Penny's Promiscuity Ch. 50: The End?

Chapter Fifty

They say all good things must come to an end. That might be true, but sadly the same isn't true of all bad.

Although in hindsight the outcome was predictable, its beginning came from an entirely unexpected direction and at a time when everything else in my life seemed to be running smoothly.

I should have known it was just the lull before the storm.

I should have guessed that when the storm arrived, it would all be my fault. Again.

***

The sun had risen early that August morning, so I was giving nine-month-old Leanne her first feed of the day. Warm sunshine washed over the high-backed chair in which I sat, knickerless as usual, rubbing myself slowly on the carefully prepared towel on which I routinely sat.

Although I had become more accustomed to the extraordinary level of arousal breastfeeding routinely generated in me, it had not in any way diminished so I was rocking slowly back and forth as I fed, the ridge deliberately folded into the towel beneath my bare vulva, rubbing very pleasantly along the dark, damp valley between my puffy outer lips.

For last couple of months, all had been quite uncharacteristically smooth and well in the Barker household.

Apart from being small, everything else about Leanne's development was going to plan. The rumours about her parentage, though true, had been superseded by other, more recent scandals and it had been some weeks since anyone had done the double-take when seeing me and my mixed-race baby together.

Home from University and working at the same Garden Centre, Izzy and Jack had been together so much day and night that they had almost become joined at the hip and I had hardly seen them over the whole summer.

Whether they were avoiding both me and Jack's father I could not tell, but neither her nor my affair with Tony had been mentioned again, even in secret.

Tim and Thomas were happy, though I suspect still felt unnecessarily awkward sharing the bed in my son's room on the few occasions they had visited us.

Despite the trauma of the birth, Josh and Samantha were now openly discussing having a second child soon after the first 'to get it all over with' while they were still young.

Whether their comment was inspired by watching a fifty-two-year-old mother with a tiny baby in her arms was a question I was not feeling strong enough to ask, even of myself.

Even Tony's attempts to get back into my knickers had moderated. Thanks to local gossip, I knew this was at least partly because his most recently seduced, married conquest was proving even more exciting and demanding in bed than he had hoped.

I looked down at the dozing form in my arms as her appetite became replete, her sleepy eyes closed and the vice-like lock of her lips on my nipple was released.

A shiver of pleasure rippled through me as cool air touched the damp flesh of my teat. The nipple erection brought about by her suckling was now hardened further by the steady glow of sexual arousal emanating from between my thighs and which could not be ignored.

Pete had worked late the night before and had been too tired to make love on his return. Despite all my efforts, his surprisingly red cock had remained stubbornly flaccid, so my sexual needs, heightened by another couple of hours exposed in chatrooms, had remained frustratingly unsatisfied.

It was too early on a Saturday to wake him and demand his immediate sexual attention so, settling my baby back in her cot, I padded downstairs to the kitchen where my laptop was waiting, fully charged. I put on the kettle for tea, placed my carefully folded towel on one of the high stools at the breakfast bar, then perched on it and booted up the machine.

The rough towel's rough surface tickled and stimulated my vulva deliciously. If I could maintain this level of arousal, my writing would have the edge of verisimilitude I loved. I might even seek some relief with an unknown, remote partner in a chatroom if I got too aroused for anything but an orgasm to satisfy me.

Frustratingly, the laptop seemed to take an age to boot up but when it did, I logged into my secret author's email account as usual and clicked on the Inbox.

There were three messages waiting. One was from one of my longest-term correspondents; a real-life cuckold of many years' standing. Although his wife no longer met other men, his advice had been crucial in helping me with both my writing and in the early days of my own Hot Wife lifestyle.

I took his criticism of my stories very seriously, so read his comments on my latest publication carefully. To my relief, he had enjoyed it though he and his wife had managed her infidelities differently.

With a contented smile, I clicked on the second message. I expected it to be from an unfamiliar reader, either praising or hating my work, so I opened it with some trepidation and read the contents anxiously.

