It was late Monday afternoon when I felt the bump of the aeroplane’s wheels landing on the concrete runway of Geneva airport. It was late afternoon but when I had come home from Tony’s after our last ever fuck and booted up my laptop it was the only flight I could find that would get me there the following day.
My husband Pete would have been at the conference since Friday evening; nearly three full days would have elapsed by the time I arrived. I hoped and prayed that he wouldn’t be angry that I had broken our agreement and come to see him before the two weeks had ended.
Before leaving home, I had shaved myself all over and dressed as I believed Pete would like best; black panties, low cut bra and stockings beneath a tight, short, dark blue dress. It was as sexy as I could manage but still, I hoped, the right side of sophistication.
My husband already knew I was a slut; I didn’t need to remind him.
I had no idea how Pete would react when he found me at his hotel and was very anxious. For all I knew he had already replaced me for the week with a ‘Conference Wife’; some young and impressionable trainee from Eastern Europe who was dazzled by his reputation. In that event the unexpected presence of his middle-aged, unfaithful wife might be highly unwelcome.
But I couldn’t wait until the following Sunday. With another five days of temptation and knowing how far I had fallen under Tony’s spell, Pete could be forgiven for finding an alternative.
This couldn’t be allowed to happen; I wanted my extraordinary husband back.
***
My psychology students would have had a field day if they had seen me when I had finally returned home from my now ex-lover’s apartment the previous evening with Tony’s thick, messy semen oozing from my sore, poorly lubricated vagina.
After dropping my secret phone into the rubbish bin, I had gone straight upstairs. There I had stripped, bathed and showered as if subconsciously trying to cleanse my body of all traces of Tony’s presence, scrubbing between my legs until my vulva was a sore, dark red gash, let alone a Pretty Pink Pussy. I had brushed my teeth for five full minutes to rid my mouth of the taste of him.
To my dismay, my neck and boobs still bore the marks of our wild, angry copulation but only time would remove those.
Afterwards I had dried my sore body on a clean towel and dressed in clothes I hadn’t worn since my affair had begun all those months ago, as if by dressing as I had before I became an unfaithful wife, I could recover some of the innocence I had so spectacularly lost.
I even threw my semen-soaked knickers into the wood-burning stove, watching them shrivel and steam as the last gobs of Tony’s sticky semen I would ever see went up in slightly acrid fumes.
All no doubt interesting psychology but useless from a practical point of view; no matter what I did, I still felt dirty, used and stupid.
Once I had done all I sensibly could I returned to the place in the house that reminded me least of my former lover; the kitchen. There I sat on a tall stool, took several deep breaths and booted up my laptop, opening a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and sipping impatiently as the machine clicked and whirred.
When the pc was finally ready I scoured the net for flights to Geneva.
It was bedtime when I finally booked my seat but with my mind buzzing, the early night I knew I needed was out of the question. The only possible distraction seemed to be my writing. Fortunately the horror of my situation proved inspirational too; I wrote like a woman possessed, page after page flowing out of my twisted, guilt-ridden imagination. More chapters of my long-term stories formed themselves in my mind, along with stranger, darker plotlines that were frightening in their intensity.
Most involved cheating married women getting what they deserved.
As one o’clock in the morning approached and exhaustion finally drove me to bed, I had been writing for three hours without a break, the anger within me pouring into hard, angry stories that could only be published after a great deal of censorship.
Once in bed I slept deeply but without satisfaction, waking early with dark bags under my eyes to match the fading hickeys on my neck.
The manufacturers of concealer did well that morning and I went into work but soon found that my concentration was shot; after two hours and for the first time in my life I lied to my team and returned home, feigning illness. It made me feel guilty but nothing compared with the importance of the task ahead of me; the saving of my marriage and my family.
I packed my bag carefully then spent the remaining time desperately trying to keep myself occupied. As I left home for the airport, the house was spotless, the washing and ironing done and flowers were on the tables. Upstairs the bed had clean sheets and the room was ready with candles for what I desperately hoped would be my husband’s happy return.
But I had no illusions; it was up to me to make the running. It was me that had opened the wound; it was up to me to try and heal it.
I just hoped I wasn’t already too late.
***
It was early Monday evening when my taxi pulled up outside the large, smart, city-centre hotel in which the conference was taking place. When I had called the night before I had been told that all rooms were booked so I went straight to the check-in desk, told them I was Dr. Peter Barker’s wife and asked if I could be let into his room to await his return.
To my horror, at first they were suspicious, seeming to think I was some kind of ageing prostitute trying to visit a client – so much for my sophisticated choice of dress – but after a careful inspection of my passport they finally accepted who I was and gave me a spare key card to Pete’s room.
