I stood at the window, still wearing my over-tight gym clothes, watching my husband Pete’s Porsche pass out of the driveway, turn right and disappear towards the hospital where he worked. The large wooden gates swung slowly but firmly closed behind him; a menacing metaphor for the way my future looked right then.
Insisting that we needed time apart to consider our relationship, my husband of over twenty years had just walked out, leaving me to my guilty thoughts, alone.
The nightmare had begun, and it was all my fault.
Not content with a single ‘fuck-date’ each week with my lover Tony as my husband had agreed, I had deceived him by arranging even more secret, illicit liaisons with the same man behind his back. This deceit had included two wonderfully romantic overnight stays in a country house hotel which were very much not permitted.
I had lied to my husband on both occasions, telling him I was at conferences in London.
Even the day all this was discovered and the nightmare began, I had deceived my husband, leaving the house wearing my gym clothes to cover that morning’s secret liaison at Tony’s apartment. I had told myself it wasn’t a real lie; I hadn’t actually told Pete I was going to the gym. All I had done was get changed; if he chose to think that was where I was going, that was his decision.
I feel ashamed writing this even now.
Of course my betrayal couldn’t have been discovered in the usual way, through careless credit card bills or even being found in bed with my lover. No, poor Penny had forgotten to brush her teeth after giving Tony one of her rare blowjobs and reluctantly swallowing the mouthful of semen that had resulted.
It was a stupid rookie error but then I was a stupid rookie over-involved in her first extra-marital affair.
When I returned home afterwards, my husband had smelled my lover’s cum on my breath and tasted it in my mouth as he kissed me, leaving me no alternative but to confess all. This confession had included the terrible truth that, not content with just fucking, Tony and I had apparently fallen in love. Indeed, our relationship had got as far as Tony asking me to leave Pete and move in with him in his flat. The fact that I hadn’t immediately rejected the idea shows just how out of control I had become.
And now it was too late.
Once my husband’s car was out of sight, I turned away from the window, my heart thumping. It’s hard to believe but even though I was badly shaken, at that point I still hadn’t grasped the seriousness of the situation. Dazed and confused by the suddenness with which everything had happened, I still naively believed that we could just talk it all through later, that everything would still be alright and that we could go on with our love triangle as before.
After Pete had gone, my first instinct was to call Tony, to tell him what had happened and warn him of possible consequences. But something inside me told me to wait; Pete had gone to work, his anger had been contained. I didn’t really think he would go round to Tony’s for a fight. It was far better to see how my husband was when he came home later that evening.
This meant I had hours to kill and the weight of a guilty conscience to live with.
Going from room to room, I tidied what little mess there was in the house, emptied the dishwasher and wondered how to fill the hours before my husband’s return. With no more housework to take my mind of my predicament, the answer was obvious; go to the gym for real. I was already in my gym clothes after all. Five minutes later I had phoned the Sports Club, booked myself into the next Bodypump class and set off in my SUV.
On the way I drove past Tony’s apartment. There was no sign of his car. He must really be busy, I thought. That must be why he couldn’t see me. If he loved me as much as he had said, the frustration must be as terrible for him as it was for me.
There was no sign of his car ninety minutes later as I drive myself home, my fifty-one year old body aching pleasantly from exertion.
The class had been tough but I had wanted it to be; only something hard and physical could take my mind away from all that had just happened at home. I added kilograms to my hand weights and tried even harder to keep pace with the trainer. It hurt but the pain had focussed my mind on the exercise and away from my precarious marriage.
Since my affair had started and my naked body was being seen by a man who wasn’t my husband, I had felt driven to make myself look and feel more attractive – dressed and undressed. As a result, my gym visits had become desired rather than a necessary evil, my cardio sessions had become enjoyable as well as endurable and my body had changed for the better.
The change in my body had brought a change in my clothing too; hemlines had become shorter and sexier without conscious thought and the reduction in dress size I had sought for decades had happened almost without trying.
After so many years of failed diets and missed classes, all I had needed to obtain the figure I desired was to open my mind, spread my legs and let another man into my body. I had done that with the same energy I now brought to my exercise, but the consequences were be very different for me and the two men in my life.
On the one hand was my handsome, caring husband of over twenty years; the father of my three children; the man who loved me and had trusted me enough to let me sleep with other men, believing I would return to him a happier, more satisfied wife.
The man whose trust I had shamelessly betrayed.
On the other was my tall, equally handsome lover; the man who had been my first seducer, who had fucked me more times than I could remember, opening my eyes and my thighs to the unsuspected revelation of what a really good sex could be like.
The man with whom I was supposed to have had a purely physical relationship but who had now told me that he loved me; wanted me to leave my husband and live with him; perhaps even marry him. Torn between these two men was me; not knowing what I wanted or what to do, still believing the choice was mine!
For an hour the sweat and pain of the gym had kept this from my mind but as soon as the physical pain stopped, the emotional pain began. When I arrived home I sent Tony a text message saying blandly that Pete had found out about us and that he and I must talk urgently.
He didn’t reply.
***
Alone in the empty house, I changed out of my tight-fitting top and tights, showered then put on tight-fitting jeans and a top. It was dinner time but I was far too upset to eat anything more than a cheese sandwich. I started on the dry white wine much earlier than I should too as I paced the empty rooms trying to think of a way forward which would allow our unusual lifestyle to continue.
The idea of bringing my affair to an end barely featured.
The ground floor fully explored, I went upstairs and into each of the kids’ rooms in turn, wondering what normal they were doing as their parents’ lives became very abnormal indeed.
