The Bungalow

'She could have had both of them, doesn't she do that sometimes.'

'Perhaps they didn't want to. She just asked me to help her out with one of them.'

'So, without thinking about what you told me, you decided to go.'

'Yes darling, I sorry, but there wasn't time to phone you because I had to leave straight away to get to the bungalow in time.'

It all sounded totally preposterous and already I could see this prostitute thing was getting out of my control. I definitely needed to have a word with Cheryl. I also needed to reclaim my wife. Which Joyce was very agreeable with.

Several times over the weekend I thought about asking her what it had been like doing what Cheryl did, yet at the same time, I didn't want to know any details. I knew Joyce wanted to tell me all about it, yet respected my wish to remain in ignorance. She also appeared to be the same woman as she had the week before. She didn't feel any different. I was shown just as much affection, and our lovemaking was as amazing as it had always been. I just couldn't get the thought out of my head that her body had been used by three other men.

Second week

Wednesday evening Joyce told me she had spent the afternoon at the bungalow with Cheryl.

I'd already warned myself this could happen. 'What did you do?' I asked. 'Share some more of Cheryl's clients.'

She seemed a little hesitant before replying. 'No, she didn't have clients, we just talked. I might join a website.'

'A porn site.' I corrected.

'No, a website where members advertise themselves.'

'Oh, I see, what happened with you only wanting two men? Sorry, three,' I corrected myself.

'It hasn't affected us, has it darling, and it did give me something to do while you are at work. Surely you can let me continue, anyway, you think I'm working in an accountant's office, don't you?'

It was all too much to argue about after I'd had a very busy day at the laboratory. 'Is that how Cheryl gets her clients?' I asked.

'Yes. She's going to show me tomorrow.'

At the end of the week, I finally had to ask. I had again settled in front of the television when I asked Joyce to sit on my lap. It always amazed me how good she felt sitting there. There was just something about the way her buttocks settled into position.

'Ok, Joyce, what's happened with the website Chery showed you?' My abruptness seemed to surprise her.

'Oh, well, it's good. You can say a lot about yourself and it's very secure. Men can only contact you through the site.'

I interrupted her. 'Have you joined it?'

'Well, no, not yet. I wanted to tell you first. I put something on it but it's not active yet, it has to be vetted by the moderator.'

I noticed she said, tell me, and not, ask me. 'Joyce.' I hadn't meant to be quite so sharp. 'How far are you going to go with this prostitute thing?'

I was given a tight hug and a long kiss before she answered. 'It hasn't affected us, has it, darling. I love you as much as I always have. We haven't stopped making love, have we?' Then she stopped and just looked at me. 'I just want to find out what it's like to have my own clients.'

'Joyce, you can't do that, you're a married woman.' I felt I'd lost this argument even before I started. 'Alright, I didn't stop you going to the bungalow a couple of times, isn't that enough.' I couldn't believe we were having this conversation. I'd been married to this wonderful, amazing woman for twenty-five years and here I was on the verge of being made a cuckold. No, not a cuckold, cuckolds were men who allowed themselves to be humiliated into participating in their wives' debauchery.

Joyce's voice broke into my thoughts. 'Stan, you're not listening to me.'

'What, oh, sorry dear. What were you saying?'

'Darling, you'll be at work and so will I, just a husband and wife doing a nine to five job.'

Henpecked, that's what I'll be. A henpecked professor of chemistry. 'Yes darling, we will both be working nine till five.' I told her. Until I can't tolerate it anymore, I told myself, and then I'll be a divorced professor of chemistry. God help me, I just loved her so much.

By the end of the first month, my wife was going to the bungalow every afternoon. In my head, she was an accountant in an accountant's office, and it seemed to be working for me. I had adamantly refused to discuss anything about what she did at the bungalow, which I knew annoyed her, and surprisingly, I found quite hard to do.

Second month

My wife might as well have been working in an accountant's office because nothing about her has changed. The way she dresses, the way she behaves toward me in the evenings and at the weekend, all exactly the same.

The affection between us and the sex was just as often and just as wonderful.

Perhaps toward the end of the month, I was getting too confident. During our evening meal, I asked her what it was like. After a moment of staring at me, she replied.