Refusing help, I carried my own meagre luggage to the floor on which his room lay, let myself in, closed the door behind me and took a deep breath. I had arrived without a clear plan; I just knew that if my marriage was to be saved, I had to be wherever my husband was. I needed to be close to him physically if I was ever going to be close to him emotionally again.
I dropped my bag and looked around the room. It was quite large, very anonymous but pleasant with an over-sized double bed against the far wall. For a moment an image flashed through my mind; of an unknown woman’s naked body on that smooth counterpane; of her legs spread wide; of a familiar male bottom rising and falling between those open thighs as my husband fucked the life out of her.
A bolt of pain flashed through me when I remembered that thanks to my deceit, Pete did now know what it was like to have sex with another woman; that only a few days ago he had spent the entire night in bed with my closest friend Julie, a woman with an apparently spectacular sexual appetite.
What was worse, my husband appeared to have satisfied her well. A wave of jealousy washed through me; if he could give her orgasms why not me? Whatever the truth, I had to know.
I began to search the room frantically for any sign of female occupation; cosmetics, clothing, even used condoms in the waste bins but to my relief, neither the dresser, the bedside table nor the bathroom yielded any indication that anyone other than my husband had been there.
There was a box of condoms in the drawer beside the bed but for the moment it was unopened. This didn’t mean he hadn’t slept with another woman; they might have used her room of course and they might not have used protection but at least one possible disaster had been avoided.
I looked at my watch; just before seven o’clock; the last seminar of the day should be ending right then, leaving an hour’s break before the formal dinner began at eight. Pete would normally come back to his room to freshen up and change his shirt before joining the others in the bar for pre-dinner cocktails.
This meant that, if he came at all, he would probably arrive within the next fifteen minutes. I had to see him before he saw me to have any chance of being the wife he wanted me to be. I had to look for any signs of his having replaced me.
I went into the bathroom and adjusted my make-up and clothes to make sure I was looking my best; I wasn’t sure what competition I would have for that precious place in his bed.
In the large, unforgiving mirror I saw a skinny, flat-chested, middle-aged woman in a very pretty but too-short dress that revealed a more of her rather bony thighs than it should. She wore too much make-up too but as the alternative was showing the dark patches under her eyes and the fading hickeys on her neck, this was unavoidable.
How this woman hoped to regain the love and desire of her handsome husband was a mystery.
I only just avoided tears though it took all my willpower then, taking a deep breath, I slipped out of the room, along the corridor and towards the large bar where the seminar rooms would empty out.
The room was crowded and noisy with medics of every size, shape and colour crammed into the area closest to the free bar. Even the foremost of Doctors was not averse to a few high quality tipples at the expense of a multi-national drug company and it was clear that for many the glass in their hand was not their first.
I scanned the room looking for my husband, moving around the periphery, trying to avoid being spotted by anyone who might recognise me but to my relief, saw no one I knew.
There were other women in dresses and skirts as short as mine but their legs were a good decade younger than those my inadvisably high hem line was displaying. I cursed my choice but had nothing more suitable to change into so had to continue despite the lecherous looks from some of the men and disgusted glances from several of the women.
There were few men as good-looking as my husband of any age but after a good ten minutes’ circulating I couldn’t find him.
“So you’re here all alone Peter, you poor thing.”
A heavily accented female voice came from somewhere close on my right but it was the familiar response that followed that snapped my attention towards the conversation.
“Penny’s not fond of conferences Kasha,” I heard my husband laugh. “Not even when she’s the one speaking.”
I turned slowly so as not to attract attention and saw, barely a dozen feet away, my husband Peter deep in conversation with a pretty blonde woman I judged to be in her early thirties. Tall like me but fuller figured, she was clearly enjoying her conversation if the sparkle in her eyes was anything to judge by.
Pete’s back was towards me but from the way her eyes were locked onto his, I suspect I could have arrived on an elephant and he wouldn’t have noticed.
A bolt of jealousy surged through me, twisting my stomach as I watched her play all the little seduction games I had used myself when younger; the accidental but repeated touching of his forearm as they spoke, the way her body was turned towards him, daring anyone else to interrupt their private conversation.
“It’s good that you and I are sitting together at dinner,” she continued. “My husband never travels with me. I was hoping to find someone interesting to spend the night with. Sorry, my English,” she apologised with a false laugh, “I mean to spend the evening with.”
Though her words could have been innocuous, the look in her eyes spoke volumes. I cursed Pete for having his back towards me, desperate to see the expression on his face.
“Are we sitting together? I haven’t seen the table plan yet,” he replied.