Josh, my oldest would be with his girlfriend Samantha in London, probably having a late afternoon drink in a city pub with their friends; relaxing before the working week began. The two had lived together for over a year and looked set to stay together long term; perhaps even get married. In my emotional state, this wasn’t something I felt able to deal with right then so I left his tidy, unlived-in room quickly and looked next door into the room which my son Tim still called his.
Hard-working, serious Tim would be studying for the University exams he had to take the following week. Then he would probably have a pint with his friends before bedtime. With rounded feature quite unlike those of Pete or any of the men in my family, my good-looking second son was something of a mystery. There was no question who his genetic father was – Tim had been conceived long before thoughts of infidelity had entered my mind – but for most of his life we had joked that he had been a foundling, brought by the fairies as a trick.
Though tidy to the point of obsession, his room still had the ‘lived-in’ feel that his brother’s lacked and made me feel more reassured; more secure in the love of my family whatever I had done. Tim was currently single having broken up with his latest girlfriend a few weeks before. She had slept with one of her lecturers just as his exams were beginning.
How could a girl be so selfish and cruel?
Moving on, Izzy’s room was, as usual highly disorganised but at least I had made sure it was clean. Though very different in temperament, Izzy and Tim were so close together in age and so close emotionally that they behaved almost as twins.
I sat on my daughter’s bed and looked around at the posters, pictures and toys that still adorned the room. The sight transported me back decades. Izzy had been a challenging girl in many respects – and indeed still was but she and I had been very close all her life. Now aged twenty, with a justly-earned reputation for cheating on her boyfriend and a nickname based on her behaviour in bed afterwards, the resemblance to her unfaithful mother was even more apparent.
Far from cheering me up, the bedroom tour had been an emotional agony; I went back downstairs feeling even more melancholy than before and in search of anything to keep my mind occupied.
The hours passed painfully slowly. It was nearly eight o’clock when I finally heard the boom of Porsche in the driveway and the clunk of the front door being opened and closed.
“Pete?” I called.
I was in the kitchen, ironing shirts for the coming week as if by behaving as if nothing had changed I could make things be as if nothing had changed. But life isn’t like that. A few moments later my handsome husband slowly entered the room. The look on his face was not reassuring but I still tried to keep things as normal as I could.
“How was the list?” I asked, referring to the patients he presumably had just dealt with.
“How was your lover?” he replied bitterly. “Or have you managed to go five hours without a cock in your cunt?”
I was literally taken aback. Pete’s unexpectedly aggressive words were brutal, crude and completely against my husband’s sweet nature but they told me only too clearly how badly hurt he was.
“Pete I’m so sorry,” I told him honestly, putting down the iron and moving towards him. “I’m really sorry. I won’t see Tony again without your agreement again. I promise.”
“It’s not as easy as that,” he began, backing away as if revolted by my presence.
“I promise, Pete,” I said as reassuringly as I could. “Please! Can’t we just forget it all happened? Can’t we go back to where we were before?”
“Before you first let that man into your knickers?” he asked sarcastically. “Or before you started getting fucked senseless three times a week behind my back?”
Oh my God! He really was bitter; suddenly the risk of my marriage collapsing for real began to dawn on me.
“I’ll give it up! I’ll stop being a Hotwife altogether,” I insisted. “Please Pete; I will!”
My offer was genuine if reluctantly made; I wasn’t at all sure I could simply go back to being a normal wife. Too much had happened for the old Penny just to reappear. But Pete was having none of this anyway.
“I don’t want that. I don’t want you on those terms,” he said firmly.
“What do you mean? We agreed we’d stop if it ever became a threat to our marriage and that’s what it’s become. I’ll tell Tony I can only see him with your agreement.”
Incredibly I still hadn’t grasped the true extent of the danger.
“You think that’s all it takes?” Pete raised his voice.
It wasn’t a shout but it took me enough by surprise to shake me into a more serious proposal that I really did not want.
“I’ll give him up altogether! If I stopped seeing him; we could go back to being a normal couple again. Is that what you want? Please Pete, tell me!”
It’s almost unbelievable but even I was thinking that after a while, when things had calmed down I could arrange secret meetings with Tony again. But Pete dashed that idea from my mind.
“I’m afraid that’s not an option any more. It’s gone too far. We’re not a normal couple anymore, Penny,” Pete echoed my thoughts. “I don’t think we can ever be a normal couple again.”
“But Pete…”
“I can’t live the rest of my life with you always looking over your shoulder, Penny.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.
He took a deep breath before continuing in a calmer, colder voice.
“I mean that if you dump him and give it all up now, I’ll never know the truth. I’ll never know whether you’re doing it out of fear, or loyalty, or obligation, because of the kids or because it’s what you truly want.”
“It is what I want,” I lied.
“You say that but I don’t believe you. There’ve been too many lies already. If you end it now I’ll never know if you really wanted to go off with him but couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You could turn into a bitter woman and our marriage would be over anyway. It would be an issue between us forever.”
“So what do you want? Are you saying we should split up now?” I asked horrified.
“No! Well, not necessarily. I mean that whatever decision you make, I need to know it’s been made freely and honestly and that this time you’ll stick to it.”
I looked at him, stunned.
“How can I convince you?” I asked.
Pete took a deep breath.
“We had a cancellation at work today so I went to see Doug.”
Doug was one of Pete’s colleagues; a Senior Consultant with a remarkable reputation but who hadn’t been well recently.
“He’s having an operation then he’s going on leave for a few weeks. I’m going to cover his lists while he’s off.”