'It's a lot more than I expected, darling. Cheryl told me it would be, but I can't believe the men and the sex can be so different every time.'

I hesitated for a moment before finally asking the question that was most prominent in my mind. 'How many clients have you had?' I didn't want to say, men.

'I thought you would ask me, eighteen,' she said.

I had no idea that so many men used prostitutes. I knew she only went to the bungalow after lunch and had to leave by four-thirty to get home before me, which meant she was only there between three to four hours. 'Were they all for just an hour? Have any been more than once?'

Joyce's answer was a long kiss. 'Don't you want to know what it was like being fucked by all those different men?'

'Maybe, but answer my question first.'

'Well, like Cheryl, I let most of them have a bit more than an hour and five paid for an extra hour.'

I thought about that for a moment. What had she done to make five men want to pay for another hour? She usually wears me out in less than an hour. 'It seems like you will soon have some regulars.' I suggested.

'And.' I saw her hesitation. 'Two have already been twice and four of my gentlemen have already booked their next visit.' She sounded so proud of herself. She must be doing something right to have re-bookings already.

'No regrets then?' I asked while hoping she might have some.

'No, darling. No regrets. What about you? If you really want me to stop, you know I will.'

I didn't ask her to stop, neither did I ask her to tell me anything about what she and her clients did together. I know that disappointed her. I would have told her to stop immediately if there had been any depreciation in our lovemaking. Instead, my already sexually dynamic wife was getting even better.

The idea that thinking my wife was working in that boring accountant's office, was helping. In fact, it was helping much more than I expected. I even imagined all the dusty ledgers surrounding her and the candle burning on her desk slope. Perhaps I watched 'A Christmas Carol,' too many times.

It was the fourth week that Joyce had been spending her afternoons at the bungalow. Friday afternoon the laboratory was very quiet. All the experiments we were working on were progressing smoothly and my secretary had just brought me a cup of tea. Unexpectedly, I found myself thinking of my wife and if, at that moment, she was with a client. In my head, the dusty office had disappeared and there was an unknown man fucking her.

The image was so vivid I almost spilt my tea.

When I got home I was going to ask Joyce if she had anyone that afternoon. Instead, Cheryl was there. Before I thought about it I grabbed her and kissed her. Pent-up feelings, I don't know. When she pulled away I just stared at her, confused by what I had done and why I had done it.

'Where did that come from?' she asked.

'Where did you come from?' I replied.

She turned toward the kitchen and I followed her, and we sat opposite each other. 'Joyce asked me to be here when you got home from work.' she said.

I was somewhat confused. 'Where is Joyce?' This was so unexpected. 'She hasn't phoned me. Where is she?' I asked again

I could see Cheryl's concern. 'She had a late booking.'

'A what?' I demanded.

'A late booking,' Cheryl repeated. 'Don't worry, she is quite safe,' she reached across the table and took hold of my hand. 'He is one of our regulars, the second client she had. She will be home by seven,' she added.

The vision I'd had in my office flashed into my mind. So many thoughts and questions and concerns filled my head.

Cheryl came around the table, sat beside me, and stroked my arm. 'Don't worry about your wife, she's just working late, the books didn't tally.' She told me.

Yes, just another day at the office. It appeared Joyce had told Cheryl how I handled it. Then an unexpected thought crossed my mind. I don't know where the question came from. It was suddenly very important, but I wasn't quite sure how to ask. 'Do you ever see a client at the same time?'

It took Cheryl a few seconds to answer. 'We have some clients who pay for both of us.'

It took me a few seconds to get my head around the idea of Cheryl and Joyce working together, both being fucked by the same guy. As I looked at her I even wondered what it would be like to fuck Cheryl. 'What's it like, you and Joyce with the same man?' I eventually asked.

'Wouldn't you rather ask Joyce what it's like when we're with the same man?'

'She hasn't mentioned anything about you working together. So perhaps she doesn't want me to know.'

'Perhaps it's because you have never asked her anything about her clients and what she does with them.'

'Does she enjoy it, being fucked by all those different men?'

'Perhaps it's time you asked her. I know she wants to tell you.'