Then I sat back in my chair in horror.

'Like the present in the garden?' the message read. 'Next time it'll be a lot closer to home!'

That was all it said.

It took a few moments and several re-reads before it sank in. Then, leaving my laptop logged into my email, I jumped to my feet, ran bare bottomed out of the kitchen and across the hallway to the large picture window that overlooked the front of the house.

"Oh my God!" I squealed as I looked out at the driveway.

My husband came running out of the bedroom and onto the landing in his boxer shorts.

"What's wrong?" he demanded anxiously.

"Look!"

I pointed through the large picture window and into the front garden. On the driveway were our two cars; my husband's Porsche and my own SUV. Pete's pride and joy was as pristine as is always was, but the same could not be said of the vehicle alongside.

I threw open the front door and ran out onto the driveway, barefoot and in my night dress, my husband only feet behind me.

"Christ!"

From its bonnet to its rear door, my beautiful shiny car had been covered with graffiti. Large, bright-red, spray-painted words adorned every panel.

And what words!

'Slut!' 'Marriage breaker!' Cheating cunt!' were only a few of the choice phrases presented.

"Who the fuck would do this?" Pete demanded walking slowly around the ruined car. "I'm calling the Police now!"

He left me gawping at the painted obscenities while he stomped back into the house.

I circled the car slowly. Not one panel had escaped the paint and the words were hateful. Eventually Pete materialised at my shoulder. I turned to face him, expecting to see concern and support but instead was met with an angry frown.

He stared at me, his face one big scowl.

"This is personal Penny. You know what this is about and this time, you're going to tell me the truth. All the truth."

It wasn't a question; it was an accusation. I froze, speechless.

The beginning of the end had started.

***

It was a long time before the Police arrived at the house. Having ascertained that with Pete present, there was no immediate risk to me, our problem had been prioritised down the list.

That left three long, terrible hours for my husband to grill me on the last remaining secret between us.

Pete took full advantage of the opportunity. During a tense, painful and tear-filled period punctuated by the need to attend to Leanne on a regular basis, I gradually confessed the truth about my life as an author of erotic stories.

For some reason, the confession of this secret was far harder to make, harder than when I had told him about my affair with Tony. Not surprisingly, Pete was badly hurt and very upset; not that I had written erotica, but that I had kept it secret from him for so long.

When the young constable arrived, the atmosphere between my husband and me was glacial. We put on as good a show as we could, but the body language must have spoken volumes.

A cursory inspection revealed that, although our drive was gated to vehicles, we had left the doorway for deliveries unlocked overnight, allowing easy access. A longer look at the car quickly established that this was much more than just mindless vandalism and was consequently out of the young man's pay scale.

Mid-afternoon a short, unimpressed female Detective Sergeant arrived, and events began to gather a dreadful momentum of their own.

"You write what, Mrs. Barker?" the sneer in her voice was cruel. "Doctor Barker, I should have said."

Given the emails I had received and the actual physical attack on my car, I had no choice but to confess what had happened right up front. Anything else would have been stupid; I might actually be under threat of physical violence.

"I write erotica," I repeated.

"You mean pornography?" she asked, forcing me to repeat myself. "Dirty stories?"

"That's what she said," Pete jumped in, defending me. "She's a very popular author with a large following."

I stared at him. Was that an element of pride in his voice?

"And you publish anonymously, online, you say?"

The disbelief was intended to be cruel and was so.

"Yes," I blushed.

"And no doubt you get trolled from time to time. As a female porn author you must get a lot of nasty messages like today's."

"Yes," I confirmed, still trying to keep my composure. "I do."

"But this was not an online attack, Doctor Barker," she said slowly. "This was a very real attack in your front garden."

There was no denying that fact.

"So, either this attack is nothing to do with your writing, or else someone has managed to find out where you live. Have you ever told anyone your address online?"

"Never," I insisted.

"Have you ever given away clues in your conversations?"

"No. Well..."

"Penny?" Pete stepped in. "You think you might have?"