I knew this; we had already talked about it. It would mean Pete working longer hours and sleeping over in Hospital Accommodation a few nights. To my shame I had looked forward to spending as many of his extra working hours as I could in bed with Tony.
“That’s right,” I said. “We talked about this.”
“Today I said I’d cover all of his lists, Penny; all of his shifts, starting now. I’m moving into the Duty Consultant’s apartment tonight. I’ll be staying there all week.”
“You can’t bear to live here with me?”
“I need a bit of space, I told you. This is the best way I can think of.”
“Pete please, I…”
“It’s not about you this time, Penny. It’s about me for a change.”
That shut me up! But he hadn’t finished.
“I’ve agreed to go to take his place at the conference in Geneva too.”
“What?” I gasped.
The week-long Geneva Conference was the most important European gathering for my husband’s specialism. It was to start the following weekend, bringing together over two hundred experts in Pete’s field from all over the world in a five star Swiss hotel. As one of the most senior practitioners in the country, Doug would have attended on behalf of the Midlands Association.
I had been there with my husband once but had found it very unrewarding. The hotel and the city were wonderful but Pete had never been free for us to do anything together. The work was always hard, the hours very long and in true ‘work-hard-and-play-hard’ style, the after-hours shenanigans that took place in the bedrooms after dinner every night were the stuff of hospital legend. I myself had heard stockinged-feet padding up and down the carpeted corridors between bedrooms throughout the night as ‘Conference Wives’ and ‘Conference Husbands’ got together as well the many One Night Stands that inevitably took place.
At the time I had been shocked and hadn’t attended again.
An unaccompanied man as charming and good looking as my husband and with his professional reputation could have a choice of medics and students as fuck-buddies. I had always been pleased that Pete only rarely attended. The mere fact that he had volunteered to go there now was unsettling. But that apparently wasn’t his point.
“Now you’ve got at least two weeks of freedom,” Pete told me. “If you’re so keen to live with Lover Boy, go ahead and do it! Move in with him for the whole time I’m away,” he said calmly and coldly. “Start tonight if you want! Live with him, sleep with him, go to bed with him and wake up next to him the next morning if that’s what you need to do. Go to work and come home to his flat as if you were his wife, not mine. See how it feels to be together properly, not just for a few hours of fucking.”
“But…”
“Two weeks isn’t long enough for a trial separation I know, but it is long enough for us to see how we really feel. It’s short enough to keep it secret too; no-one but the two if us – and him – needs to know. As far as the kids are concerned, if they want me, I’m just busy.”
“I don’t want you to go Pete! Please…”
“But I do want to go, Penny! I do want to go and this time I get what I want, okay? You and your over-active cunt have had what you wanted for months!”
His voice was loud and angry; still not quite shouting but very intimidating. It was hard to hear but even harder to argue with so I shut up and listened.
“If you have the chance to live as that man’s wife and still come back to me I’ll know it’s a real decision, freely made. I’ll know you could have chosen him but you chose me instead. If you decide now, whichever way it goes, neither of us will ever know the truth. The doubt would poison our relationship forever – if we still have one.
“Pete please…”
“But remember, Penny; I’ll be free too! While you’re enjoying your freedom, I’ll be doing what I want too. You know where I’ll be – first at the hospital then at the conference, with all that can entail – but I’m going to do whatever I want for a change.”
“You’re going to…” I gasped as the implication of him being on his own and ‘free’ sank in.
“Oh, I’m not saying I’m going to try and get myself laid,” he said. “But I’m not making any promises either. If I want to fuck someone and she wants to fuck me, I will be free to do it. You’ll just have to live with that.” He laughed mirthlessly. “It might give you a tiny idea how I feel about your first month with him; when you were plain and simply cheating on me.”
The bitterness in his voice was horrible; that first month of adultery was going to stay with us throughout our lives. The thought of my good-looking husband cheating on me with an unknown woman was bad; the thought of him fucking someone I knew was even worse.
But the logic was clear; we both needed to know how we really felt. Right then I had no idea; however awful it was, maybe, just maybe this was the right way to find out.
“What about between now and when you leave?” I asked anxiously. “Do I stay here?”
“That’s entirely up to you. I’m going to the hospital flat tonight. From now until the end of the conference, you’re no longer my wife; I make no claims on you. You can do what you want; stay here, stay with him, fuck him, find someone new to fuck. It’s your choice.”
My head was spinning now.
“They say ‘If you love someone, let them go!’”, Pete continued. “Well, I’m letting you go, Penny, free as a bird. Fuck whoever you want whenever you want to. If you go away and stay away, I’ll know I’ve done the right thing. We can get divorced – I won’t fight it – and you can marry him if you want.
“If I let you go and you come back to me, we’ll both know how you really feel but remember; I’ll know how I really feel about you too. This is my decision as well, not just yours. If we both still want each other then we can face the future together, stronger, whatever it looks like. If not, we can go our separate ways.”
“Oh my God, Pete!”
“That’s the deal Penny, okay?” he added. “Take it or leave it. You’ve got to decide. No more cheating! No more lies!”
“If… if that’s what you want,” I agreed.
“I want the truth, whatever it is! I’ll tell you the truth about me if you want to hear it, but you’ll have to accept it whatever it is. If I have fucked someone, you’ll just have to live with it like I’ve had to live with your cheating.”
“Can’t we just…” I began but I knew it was futile.
“There’s no other way, Penny. I can’t trust you right now; you’ve forgotten what honesty means in a relationship. That trust is going to take some fixing – if it can be fixed at all. But first we need to know if we both want to fix it.
