with Adam, showing me in every kind of sexual position imaginable?