I was relieved to see he wasn’t playing up to her game but he was clearly at least considering it. Kasha put her hand on his arm.
“We’ll be together later, don’t worry.”
Pete half turned and my tummy filled with butterflies; I could hardly blame the girl for trying. In close fitting trousers that showed off his tight buttocks and a casual, long sleeved shirt that displayed his gym-toned arms and chest, the age difference would have meant little.
Rich, successful, good-looking, intelligent; if Kasha was looking for some alternative Grade A DNA to inseminate her, she need look no further. The knot of jealousy in my belly was twisted tighter.
“Kasha!”
At that point the US Cavalry arrived in the form of a short, round man in his seventies with large, thick glasses and carrying a briefcase stuffed full of papers. The expression of annoyance on the blonde woman’s face was wonderful to behold but there was no escape. Clearly one of the conference organisers, he apologised briefly to Pete then engaged her in a detailed and unwelcome discussion about some technicality of the days’ events.
Deprived of his would-be seducer, my husband looked at his watch, then at the bar, then began to sidle through the crowd in the general direction of his room.
I had to move fast, slipping round the perimeter of the room towards the corridor from which I had emerged earlier. To my relief, Pete was being delayed by brief conversations with other Doctors en route so I was able to reach the room before him and let myself in.
I stood beside the bed in the semi-darkness, my chest heaving with nerves, still unsure what my reception would be like or even what on earth to do when my husband returned.
A good five minutes passed before I heard the sound of voices outside the door. My heart pounded in my chest; one of the muffled voices was accented and female.
Oh my God! Was my husband about to bring his conquest into his room only to find his wife waiting for him? Would he reject me in front of her, publically choosing his fresh young bed partner instead of his well-used unfaithful wife?
I heard the key card being inserted in the lock and was so nervous I felt genuinely sick. Before going into the bar I had downed a large brandy from the mini bar to steady my nerves; I wished I had a second one to hand to help me face the confrontation I expected and deserved.
There was a whirr as the door unlocked. Standing by the bed I silently prayed that Pete would be alone; that we would at least get to talk before my marriage and the life I had known came to an end.
Time seemed to stand still as the door slowly opened. As I stood in the hotel bedroom, seeing my husband’s everyday things laid out on the dresser and bedside table – his clock, his book, his hairbrush – I remembered the comfort of the home we had spent so many years creating together. Romantic, caring, loving; it was everything my marriage had always been before I had cheated.
If I had needed any more proof that my place was there by his side as his wife, it was there all around me.
Our life together was in that home too; all we had chosen together, the furnishings, the everyday paraphernalia of family life. The images folded themselves around me, showing me even more clearly how much I stood to lose.
Before I realised what was happening, tears were rolling down my cheeks; slowly at first then gaining momentum as the realisation of what I had come so close to losing truly dawned on me.
That was if it wasn’t already lost; if my husband still wanted me as I desperately wanted him.
I could feel his presence, strong and warm passing through the doorway. I could hear his shoes on the wooden floor, masculine and purposeful. I listened anxiously for the tapping of high-heels that would herald the presence of my replacement but could hear none.
I stood stock still, burning with emotion, unable to look him in the face as my husband finally entered the bedroom.
“Penny?”
His voice was surprised; cool but not cold, smooth and very much the man I loved. In my agitated state I could detect little love directed towards me but at least he was alone.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, surprised rather than welcoming.
“I… I needed to see you,” I mumbled.
“We’re not supposed to meet until Sunday when I came home,” he continued in the same unsettling voice.
“I… I couldn’t wait that long,” I told him, my voice cracking with emotion
The tears were flowing freely now. Suddenly it was all too much; shame and guilt overwhelmed me. Suddenly I couldn’t bear the wait any longer.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” I began to mumble.
It’s possible Pete thought I was about to say something like ‘I’m sorry, I’m leaving you’ because he didn’t move. Instead he just stood there, his gaze fixed upon me. I raised my eyes to meet his; the look on his face was neither happy nor kind.
“You’re sorry, Penny?” he asked, the coldness in his voice tearing at my heart.
“I’m so sorry, Pete…” I began again.
Then the enormity of the situation overwhelmed me. A tsunami of regret, shame and fear hit me like brick wall. Helpless to resist, I buried my face in my hands, swaying on my feet, sobbing uncontrollably as great gulps of remorse and self-disgust washed over me.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I wailed, my whole body shaking.
This time Pete understood. The sight of his wife of twenty years crying like a child must have finally broken through his carapace of self protection because the next thing I knew his arms were around my shoulders and he was hugging my weeping body to his.
Huge sobs convulsed me; I can’t remember ever crying this much about anything in my life before.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!” I sobbed into his strong masculine chest.