“For the next two weeks you do whatever you want to do. Don’t hold back; go for it! You and Lover Boy can fuck each other to death if you want but be ready to make your decision in two weeks Penny because I promise you I will be ready with mine.”
My head was spinning. Was this really happening?
How had things got this crazy?
***
Half an hour later Pete drove away from the house, a small suitcase in the back of his car.
I watched through the lounge window, feeling the tears running down my cheeks and a dreadful churning in my stomach. I looked down at my left hand and the pale band of skin where my engagement and wedding rings had lain for over twenty years but were no longer.
Before leaving, my husband had told me to take off my wedding ring and give it to him. That ring hadn’t left my finger since he had slid it into place in church all those years ago. I wasn’t at all happy about this and refused at first but Pete was very serious, explaining that if I really was to feel free then there was no alternative.
I had argued but Pete had been very firm. Eventually I had given in; with some difficulty and the aid of kitchen soap I managed to wriggle the gold band off my third finger. Pete took off the slim gold crucifix that he usually wore around his neck and threaded the chain through the ring before slipping it back around his neck and tucking it into his shirt. I looked at my bare hand, at the pale band of skin where the ring had lain all those years and flexed my fingers. It already felt strange. It felt stranger still when Pete handed me back the ring I had placed on his finger so many years ago. I stared at it in my palm, dumbfounded before placing it on the table next to me.
It felt horrible.
“I’ll see you in two weeks,” he said as he picked up his case and made to leave.
“Please Pete,” I protested one last time. “Can’t we talk this through now? Can’t we just go back…”
“No Penny, we can’t. This is the only way. We both need time and space.”
I nodded, my head lowered while he continued.
“If you’re not here when I come back, I’ll know what decision you’ve made and we’ll separate. If you are here then we can talk. After that, if we both still want to put those rings back on each other’s fingers then we have a chance of getting through this. If either of us is unsure then we’ll know what to do.”
“How do I contact you?” I asked.
“Don’t try, unless it’s an emergency. I won’t call you. You’re single, remember? Goodbye Penny.”
“Have a safe trip,” I said haltingly then added desperately, “I love you, Pete!”
“Enjoy your freedom Penny,” was all the reply I got.
***
And so my two weeks of freedom began, whether I wanted them or not!
At first nothing in the house seemed to have changed, but then as reality dawned and my emotions swung from extreme to extreme, the home I had known so long seemed to change from minute to minute.
When I thought of Pete and our kids, its walls seemed to close accusingly around me; Penny the cheating slut was getting what she deserved. I wandered from room to room again, looking for anything to distract me from the horror of the situation; from the fact that my husband had left me because of my cheating; that there was a real prospect of my marriage coming to an abrupt end and that it was my fault we were in that position.
On the other hand, when I thought of Tony the world seemed much brighter. I had two whole weeks to enjoy what might become my new long term relationship. I could live with my lover, sleeping with him as long and as often as we wanted. It was what my husband had said he wanted me to do; Tony and I could be together without fear or guilt.
Right then I wanted to be with him so badly; to feel his strong arms round my skinny body; to feel the reassurance I needed that our love for each other was still strong. I called Tony twice more leaving increasingly anxious messages but there was still no reply.
I tried to watch television but couldn’t concentrate; every programme seemed to feature sad, unhappy divorcees or spouses cheating. I tried to read but the paper was full of depressing news and my book, however worthy was too dull to hold my attention for more than a few minutes.
It was after eleven o’clock before my special phone rang. I had placed it on the kitchen table in full view to make sure I heard any calls or messages from Tony. There was no longer any need to keep it secret; my husband already knew how I had deceived him. As I put the phone out in full view, it was yet more evidence that things had changed.
I was in the lounge when the call finally came. On that phone there could only be one caller so I rushed through to the kitchen to answer it.
“Tony?” My voice was eager, breathless.
“Hi Penny,” Tony’s voice was anxious, uncertain. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m not okay; my husband’s left me! Didn’t you get my messages?” I demanded.
“Sorry,” his voice was shaky. “I was… a bit tied up. I was out. I left my phone at home.”
I should have asked who he was out with but I was too anxious to tell him what had happened; to give him the god news that for the next two weeks I was a single girl again; that I was finally able to do what he had told me so often he wanted; for me to move in with him and be his wife.
When I had finished, there was a little too long a pause before he replied.
“I’m sorry you had a row,” he said.
The words were hopelessly inadequate but I was too emotional to notice.
“I could move in tomorrow after work. Maybe I should come round now?” I said, desperate to see him.
There was a longer pause.
“You do still want to live with me, don’t you?” I asked, fully expecting an immediate and positive reply.
It didn’t come.
“It’s… it’s a bit awkward,” he mumbled. “Hannah’s coming home.”
My heart sank. Hannah was his daughter. More or less the same age as Isobel, she too was studying at University. Missing the future tense in his words, I wrongly assumed he had been out with Hannah earlier.
“How long is she home for?” I asked, seriously disappointed.
“I’m not sure. It’s a study week and she’s got boyfriend trouble.”
I swore under my breath. What was it with bright, clever girls that made them run home from their studies whenever a boy upset them?
“Wouldn’t she be better being with Julie?” I asked, referring to Tony’s estranged, unfaithful wife. “What’s the trouble?”
“I’ll find out tomorrow I suppose,” he replied. “And Hannah’s still not talking to her mother.”
Since Julie’s very public affair with Darren, a Personal Trainer over twenty years her junior, both Hannah and her older brother had refused to stay with their mother in the family home. Hannah had initially refused to have any contact at all; I hadn’t realised that this was still going on.
