The Bungalow

But she's not a working girl, she's my wife, the voice in my head told me. 'Is that older man who lost his wife, one of them.

'Yes, he comes every two weeks.'

I didn't ask, but I did wonder how long he spent with her. Perhaps it's the clients and not Joyce I should be more worried about.

'Please Stan, talk to Joyce about it, before it's too late.' Cheryl told me.

Perhaps it was already too late, I thought. Then, for some irrational reason, I asked Cheryl to show me where to find my wife's entry on her website.

After she had shown me, she added. 'You don't need to go to my website to book a couple of hours with me, you know,' she giggled, but I knew she meant it. As she left I thanked her for being honest with me.

On my wife's entry on her website, I was surprised just how much information there was about her, even her age and her shoe size. There were also six very revealing, very suggestive pictures. Any potential client would know exactly what he was paying for. The first picture showed my beautiful wife's very voluptuous body, wearing the sexiest of underwear. Another picture, where she was laying naked on her side, displayed her lovely long legs and beautiful thighs. Another very suggestively displayed her ample butt as she peeked seductively over her shoulder at the camera.

What I didn't expect was the description she gave about herself and how she would treat her client. Knowing my wife, I could confirm every word of it. She even mentioned an extensive wardrobe of dresses and underwear. At the end was a remark that another lady was also available for a threesome, should a client be interested.

Down the right-hand side was a list of the services she provided. French kissing, mutual masturbation, penetrative sex with protection, oral with swallowing, anal at an extra charge. Spanking, giving and receiving. Light bondage, giving and receiving. Roll playing. Toys, including vibrators, dildos and butt plugs.

All I thought Joyce was doing was some kissing, cuddling, and fucking.

After seeing her pictures and reading everything she said about herself and how she treated her clients and then seeing the list of services she offered, my attitude toward my wife changed dramatically.

When she came home, Joyce apologies for being so late. 'I'll make it up to you tomorrow,' she told me. 'I'm just a little tired so do you mind if I go straight to bed?' I followed her fifteen minutes later and she was already asleep.

Joyce continued to be loving and caring toward me and our sex was nearly as frequent it had always been. Now I knew what she did while prostituting herself, it was just becoming increasingly difficult for me to make love to her. The lack of intimacy we used to have seemed to go unnoticed by my wife.

Fifth month

On Tuesday evening at the start of the month, Joyce told me she would be sleeping at the bungalow on Wednesday. I was very unhappy about it and expressed myself quite angrily. Then she told me her last client was not spending the night, but leaving so late it wasn't worth her driving home and then returning for her appointment on Thursday morning.

Joyce just brushed my concern aside, not like it used to be when she would sit on my lap and kiss me fervently until I was re-assured. I was still unhappy about it when we went to bed. I did get a hug and a kiss good night with a comment that I would get over it.

The following week, when Joyce told me she was spending Tuesday at the bungalow with a client, I nearly lost it. 'Joyce, you have gone too far this time. You are not spending the night with another man. This being a prostitute thing has got to stop.'

'It's not a thing, it's what I enjoy doing,' Joyce interrupted. She was shouting, but then so was I.

I tried to moderate my voice, we never had shouted at each other. 'I know it's what you do, Joyce. It's just gone much further than you said it would. It was just going to be something you did during the day while I was at work. Then you started spending the evenings and now you're spending all night at the bungalow.'

'It's only one or two night's a month, surely you can do without me for that long.'

As always, I knew I wasn't going to get far with my argument but I had to try. 'It isn't just about doing without you a couple of nights a month, Joyce. Oh God, how do I say it? 'It's knowing you are sleeping with another man, being intimate with him, letting him do God knows what to you all night. it's just pushing my tolerance too far. You're my wife, Joyce, can't you see what you're doing to us, darling?'

'For one thing, he won't be doing things to me all night,' she argued. 'We will both need to sleep sometime.'

I could see how determined she was. 'You're going to do it anyway, aren't you?'

'Yes, why shouldn't I. As I said, it's only two or three times a month.'