“Penny…” he began but I didn’t listen. I didn’t want to hear him tell me our relationship was over.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I repeated over and over again.
The smell of my wonderful husband was all around me; a heady, warm, reassuring mix of Pete’s deodorant, moisturiser and the cologne I had bought him last birthday. But underneath it was the mild musky aroma of the man himself; the man whose seed had created three wonderful children in my belly; the man I knew for certain I loved beyond all others.
The man I still believed I had lost.
“Shh! Shh! It’s okay,” he murmured softly into my hair as he held my shaking body tightly.
“It’s not okay,” I gasped between sobs. “I want you Pete. I still want you. I love you! I really love you! I’m so sorry. I’ve been so selfish; so stupid, so cruel. I’m so, so sorry!”
Pete said nothing. Instead, we hugged and rocked together, his strong arms and warm chest holding me reassuringly tightly. I began to feel a little safer; surely this wasn’t the action of a man who was about to leave me; a man about to end his marriage?
Please let that be true!
Once my sobs had subsided a little, Pete helped me to the bed where I perched on the edge of the mattress. He went into the bathroom, filled a glass with cold water and handed it to me then sat close beside me, one arm around my shoulders; his other hand on my knee while I drank it eagerly and tried to calm down.
“Feeling a little better?” Pete asked when my shoulders had stopped heaving.
I nodded.
“Can you talk now?” he asked. “Do you want to?”
I nodded again.
“Please.”
“Do I assumed from your presence here that you’ve made your decision?” he asked softly.
I nodded a third time, my throat still too tight to speak properly.
“I want us to be together – if you’ll have me back.”
Pete didn’t give me the immediate positive reply I had hoped for but he didn’t hold me any less tightly either.
“You’re very early,” he said in a voice I found hard to read. “We agreed two weeks apart. Are you sure you’ve had enough time to decide? Are you really sure it’s what you want?”
“I’m sure,” I insisted. “Really sure. I wanted to tell you straight away, in case…” I paused but it was too late.
“In case I was using my freedom like you used yours?” Pete finished my sentence with a sarcastic smile.
This wasn’t what I wanted to hear either.
“Are you angry with me for coming?” I asked, trying not to be upset by his cruel words.
“No! Not at all. I’m really pleased to see you; really pleased Penn but…
“But?”
“But I need to believe you really mean what you’re saying. You see, I’ve had time to think too.”
And to fuck my best friend, I thought despite my distress but it wasn’t the moment to say anything.
“There’s nothing I would love more than for the two of us to put our relationship back together. But it can’t be like it was before. Too much damage has been done. There would be a lot of trust to be rebuilt.”
“I want to rebuild it,” I said earnestly. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
Ignoring my question, Pete seemed to change the subject. His arm left my shoulder and his hands fell onto mine, squeezing them gently. It was affectionate but not intimate.
“So how was your week? Is there anything you want to tell me? You don’t have to, but…”
The tone of his voice suggested he already knew at least something of what had happened but was putting me to the test.
Thanks to Julie, I already knew he had learned about Tony’s appalling history with women during their one night stand but I didn’t say so; truth is a two way street. Instead I told him honestly how my supposed lover; the man who had asked me to leave my husband, live with him and marry him had effectively dumped me as soon as he knew his so-called wishes might come true.
Pete seemed pleased; not that I had been so shabbily treated but pleased I had come clean and told him.
“So if he hadn’t been a shit and dumped you, you might not be here today,” he said once I had finished. “If he’d been the man you thought he was, you might still be in his bed.”
The challenge in his words was clear. Did I want to come back because Tony had dumped me and not because I loved my husband more? Was I simply on the rebound?
“If he hadn’t been a shit he wouldn’t have tried to seduce me in the first place,” I retorted.
“That’s true,” Pete smiled. “But you didn’t have to give in so easily.”
I couldn’t deny this; I really hadn’t made Tony’s job very difficult. He had got into my knickers without much resistance on my part – possibly without any at all.
“But you asked me to take a lover; you asked me over and over again,” I protested.
“That’s true too,” Pete acknowledged. “I do accept at least part of the responsibility for what happened.”
There was a long pause. Pete’s hands remained on mine, his body pressed against me as we sat on the bed. He made no attempt at further intimacy but he didn’t put any more distance between us either.
“You look fantastic, by the way,” he eventually said out of the blue.
I laughed ironically, my nose snuffling. It was a lie but it was an important step forward.
“A skinny, middle-aged slut with eye make-up spread all over her face? You’ve got very strange tastes in women.”
“Maybe I have,” he said. “But it beats your taste in men – at least, your recent taste.”