"I don't know! I'm not sure," I replied, getting upset. "I've had so many conversations with so many people over the years. Maybe I did give away too much by accident."

The Policewoman sat back in her chair.

"Well, we'd better start there!"

The Detective Sergeant's voice was as hard as her expression as she gave me a look of contempt I will never forget.

***

They took my laptop and the family desktop away, temporarily bringing my online life to a halt.

All my stories, both complete and in progress and of course, all my emails were taken for analysis. As the Police car drove away, I knew that within a very short time, the deepest secrets of the last eighteen months would be secret no longer. My status as a cheating slut and my husband's as willing cuckold would soon be known to the police too.

God knows how many others would get to hear. It all depended on what the officers chose to do next.

And it was all my fault. I felt sick.

That night, in a single all-night session, my husband read almost every word I had written and published online while I tossed and turned sleeplessly in bed upstairs. In the morning he looked awful; shocked, pale-faced and with dark rings under his eyes.

He did have the decency to compliment me on my imagination and style and was grudgingly impressed by the ratings and the number of followers I had gathered, but when we sat across the breakfast table from each other the next morning I could tell he was not a happy man.

"Some of these things are barely legal," he said, stunned.

Over a rather stilted conversation it became obvious that some of the more unusual subjects I had chosen had shocked him. I was pleased I hadn't told him about all my more extreme pseudonyms.

But what had shocked him most was that he had instantly recognised some of the real people on whom I had based my characters. Some of them were close friends, including Tony who featured in most of my early works.

I had included in the stories, many of the things he and I had enjoyed in bed during our affair. Across the breakfast table, I could tell that my husband was torn between jealous outrage on the one hand, and extreme arousal on the other.

Although Pete had heard from my mouth a full description of what my lovers and I had done with and to each other, seeing it in writing and knowing that many thousands of other men and women had read it too was something else entirely.

For the second time in less than two years, I began to believe that I had just destroyed my marriage. But with a new baby in the house and the threat of extremely public exposure, this time it was far more serious.

"Did you really do all those things with him?" Pete asked at one point.

"Not all of them," I replied quietly. "There's quite a bit of fantasy there too."

"I would hope so," he snorted, apparently in disgust though his body language told a different tale. "What about the other stories? The ones about our friends?"

"Some of them are true, you just didn't know it. Others I've just used the characters."

"I had no idea you had this kind of imagination - or these kinds of fantasies in your head."

I didn't say that perhaps he would have known more if he hadn't spent so much of the last few years obsessed with establishing a Hot Wife and Cuckold lifestyle, but the thought did cross my mind.

"They're not all my fantasies," I protested. "Some I write simply because I know lots of people like to read that type of story."

"I still don't understand why you didn't tell me," he said, his voice more hurt than angry. "It's like cheating on me again, even if you didn't actually do anything."

"I know. I'm sorry Pete. It's just that I nearly lost you after you found out about Tony. I didn't want anything else to put our marriage at risk."

"You should have told me then," he insisted.

"I know. I was wrong. I should have confessed straight away but once I'd let the moment pass, there never was another right time to tell you and it just became easier to keep it secret."

"Are there any other secrets?" he demanded. "If we're going to have any chance at all of getting through this, I need to know absolutely everything. I can't go on with this marriage unless I'm completely sure there's nothing nasty still to come out."

His words stunned me into silence. Was the man I loved more than anything in the world really thinking about leaving me once again?

"There's nothing else to tell, I swear," I said clearly and firmly and for the first time, truthfully.

Well almost.

***

Within forty-eight hours, Pete had installed CCTV cameras in the front and back of the house.

My damaged car remained in the driveway for three days while the Police inspected it, dusted it for fingerprints and other mysterious things that seemed to take ages to finish. After that it was taken away to be repaired and resprayed and I was left with a tiny courtesy car.

The officers assured me that because of the perceived threat to me and my family, they were taking the attack very seriously, but of course were very busy so I shouldn't expect to hear much from them for a while.