“Well, can we have dinner tomorrow evening?” I asked, getting more and more anxious to see him even if sex wasn’t possible.
“Not with Hannah home,” he said. My heart sank. “I suppose I could do lunch,” he added, almost reluctantly.
“I’m in a meeting all day tomorrow,” I told him, relieved to have at least some sign that he wanted to see me even if I couldn’t make it.
“How about tomorrow after work?” he offered. “I could meet you in the coffee shop at five thirty.”
“Is that the best we can manage?” I asked. “Now I’m free and single?”
I didn’t add the words ‘and desperate’.
“I’m sorry,” Tony said “As soon as I know about Hannah I’ll call. Maybe we’ll have more time.”
“I miss you,” I whispered.
“Same here,” came the rather flat reply.
“My Little Pink Pussy misses you too,” I added cheekily, hoping to bring a much-desired sexual frisson back into our conversation.
“That’s nice to know,” Tony answered.
“Don’t you want to fuck the living daylights out of my smooth, shaved, married cunt again?” I hissed.
“That would be nice,” was all I heard from the man who only days ago had asked me to marry him.
A strange, unfamiliar feeling of nausea filled my belly. But then I heard the house phone ringing in another room. Maybe it was Pete calling! Maybe he had changed his mind?
“I’d better go now,” I told Tony as I ran through to the lounge where the handset was, adding the three magic words. “I love you!”
“Okay. See you tomorrow,” was his brief reply.
I pressed the ‘end’ button on my mobile angrily then grabbed the house phone, raising it to my ear and accepting the call.
“Pete?” I gasped anxiously.
“Mum?”
It was my daughter Izzy’s voice.
“Izzy! Sorry I thought it was your Dad,” I backtracked, trying not to sound disappointed.
“Is Dad okay? Isn’t he home?”
“He’s been called in to work,” I told her.
It was only half a lie; there was no way I could explain to my daughter that I had cheated so often on her father that he had left me, if only for a couple of weeks.
“Then I’ve got you all to myself,” Izzy said with a laugh in her voice.
For the next half hour I had to listen and try to sound enthusiastic as my twenty-year-old daughter recounted her week at University and the wonderful way in which her relationship with her new boyfriend was developing.
Izzy was totally smitten. There was, it seemed, no human being in existence who was better looking, more romantic, more caring, more intelligent and, by sideways implication, better in bed than Simon.
The ease with which Simon had seduced her when she was in a long term relationship with her previous boyfriend was testament to the first few assertions. To my shame, it bore more than a passing resemblance to the ease with which Tony had first found his way into my knickers. That had happened long before my Hotwife lifestyle had started when I was still supposed to be in a monogamous marriage.
Evidence to support the last assertion included my daughter’s new nickname ‘Izzy-Oh-God’ which she had earned by screaming those two words loudly throughout the entire night she and Simon had spent in bed. This marathon fuck-fest had taken place very publically in one of her friends’ flats – to the considerable amusement of the half dozen students in the other rooms who had heard every word.
Unfortunately for my daughter, the nickname appeared to have stuck.
Thanks to the underhand behaviour of a girl she had thought a good friend, Izzy’s original boyfriend had learned of her infidelity while it was actually taking place. By the time my daughter had woken the next day in a strange flat, still naked and in bed with her seducer, the message from her boyfriend dumping her was already waiting on her phone and on Facebook.
She was not unsurprisingly feeling insecure and, as her mother, needed me to provide a constant stream of reassurance. In my current unstable condition this was not easy but that night I really welcomed the distraction of her light-hearted if self-centred conversation.
It was only when we had said our goodbyes and I was locking up the house that the coldness reappeared. I changed into my most comfortable pyjamas and made my way up to bed, wondering what my first week as a single girl would bring.
From Tony’s odd attitude on the phone, it didn’t look as if the wild, abandoned sex my husband had told me to have was going to start very soon.
***
My head ached from lack of sleep as I sat at my desk the following morning. It was supposed to be my first day of freedom; a day in which I could do whatever I wanted, see whoever I wanted; even fuck whoever I wanted free of obligation to my husband – ex-husband, I reminded myself as I looked at the pale band of skin on my third finger where my engagement and wedding rings used to lie.
My night had been badly broken by disturbing dreams but as the morning came, instead of bringing relief, the nightmare simply grew worse as the dull weather outside mirrored the dullness of my spirits.
It wasn’t just a dream; my husband had actually left me! The fact that it might only be for two weeks was unimportant, the truth was that, whatever I had wanted, Pete had gone and there was no guaranteeing he would come back.
I shuddered as I thought of all that had happened the previous evening; if I had been in the arms of the man I loved – the man for whom I was seriously contemplating my husband, things would certainly have been different.
As it was, I had fallen asleep surprisingly quickly, exhausted by emotional strain. But the dreams had moved in on me as soon as my eyes were closed, vivid and dark. I had woken half a dozen times to find the house cold and strange around me. For what seemed like hours I had lain awake in bed, my mind full of memories of all the happy times in our past and dark images of what life might look like in the future.
In the end I suppose I must have fallen asleep because the alarm had woken me with a jolt early that Monday. It didn’t feel like Monday; it hardly felt like home. Unlike almost every Monday for twenty years, there was no warm, familiar male shape in the bed alongside me, no morning cup of tea brought to my bedside, no handsome, whiskery smile to greet me.
There was just me.
I checked my phone, hoping for a message from Pete. There was none. I checked my secret phone; there was nothing from Tony either but I consoled myself with the thought that we were meeting up after work that afternoon.