That first night my wife spent at the bungalow, I hardly slept. Any illusion I had about the dusty accountant's office had now been totally destroyed. It had been a bit dodgy ever since she started spending evenings at the bungalow. I have no idea who she was spending the night with. For too long I have been burying my head in the sands, as the proverb goes. I now know that I should have taken Cheryl's advice, and talked to my wife a couple of months ago.

Once again divorce entered my head. I'd seen its effect on the husbands, and it was horrible. One of my best friends found out his wife had been having an on-off affair for nearly two years. He got drunk, had an accident and nearly killed someone. He lost everything. The other guy was a colleague in the laboratory. His wife was so blatant with her affair everyone thought she did it deliberately to get him to divorce her. When he refused she just went off somewhere with the guy. He's still trying to find her. Whatever anyone might call me, divorce was still not an option for me.

When I arrived home on Wednesday, Joyce was waiting for me in a black dress I had never seen before, and in the highest heels I had ever seen her wearing. She already had a large whisky in her hand. "Drink up darling, I've got something to show you.' I took the glass from her without being able to take my eyes off the dress. The bodice allowed the display of the wonderful cleavage created by her beautiful breasts. The hem revealed the glory of her bare legs to well above her knees. The dress had captivated my attention as much as the beautiful woman wearing it.

I still had the full glass in my hand when I heard her telling me. 'Drink up, darling, there's more for you to see than just my dress.'

The glass was very full; more whisky than I usually poured myself. And, I know I drank it all too fast. I heard Joyce call me, good boy, just before her arms encircled me and her tongue was tasting the whisky in my mouth. Through the whisky induced haze, I could smell my favourite perfume.

From somewhere a voice was telling me I was being seduced by a very beautiful and very skilled woman. Another voice was telling me to stop her before it was too late. I was telling myself I still loved her as I allowed my wife to lead me to our bedroom.

Every step of the stairs the little black dress revealed an enticing suggestion of the woman I was following. I was now being embraced onto the wonderful softness of her breasts, all that, combined with the heady aroma of her perfume, the afterglow of the hastily drunk whisky and the deep kiss achieved whatever objective she had for me.

Almost before I realised it, I was undressed and once again in the embrace of the little black dress. 'Now my darling,' a soft sensual voice whispered in my ear. 'I told you I had something to show you.'

The little black dress moved away and moments later it very slowly slid off the body of my beautiful wife.

Once again, I was in her embrace. What man could resist such seduction? Greater men than me had lost fortunes, battles, empires, even their crowns to the seduction of a beautiful woman. All my intentions to admonish my wife about her night at the bungalow were forgotten, perhaps she might even be forgiven after everything the embrace and the kissing promised.

How I survived everything she did with me, I'll never know. I had no idea how long it lasted nor for how long my exhausted body had been lying beside the woman who looked like my wife. What I did know was that the woman who had caused my sexual exhaustion was definitely not the same woman I had married and been living with for the past forty years.

I saw her smile and felt her lips gently kissing me 'Darling, now that you know what I do when I'm spending the night with one of my gentlemen, you won't have to worry about me anymore, will you?'

I tried to understand her logic and probably mumbled something because after a few more kisses and being hugged, I must have fallen asleep. When I woke the sun was shining through the window, there was a strong smell of coffee and my wife's voice was telling me breakfast was nearly ready.

I was still too bemused by last night to talk about anything but mundane things over breakfast.

Before I left for the laboratory I got a big hug. 'I love you, darling,' Joyce whispered in my ear, after a very French kiss. 'Now, don't you go worrying anymore about me spending a night at the bungalow. We only have sex, just like I showed you last night.'

When my secretary brought my first cup of coffee I told her that I didn't want to be disturbed for the rest of the morning. 'Unless it's an emergency,' I added, as she closed my door.

Alone in the quietness and familiarity of my office, I slowly got my thought's together. One thing was now obvious to me. Ever since I had known her, Joyce had somehow repressed a very high sex drive, to the level that I had been familiar with all our married life.

It was now obvious to me that as soon as she discussed what Cheryl did and then spent time with the first two men, she was unable to repress her extreme sexuality any longer. What I had experienced last night was a display of sexuality way beyond anything I had experienced in the whole of our marriage.