When Cheryl left there was still fifteen minutes before Joyce was due, and I kept thinking about what Cheryl had told me. If the guy she was with now was one of her regulars, how often had he visited her? Cheryl said he was one of their regulars so was he one of the men who booked time with both of them.

It really was time I started asking some questions.

Up until now, Joyce was always home before me so I didn't have to think about anything other than she had just been at the dusty old accountants all day. As she came in the door, it was right in my face. My wife had just come home from fucking another guy for the last two hours or more. Funny though, she didn't look any different.

Almost before the door closed behind her I grabbed her hand, dragged her into the living room, and sat her on my lap. Immediately I knew there was something different. She smelled different. It was a perfume she had never worn before. Was this something else the guy had paid her to do or had she bought it for him?'

Suddenly I didn't want her sitting on my lap. "I think you should take a shower I told her.'

She got off my lap. 'I was going to before you grabbed me.'

By the time she had showered, the takeaway Chinese I'd ordered had arrived and I had it set out on the kitchen table.

'Now tell me about him?' I told her, almost as soon as we were sitting opposite each other.

She looked at me for a moment, then sighed. 'So, at last, you want me to tell you what it's like to be with all these different men.'

I was surprised at the condescending way she answered me, almost as though it no longer mattered whether I asked her or not. 'Eventually, right now I just want to know about the man who's been fucking you tonight.'

I got a harsh look at my comment. She told me he was sixty-two and very wealthy. 'His wife died two years ago and he wasn't going to marry again but needed to have sex, so he pays for it.' she told me. 'He wanted me to wear a white dress with lace underwear and act as a loving wife. We were very intimate. He fucked me twice,' she added.

I was shocked when she told me about them being intimate, more than that he'd fucked her twice. I thought only we were intimate. 'Are you intimate with any others?' I asked. What I really wanted to ask was, is he your lover?

"If that's what they want.' she replied with a smile. 'You know how much I like to be intimate with you.'

Yes, I did. Now she was telling me that not only was she sucking and fucking other men but also sharing the same intimacy that we had. That meant she was kissing them as she kissed me. For some reason, I found that harder to accept than the sucking and fucking.

'You bought the clothes for him?'

'No, he gave me some extra money to buy them.'

'Did he give you the perfume?'

Her reply shocked me. 'No, I bought it for him.'

"Why?'

'There was some money left over and he had told me it was his wife's favourite.'

That made me wonder what else he had told her.'

While I was still thinking about everything she had already said, she was telling me how much she enjoyed how all the men were different. How all the fucking was different. 'Surely you've noticed how some of the ways we fuck are different?' she asked.

I had noticed and was surprised at the way Joyce said, 'we fucked', I thought we made love. 'Do all your gentlemen give you money to buy clothes?'

'Of course not, darling; I have to buy them. My gentlemen often tell me how they want me to dress, it's usually what underwear they like so I've now got quite a nice wardrobe at the bungalow.'

I knew how much Joyce liked buying clothes but was surprised that so many of her gentlemen told her what to wear. 'How much are you spending on clothes?' I asked, wondering what else they asked her to do.

'It's fun dressing myself the way a total stranger has asked me to,' she replied, without answering my question.

'How many clients do you have after two months, Joyce?'

She reached across the table for my hands and held them tight. 'If you mean my regular gentlemen, like this evening, I have nine. It was slow to start but this month I had seven new gentlemen, and three have made an appointment for next month.' she sounded so proud of herself.

I had no idea there were so many men in our area with nothing to do during the afternoon except buy time with a prostitute. She must be making a fortune.

I had another question. 'How old are they?'

'Well, I think the youngest gentleman was twenty-nine and the oldest is seventy-two.'

I could understand a man of seventy-two using a prostitute but not a guy of twenty-nine. I wondered if he was as vigorous as I'd been at that age. Not for the first time, I was a little worried how all this fucking was affecting my wife.

That evening I took Joyce out to dinner. I just wanted us to be husband and wife again. I didn't tell her what to wear, as always, she looked dazzling. It was almost like the last time we went to a restaurant. We talked about the latest telephone conversation we'd had with the children. We talked about the house and if there was anything we could do to improve it. We even discussed where we might move if we sold it for a smaller place. We never talked about the bungalow.