Okay it was only the coffee bar and we couldn’t even kiss properly but Tony had said we might get a chance to be together later, hadn’t he? I got up, had a long bath rather than my usual shower and dressed for work. In the bath I shaved my arms, legs and vulva again – my Little Pink Pussy as Tony called it – just in case we got lucky and managed to find a way to make love somehow, somewhere.
Even a rough and tumble in the back of my SUV would have given me some of the emotional reassurance I needed. When our affair had first started we had fucked each other secretly in my car several times; surely we could manage that again.
A warm shiver ran through me as I remembered those early days of our relationship. My body tingled in anticipation of what we might do later that day.
There was no time for breakfast so I went without, packed a few other necessities into my over-large handbag and left the empty house, locking the door behind me and heading for my car. From the moment the front door closed I could tell something had changed. It took a few minutes to realise then it became clear; without the security of my wedding ring, my left hand felt very strange.
I told myself that it was merely a psychological trick but the bareness of my ring finger and the whiteness of the band where it used to lie made me so self-conscious I might as well have been stark naked. As I travelled the familiar route to work it felt as if everyone I drove or walked past was staring at my naked finger and seeing the fallen, unfaithful woman I had become.
It was nonsense brought on by guilt but I couldn’t shake the idea off, desperately trying to think of plausible reasons why I might have abandoned my ring in case anyone asked. I could find nothing remotely convincing. Fortunately no-one in the office appeared to notice at all but the fear haunted me throughout the day.
When I reached the office it was empty and would be for at least another twenty minutes. I sat at my desk feeling vulnerable and exposed, looked at the pile of papers in front of me then at the clock on the wall.
Perhaps I could escape from reality for a few moments before the busy day began in earnest.
I flicked on my tablet pc, touched the right buttons and turned to my secret ‘Author’s’ email account, the name under which I was now writing most of my erotic stories. There were three more messages; I clicked on each in turn, fearful of yet another troll attack but to my relief they were all positive. Indeed, one was from someone who sounded like a genuine real-life cuckold; the others were simply enjoying the developing plot of my longer publication.
I’m embarrassed to confess how much I enjoy receiving praise for my writing. Since my affair had started, my creative output had slowed considerably but my readership and number of followers were steadily increasing. I promised myself to resume writing as soon as the issue with Pete had been resolved.
If it could be resolved.
I switched off my tablet as the office began to fill and began my day. Fortunately it proved to be extraordinarily busy; I hardly had time to think let alone wallow in self-pity about Pete or to feel too much lust for Tony, thank God.
Lunch just didn’t happen so by mid-afternoon when I finally grabbed a mug of tea I was very hungry. At least I would be able to get something to eat before I met Tony in the coffee bar at five-thirty. I frowned; we could probably have gone for dinner together even with Hannah at home. Why hadn’t he suggested that?
Tony was my first and only extra-marital lover. Having professed his love for me many times and put pressure on me to leave my husband, live with him and even marry him; his attitude the previous night had been disturbingly cool.
Although the situation had been forced upon us by Pete’s departure, surely Tony should have sounded more pleased to be able to have what he had said so often he wanted; me living with him as his wife, even if it was only for a couple of weeks.
I told myself that it must have been the shock of my unexpected news; that and having his daughter close by. After all, Tony had told me he loved me too many times to doubt it. We would be together soon.
Despite my fears about my marriage, I was so far gone that I couldn’t prevent vivid memories of my times in bed with Tony from flooding back. I sat back in my seat, closed my eyes and pictured his strong hands stripping the clothes from my body, giving him free, unimpeded access to my vulva. I imagined how it would feel to have his hands on me again, his lips on mine; his active tongue in my mouth. I remembered the expertise with which he fingered me before thrusting his thick, swollen cock hard and repeatedly into my weeping pussy producing the frenzied orgasms that had overwhelmed me so often.
I hung onto the belief that, if our mere dates had been as exciting as that, it would be even better now I no longer had to leave straight afterwards; now we could spend whole nights together, free from the need to rush home for fear of discovery?
I could feel myself lubricating at the mere thought as the magic hour approached.
As soon as the office had emptied, I went to the Ladies’ Room to repair my make-up, brush my teeth and look my best for the man I loved and who loved me. In a cubicle I slipped off my skirt and rather damp knickers, refreshed my most intimate areas with a moist feminine towel then changed into a fresh pair of very skimpy satin panties, swapped my old tights for new hold-up stockings and pulled on a much shorter, tighter skirt than I would ever have worn to work.
Then I slipped quietly down the fire escape, around the corner and into the coffee shop where I bought myself the largest Americano they had, took a place at a table in the best concealed corner of the room and waited excitedly for my lover to find me.
Five-thirty arrived but Tony did not. I wasn’t worried; the traffic was always terrible after work.
Five forty-five arrived but there was still no sign of him. I bought another coffee and returned to my seat, taking a newspaper from the rack to conceal any anxiety on my face. I put my secret phone on the table in front of me to make sure I didn’t miss any messages from him.
At six o’clock he still hadn’t arrived; there must have been a misunderstanding. I had just picked up the phone to call Tony and see what the problem was when it beeped in my hand. I looked at the screen to find a very brief message.
‘Something came up. Can’t make it after all. Sorry.’
My heart sank; though fucking had always been unikely, I had hoped at least to have had an hour’s private, romantic conversation with Tony; maybe even a walk hand in hand along the riverside a few miles away where discovery was very unlikely. I had even imagined him sneaking into my home later and us making long, slow love in one of the kids’ bedrooms.