The question was, could I live with it?'

The following Monday evening Joyce told me she was going to stay at the bungalow Tuesday night and not to expect her home until Wednesday evening. Tuesday, I phoned Cheryl and she didn't seem surprised at my call. 'Cheryl, I'll be on my own Tuesday evening, are you free to have a Chinese takeaway with me tonight?' Cheryl was the only person I could think of who I could talk to about my wife. I needed to ask her if she agreed with my earlier conclusions.

After we had cleared up Cheryl settled herself beside me on the settee. 'Stan, you seem to be increasingly unhappy about your wife spending nights at the bungalow?

There was no question in my mind that Cheryl understood my problem. She really was beautiful. Just a perfect package of womanhood, with a smashing personality. It was such a shame she was also a prostitute. 'She won't listen to my concerns, let alone talk to me about them. If we were married would you spend a night with a client, if I asked you not to?'

'That's hardly a fair question, Stan.'

'I think she's always had a repressed sexuality,' I told her. 'After you told her what you did and introduced her to those two men, she couldn't deny it to herself any longer.'

Cheryl looked very indignantly at me. 'You're not blaming me, are you Stan?'

'No, of course not Cheryl. I doubt that even Joyce would have foreseen the outcome.'

'Stan,' Cheryl had a very concerned look on her face. 'I agree with you. Your wife does have a very high sex drive. The question is, can you live with it.'

'Um, that is exactly the question I have been asking myself for days. I've got to try, she is my wife and I love the silly bitch so much.' I told her.

I did sleep better than the first night Joyce spent in the bungalow. It was when I woke in the morning. That was the worst, knowing that while I slept another man had been fucking my wife.

When I arrived home Wednesday evening Joyce greeted me with a normal glass of whisky, a very nice kiss and a promise that dinner would be ready in thirty minutes. This time instead of the black dress, Joyce look very elegant in a light blue, knee-length skirt and yellow turtle neck jumper.

During the meal and as we were clearing everything away, I wondered if we would ever get back to being like this every evening when I came home.

When we had settled ourselves on the settee Joyce asked me if I was still all right about her sleeping at the bungalow. She was very loving and affectionate as I tried explaining to her how I felt when I woke up in the morning. She just didn't seem able to accept any responsibility, which annoyed me.

Joyce slept at the bungalow three more times that month. I don't know if it was the same man or three different men. Every time the morning was the worst time for me.

Friday, when my secretary brought my afternoon tea and biscuit she asked if she could sit with me for a few minutes. Barbara had been my secretary for over five years and this was the first time she had asked me.

'Stan, for eight hours, five days a week, every month for five years I have worked with you. That is probably more time we have worked together than you have spent with your wife.'

Wondering where this was going, I nodded in acceptance of her statement.'

'Therefore Stan, I think I can safely say that I know when you have something serious on your mind.'

I was starting to see where this was going and started to say something,

'No, Stan, listen to me, please. I know it's nothing to do with the laboratory or any of the staff so It must be to do with something personal.'

Before I could say anything, she continued.

"Have you talked to anyone about it? No, I thought not,' she confirmed. 'Talk to me Stan, it will just be between us, you know that.' Then she looked at me with an expression of real concern. She was probably right, in the past five years I had spent more time with Barbara than I had with Joyce. Perhaps now was the right time to put my trust in her to the test.

'Barbara, your quite right, there is something personal that is giving me a lot of concern. I just don't know how you can help me if I tell you?' A moment later I decided it was time to talk to someone and I couldn't think of anyone better than Barbara. I just didn't know where to start.

'You know about my parent's bungalow. Well five months ago Joyce found out our current tenant is a prostitute.' I saw the look of shock on Barbara's face and wondered how she would react when I told her the next bit. 'When Joyce found out she persuaded me to let her do what our tenant does.'

Barbara gave a loud gasp. 'Oh my God.'

'It was only going to be with two of Cheryl's regular clients,' I hastily added. 'Now Joyce is at the bungalow all day, some evenings and all night, three or four times a month.'

Barbara was looking at me in stunned silence.