While we made love to each other that night, several times I had to get the thought of all the men who'd been fucking her, out of my head.

Third month

The third month started out very much like the second month that my wife has prostituted herself. I still didn't ask her about who the men were and if she was seeing the same ones or what she did with them. I think it was as frustrating for her as it was for me, but I was still trying to keep up the illusion of Joyce working in an accountant's office.

On the Friday of the second week, when Joyce sat on my lap and after wrapping her arms around me she gave me a very deep French kiss. We had always French kissed, but now my wife's French kisses were much more sensual; all open mouth and deep tongue and sloppy.

'I love you Stan, darling,' she whispered in my ear. 'Thank you for letting me continue seeing my Gentlemen. I think it's made our sex life even better. Don't you, darling?'

I thought for a moment. Had it made our sex life better. We seemed to fuck more than we made love. Recently I'd notices she wanted her nipples squeezes and sucked harder, she also wanted me to slap her ass more when we doggy fucked and it was definitely easier to fuck her ass.

'You certainly like doing things differently,' I replied.

'I know, Darling, so would you mind if I went to the bungalow some mornings from next Monday?'

Her request was not unexpected. She had already hadn't been home till seven three evenings in the last two months. 'Do some of you regulars now want to come in the mornings?' I asked.

'You wouldn't mind then, darling.' The kiss was very French. 'I've had to turn Gentlemen away.' she said.

My agreement was rewarded by a very sensual display of my wife's greatly improved seduction skills, which made me wonder how much she was learning from Cheryl. I just wish all the other men in her life didn't keep imposing themselves in my head when I was fucking her. Just making love didn't seem to happen as often anymore, whatever Joyce told me.

Our evenings hadn't changed much, after our meal we settled in front of the television, usually with a glass of wine and a whisky for me, or we read our current book. Joyce no longer suggested we watch any of our D.V.D. collection, or watch some porn. I didn't even want to watch porn on my own in the evenings when she was late coming home. During the weekends Joyce was busier with the jobs she used to do during the morning while I worked on the 'to do' list.

Fourth month

Three times already this month my wife had texted to tell me she would not be home till after seven. Each time I was asked to order a Chinese or Indian meal for eight. She had always been home by seven-thirty, in time for a drink before the order was delivered.

This was the fourth time Joyce had texted me. This time I was told she would not be home until ten and that Cheryl was bringing Chinese home for me.

To say I was concerned by this would be very much an understatement. I'd already expressed my feeling about her not coming home till after seven. That alone was making it difficult for me to continue the illusion of Jayce working in the accountant's office, this text almost destroyed it.

When I got home I took my anger out on Cheryl and then spent the rest of the evening apologising. After we finished the meal Cheryl wanted to leave but I persuaded her to stay.

After giving Cheryl a glass of wine and I'd poured my whisky, we sat opposite each other. 'Do you know what is happening to my wife,' I asked her. It was not an easy question for me to ask because I was afraid of the answer. I just hoped she was honest with me.

She looked at me for a moment. 'All she's doing is fucking, that's all we're paid for. Some ask us to act or dress like a girlfriend or wife or some other fantasy person, but that's all she's doing. I've got several men who treat me like that, some even bring me gifts. I've got some of the things I like listed on my website.'

'Do you work as late as this?

'Of course, a lot of men can only come after work, or occasionally spend the time with us instead of going to the pub in the evening.'

I considered that for a moment. 'Is she seeing more than one man tonight, is that why she's not coming home till after ten?'

'Yes, Stan, that's probably why. I know the man who was with her earlier only ever stays for two hours.'

Two hours with the same man, what on earth could they be doing for two hours. The more answers I got the more questions I had.

'How many of them stay for two hours? How many regulars does she have? Is she seeing the same men quite often?' I just spewed my questions out.

Cheryl sat beside me and took my hand in hers. "Stan, calm down, you really need to discuss this with Joyce. I know she has about a dozen regulars who come two or three times a month. I also know some of her clients spent a couple of hours with her. It's just the same for me, for any working girl.'