Two days later, the frowning Detective Sergeant reappeared at the house in the evening to ask further questions, saying they had completed a preliminary analysis of my laptop and needed help in pursuing several lines of enquiry.

"You're something of a surprise, Doctor Barker," she began, her sneering, suspicious tone very clear. "Writing porn and having multiple affairs at the same time; it's not what we usually find in a nice, middle-class household."

I blushed, feeling angry and ashamed at the same time.

"Your email accounts were very revealing too. Especially your exchanges with Mister... She gave Tony's full name. Is his wife aware of your affair?"

"Yes," I replied. "They were separated at the time."

"And she was having an affair with a much younger man herself. Is that right?"

"Yes," I reluctantly replied. "She and Tony are getting divorced now."

"But you slept with her lover as well as her husband? Is it possible she resents that?"

"No. She and I have met several times since then. I would know."

"You haven't met her for some time. Are you sure there's no animosity between you?"

"None at all. He's a serial philanderer. Julie warned me about him before it all ended. We're still friends."

"So it seems from your messages," she agreed. "Quite a little den of vice around here, isn't it? Everyone sleeping with everyone else."

There was no denying this, so I said nothing.

"Okay, we'll focus on the threatening messages. There are lot to go through, aren't there? You're quite a controversial figure in the cuckold world."

For the next half hour, we went over my writing and the reactions it provoked. The stream of vicious troll attacks I had recently received naturally featured front and centre of their investigation.

Had I replied to any messages from this person or that?

Not knowingly, but they could easily have set up multiple accounts. I had no way of knowing this.

Had I given away any personal information?

Not deliberately but there had been long-term email exchanges with several online friends going back years. It was possible I had said things that might have identified myself without meaning to.

The conversation went on and on, all the time with me on the back foot. As I showed her to the front door over an hour later, I felt like a schoolgirl who had had a particularly severe dressing down by the head teacher and had been told to stand in the corner with her hands on her head.

Just before leaving, the Detective Sergeant turned Columbo-style with one last question.

"Is it at all possible that the man you had an affair with did this? Is it possible he blames you for the final break-up of his marriage?"

"Tony?" I replied, surprised. "No. Of course not."

The idea that he might feel this much hatred just because I wouldn't fuck him again was absurd, but she didn't know that. The Detective raised her eyebrows.

"Are you sure? How long did the affair last?" I told her. "And it was passionate," she stated. "According to your emails, the sex was so good you nearly left your husband for him."

Had she chosen her words deliberately to hurt me? I couldn't be sure, but they hit home hard.

"But he doesn't know about my writing either," I insisted. "And his wife had left him long before he and I..."

"Started fucking?" she ended my sentence for me.

I nodded, shamefaced. This time there was no doubt; those words had certainly been deliberately chosen.

Though still doing her job, it was clear that the woman despised me.

***

Despite the high level of tension between us, Pete stood shoulder to shoulder with me throughout the whole of this difficult period. I felt really bad for him; having to answer Police questions about our sex life, how he felt about my many infidelities and what he got out of being a cuckold.

The sneering, almost schoolboy attitude that some of them adopted was almost unbearable for me. It must have been even more humiliating for my poor husband, but he was very strong.

It was hard enough for me to explain my own actions. Explaining to a young officer no older than my children that I wrote hardcore sex stories and had enjoyed multiple partners in real life was almost physically painful.

But what was far, far worse was the way my husband looked and behaved towards me. Pete began working even longer hours, starting early and finishing late, as if trying to spend as little time at home with me as possible.

We still ate some meals together, but our conversation was sparse and confined only to practical matters. In bed he was either cold and silent or alarmingly violent in his lovemaking, hate-fucking me several times in the first few days before withdrawing all but the most essential physical contact.

At least nothing had come out in public. Yet.

***

It was two weeks later that the same disapproving Detective Sergeant came to the house again to announce that with remarkable efficiency, they had managed to track down the attacker, who had immediately confessed.