I suddenly felt a great pain in my chest. 'I love her so much, Barbara.' All the pent-up pain and frustration brought tears to my eyes. 'Why can't I make her stop.'

Barbara became more than my secretary when, without criticism or reproach, she accepted the situation I had allowed my wife had put into. I knew I now had someone to talk to and share my anxieties.

Sixth month

During the first Monday evening, Joyce told me that a client wanted her to go away with him for four days the following week.

If I hadn't had my talk with Barbara, I would have protested vehemently, now it was just another situation for me to tolerate. "How well do you know him,' I asked, hoping I showed some concern for her safety.

'He has already spent one night with me,' she replied, then quickly continued before I could say anything. 'He has to go to a business convention. I'll be more like an escort for him.' After a very long kiss, my wife asked me if I minded, but I wasn't given time to answer. 'It's just Monday to Thursday. Then he will take me straight to the bungalow on Friday. I've already got a booking for the afternoon.'

Then she told me. 'It's costing him five thousand pounds.

I suppose I should have been proud that a man would pay my wife so much to spend four nights with him. It was obvious that she would be doing a lot more than just escorting him around a conference.

When Joyce came home on Tuesday the first thing she told me was that she had a bad mouth ulcer.

I immediately suspected she had something else. 'Have you seen a doctor?'

For a moment she just looked at me. 'Yes, and it's not what you think. It's just a bad ulcer. I've got to keep rinsing my mouth out, and no kissing,' she added

I soon found out there was no cock sucking either.

For the rest of the week and the weekend, everything seemed normal. There were late evenings or nights at the bungalow. My days at work were normal. Joyce looked normal when I arrived home at my normal time. We enjoyed the evening meal together as normal. Our evenings together were perfectly normal. We went to bed at the normal time. And we fucked four times, despite the ban on kissing and fellatio.

Monday morning, I assumed she went to the bungalow after I left for work so whoever she was going away with could pick her up from there. Before I left for work Joyce had given me a very long hug, there were still no kisses but lots of assurances she still loves me. I wouldn't see her again until Friday evening.

My secretary was now my conscience and knew what my wife was doing. She was also showing a lot of concern for me. There were more cups of tea and coffee, and biscuits were nicer. Twice during the week, I was tempted to phone Cheryl and ask for an appointment. Then decided that one prostitute in my life was enough.

When I got home on Friday evening Joyce was already waiting for me, in the same little black dress. There was no tumbler full of whisky this time though she did have a worried look as she approached me. "I missed you so much, darling, she said.' Before I could answer or comment about how I missed her while she was away, I was being dragged upstairs and within no time I was naked. Then she was kissing me. It appeared the ulcer had healed.

Then I felt it, something on her tongue. I pulled away in surprise. 'What's that on your tongue?' I asked.

She stuck her tongue out and there it was. A silver stud right in the middle of her tongue about an inch from the tip.

'When did you get that?' I demanded. She knew I had an aversion to piercings ever since our daughter had her nose pierced as a teenager.

'Last week, that's why I couldn't let you kiss me, or suck your cock.'

'There never was an ulcer.'

She shook her head. 'It was the tongue piercing.'

I knew about tongue studs and how they were supposed to enhance fellatio but because of my aversion never thought about asking my wife to have one.

'You lied to me because you know I don't like body piercings? Why did you get it?' I was angry.

'I had to. Thomas told me to get it.'

'Thomas,' I shouted. Now I was furious. 'This Thomas guy told you to have your tongue pierced.' For a few seconds, I was speechless. 'You had it pierced because he told you to?' I was trying to keep my voice down. 'I take it this Thomas guy is the man you've been with since Monday?'

My wife looked very worried. 'He wanted it healed before we went away.'

Now I knew that sucking his cock was at least one of the things she had done for him. I just stared at her, wondering what else my wife had been lying to me about.

Before I knew what was happening Joyce was on her knees and my cock was in her mouth. Not just in her mouth, halfway down her throat. I tried to push her away but she just clung to my legs. It wasn't long before I realized that my wife's oral skills had been greatly enhanced by the stud, helped by the four days without any sex.