This disappointment was hard to bear.
‘Is something wrong?’ I typed.
‘Very tied up.’
‘I’m free anytime tonight,’ I replied, feeling increasingly desperate. ‘Really need to see you. Really want you!’
‘Can’t. Sorry. Hannah’s problems. Really sorry.’
‘Little Pink Pussy will be disappointed,’ I said, trying to elicit at least some sign of intimacy.
‘Sorry,’ came the reply. I felt humiliated.
‘Okay let me know when you’re free,’ I said, feeling terrible.
‘Will do.’
‘I love you xx’ I tried one last time.
‘Got to go now. Bye.’
It was the last reply I got.
I slammed the phone down on the table. Three other customers turned to look at the source of the noise; I held the newspaper high to hide the tears that were forming in my eyes.
***
Abandoning my coffee, I drove home, got changed then went to the gym where I worked out as hard as I could, trying to take out my anger on the heavy metal weights. It distracted me for a while but when I arrived home again to a dark, empty house there seemed little point in cooking dinner for one. I ate cold chicken and salad, poured another glass of white wine and settled down at my laptop, still in my gym vest and tights, to try and finish the latest chapter in the cuckold series I was writing.
With all the distractions a lover brings, I had struggled to complete any work for months but that night, to my surprise and delight, I felt inspired. The words seemed to simply pour out of me, hot and passionate, my chest tight, my heart thumping, a low glow constantly in my lower belly as my bottom fidgeted on the padded seat of my chair.
Denied the orgasmic release it had been expecting, driven by anger and frustration, my aroused body craved all those things I had hoped and intended to be doing with my lover but could now only imagine. I tried to consign the stream of images and emotions to the page before me.
In my mind and on my screen, the main characters in my story seemed to burst into vivid, passionate life, their faces rapidly becoming those in my own real life. There had always been a strong element of myself in all my works but that night it became intense. I became the Hotwife I had created, I felt her desires, her needs. My frustrations became her wanton lusts.
Driven by this wave of erotic creativity, the orgasms I wrote for her were drawn from the very best my lover had given me. The face above hers as she came was Tony’s; the semen that flooded her tight vagina a combination of my lover’s and my husband’s, their climaxes within her huge and enviable.
Time flew past; just before midnight I posted the new chapter on both my usual sites, feeling content with my work if not with my life. I leaned back in my chair, literally panting both with exhaustion and a powerful sexual frustration still far too intense to ignore.
In the past when writing had aroused me to this extent, I had forced myself on my husband’s unsuspecting but always willing body. Orgasms at Pete’ hands had still been rare even with this much of a kick-start but his deep penetrations and copious inseminations helped quench the fire within me.
Had I been with Tony and his short, thick cock had been thrust inside me, the breeding frenzy would unquestionably have struck and struck hard but as it was, I had only myself and a terrible, growing need for relief.
In an attempt to calm myself and with a tummy full of butterflies, I locked up the house, poured myself another glass of white wine and returned to shut down my computer. When I looked down, to my horror there was a large damp patch on the seat cushion on which I had been sitting. My black gym tights were damp too; I cursed myself for forgetting to put a towel down before writing but at least there was no one in the house to see the mark of my shame.
I turned off the lights and padded upstairs to the bedroom I shared with my husband – used to share I reminded myself – then went into the en-suite bathroom and began to fill the tub. I added a good dose of aromatic bath oil and lit the two candles that stood either side of the backrest, peeled off my sweaty top and embarrassingly smelly tights then threw them into the washing basket.
Given the size of my tiny boobs, the sports bra I wore was more for security than necessity but it and my socks joined the rest of my clothes in the basket before I tuned the bathroom radio into a smooth classical music channel and lowered myself into the hot, foamy water.
I breathed out heavily as the warmth began to work its way into my tired muscles and aching joints. It always felt good to have finished a story; I deserved the treat of a hot bath to help undo the stiffness the hours hunched over my laptop always produced.
Closing my eyes, I leaned back deep into the water, my knees rising as my shoulders slipped below the surface. The music was soothing, the wine having its desired effect as the powerful sexual images my story had induced passed through my mind over and over again.
My knees were above the water, resting against the sides of the bath as I washed my arms, shoulders, chest and sides, rubbing the rough surface of the flannel across my sensitised skin. It felt good. I washed my feet, ankles, calves, knees and thighs slowly and sensually as if a man’s hands were stroking my body before gently soaping between my open thighs and washing the sticky juices from my shaven vulva.
The skin was still smooth; I ran the flannel over my mound, then along the creases at the top of my thighs. It felt good; tinglingly arousing in a way I hadn’t felt in years. For a moment I remembered that Tony’s hands should have been touching me that very night instead of my own; could have touched me every night for the next two weeks. His skill with his hands was first class, dextrously bringing me to orgasm many times over the past few months.
It would have been so good to feel his touch that night.
Picturing his strong hands running over my body, I ran the warm wet cloth down the inside of my thighs until its rough surface touched my outer lips again. I shivered; they were engorged, much more swollen than I had expected and much more sensitive.
An idea began to dawn on me; at first I dismissed it as shameful but it niggled and pestered until it I had no choice but to listen to its siren voice. The more I listened, the easier it became to ignore the shame and the better the idea seemed to be.
Before I had realised what I was doing, my fingers had strayed to my groin where they ran lightly over my puffy outer lips and along the edge of the deep slit which opened like a flower. I sighed and took another sip of wine as I stroked myself slowly and lingeringly beneath the water, a little firmer and a little faster as the shame fell away to be replaced with an unfamiliar boldness.
It had been so long since I had masturbated that I had nearly forgotten what to do. Fortunately old skills die hard and my body knew how to proceed even if my mind was only catching up.
For a long time I stroked up and down my slit, my fingers dipping momentarily into my vagina as they passed from its base to the fleshy hood at its tip. A warm glow began to make its presence felt in my lower belly. It grew stronger as I imagined my lover’s fingertips replacing my own, preparing me for the penetration that inevitably would follow.
But Tony wasn’t there; Pete wasn’t there; any satisfaction I was to enjoy would have to come from my own hands.
I rose from the water, pulling a large bath towel around my body then padded through to the bedroom with the candles in my hands, leaving a trail of water droplets on the carpet behind me. The large double bed I had shared with my husband for so many years was beckoning me. I climbed onto the white sheet, placing the towel beneath my bottom as I had done so many times in my teens and lay back against the pile of pillows with my legs spread obscenely wide.
The room felt warm and familiar as my hands fell to my groin once again and resumed their inexpert attentions to my still gaping slit. The bath water had left me uncomfortably dry but a few minutes’ stimulation restored my lubrication along with a the glow in my belly. I shivered, worked my hand harder and faster, dipping in and out of my deep passage before abandoning my dripping slit in favour of the hardening nub at its apex.
I slid a single finger underneath the fleshy hood to play with the sensitive core beneath. It felt so, so good!
I did it again, then again with even better results.
Then, for the first time in decades, I began to masturbate in earnest, rubbing my engorging clitoris with the fingertips of my right hand, first slowly then, as the increasingly intense pleasure began to wash over me, with greater speed and force.
I could hardly believe it; Penny the professional scientist; Penny the Senior Manager; Penny Barker with her international reputation for toughness was masturbating like a schoolgirl.
And it was working!
Spoiled by Tony’s dextrous fingering and my husband’s world class cunnilingual skills, I had expected self-stimulation to be a disappointment. But it was nothing of the sort! Memories of teenage evenings in the darkness of my bedroom flooded back as my arousal rose like a rocket and my fingers moved rapidly over and around my clitoris, lubrication seeping from the slit below.
“mmmmMMMMMM!”
The voice was mine as the first small climax rocked my body and a small a pool of lubrication oozed from my slit. I worked my fingers faster; squealing aloud as their tips found my moist entrance and slipped easily into its depth.
One, two, three fingers entered my vagina without difficulty. I twisted them back and forth, my knuckles feeling the slippery entrance to my oversized cavern for the first time in so many years.
Three fingers; that hadn’t been possible when I was a teen – and yet it still wasn’t quite enough to fill me and give me the sensations I needed. With a feeling of sadness for my lost youth I carefully slid the fourth finger in to join them.
Oh Christ! That felt really tight.
Memories of the first time Tony’s thick cock had entered my body flooded back; of the first time since my daughter Izzy’s birth that I had felt tight around a man’s penis again; of the shock of feeling an unfamiliar phallus being thrust into my inexperienced vagina and of the incredible feelings my first extra-marital fornication had produced.
Even my anger and disappointment with Tony couldn’t spoil the images that filled my mind as fully as my fingers were filling my Little Pink Pussy. I worked my fingers hard inside my cunt, curling them upwards, seeking the g-spot that had eluded me since I was a teen while trying to stimulate my clit with my other hand.
It was awkward and wasn’t working.
Desperate for release, I rolled over onto my front and thrust my bunched fist harder into my groin, my fingers curled up and into my body, first on my clit, then inside my vagina, then back to my clit again, feeling the sensations building and building very quickly indeed as I humped my own hand, face down on the bed.
“MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!”
This time it did the trick! The wave of climax that surged outwards from my groin shook me bodily, making me growl and groan into the pillow. Thrusting my own fingers even harder into my weeping vagina, I dragged them from my loose entrance roughly across the underside of my clitoris, bucking my hips against my hands like an animal.
It felt incredible; my body shook wildly as I came noisily and messily, my uncontrolled, uninhibited moans filling the empty room.
“AAAAYYYYOOOOOWWWW!”
I howled my pleasure into the pillows as a second, then a third wave of climax racked my shaking, spasming body, depriving me of the power of speech. My hips bucked hard against my fist, my mouth open wide in silent scream and my face burned with the intensity of my climax. I gasped for breath; my chest tight, my whole body shaking until with a final desperate wail, I let my fingers fall loose and I simply collapsed on the mattress, my body finally satisfied.
I lay face down on the bed I used to share with my husband, my vagina soaking wet and gaping, my body twitching with after-shocks. My head was spinning too; stunned by the power of my long-forgotten, self-induced orgasms, wishing they could have been had been followed by the long, copious insemination by a strong man that my mind and body still desired.
Images of every lover I had had from my schooldays to my best friend’s husband passed before my eyes as my trembling slowed to a halt. The list was not long but the memories were vivid with Pete and Tony’s faces dominating my mind.
My husband and my best friend’s spouse; the two, most significant lovers my life had known.
The first had left me; the second could not be with me. Neither of the men who knew my body best was there. Neither was able to wrap my vulnerable, exhausted, feminine form in his strong arms and hold me close, reassuring me of his love; protecting my freshly-inseminated body from the world.
I wrapped the rumpled duvet around myself; it was a pale substitute for the warmth of a man I loved but was the best that I could expect that night.
It was enough; minutes later I was asleep, still wearing my sports bra, smudged make-up all over my sweaty face, hardly able to believe the power of my first masturbation since my marriage.
It had provided me with some form of release.
But I was still alone.