I laughed mirthlessly again. That was so true as far as Tony was concerned that no response was needed.
I wasn’t sure it was so true about Darren.
“So if married life with Lover Boy was off the menu, what did you get up to with all that time on your hands?” Pete asked.
I could feel the atmosphere between us softening but only slowly.
“I worked a lot, went to the gym almost every day,” I began.
I didn’t want Pete to know about my writing yet. It hadn’t been a cause of my current predicament – in fact, if I had listened to my readers the current predicament would not have occurred at all.
“How were the lonely nights?” he prompted.
“Lonely,” I replied, my eyes downcast.
“Did you masturbate?” he asked, catching me by surprise.
“Yes,” I nodded, my eyes lowered in shame.
“So did I,” he shrugged. “Is that all?”
“I have a vibrator too.”
It was the first time I had told anyone about my secret sex toy and was expecting a surprised reaction. Instead it was me who was surprised; Pete just smiled as if he had known about it all along, raising his eyes as if waiting for me to say more.
Suddenly I realised he had something in mind; something he knew – or at least suspected – but that he wanted me to volunteer. It was an honesty test; one I had to pass and pass first time if I was to have any chance of regaining Pete’s trust.
“That’s not all,” I said quietly, my eyes fixed on the knot of hands in my lap. “I was so upset I… I made a mistake.”
I had no idea how he would react to the news that, far from pining for her husband and her lost lover, his slut of a wife had got herself fucked within an inch of her life by a twenty-nine year old Personal Trainer in her first ever one night stand.
But if it was truth Pete wanted, truth he was going to get. I told my husband everything that had happened that night, every gory, messy detail coming out as he probed with questions. About how Darren and I had met, about the pub, about his squalid house and about the astonishing things he had done to my body throughout the night.
To my amazement, far from being horrified, Pete’s eyebrows rose with every word I spoke and a sparkle came into his eyes as he looked at me, eager to hear every last detail of our all night copulation.
“He’s young enough to be your son,” he said, stunned.
“I know,” I blushed.
“And you kept up with him all night?” he asked, perversely impressed. “How many times did you do it?”
“Pete please,” I began to protest.
“The truth, Penny. You promised.”
“Okay,” I replied reluctantly. “Four times maybe; I lost count,” I confessed. “I fell asleep on him in the end.”
“Did he cum inside you?”
I nodded.
“Every time?”
“I think so. I made him. But I’m not sure about the last.”
“He marked you too!”
It was a statement not a question. I looked puzzled but Pete simply rubbed the base of his neck. Oh my God! Could he see the remnants of my hickeys?
“You’re good with make-up Penny but those love bites are a giveaway. He fucked you and marked you as his.”
Again to my amazement, instead of being angry or disgusted, my husband seemed excited at the idea of his wife being inseminated and owned by another man.
“Was he better in bed than… than him?” he asked, meaning Tony but not wanting to speak his name.
“It was the best I’ve ever known, Pete. By a long way.”
It was the truth though the two weren’t really comparable. Tony had been a lover; someone who at the time I had real feelings for. Darren had been what we both wanted; a highly competent but no-strings fuck. Again to my surprise and relief, my husband’s eyes seem to sparkle at this news.
“What did you say to each other in the morning?” he asked eagerly. “Was it awkward?”
“I sneaked out before he woke up.”
“The walk of shame,” he laughed. “I remember that well. Did anyone see you?”
I told him about Darren’s housemate Will. This seemed to excite him even further.
“Does he know your name?” he asked.
“Not unless Darren tells him,” I replied, hoping desperately I was right. “Darren said Will works at the Sports Club too.
“Fucked?” Pete volunteered.
“I suppose so,” I replied.
“That’s so hot, Penny!”
Were those the words of a man who was about to dump me? I began to think they weren’t. Feeling a little more confident, I decided it was my turn to ask a few questions; after all, I knew a few things about my poor, wronged husband too.
“So have I interrupted your plans?”
Pete understood the meaning behind my question straight away; two can play the truth game. From the look on his face, he wasn’t sure whether I knew everything important and to be honest, neither was I. Learning about Pete’s night in bed with Julie had been incredibly painful; if there was more to learn it might hurt me even more but the time for secrets was well and truly over.
This time my husband’s long pause was accompanied by a distinct uneasiness and I began to feel as if at least some balance to our relationship was beginning to be been restored.
“Um… You’re not interrupting anything here,” he began, stressing the last word.
This made me feel happier straight away; it hadn’t gone too far. There were no blonde Eastern European Medics to get in the way of our reconciliation but I needed to hear more.
“Something happened at the Hospital?” I prompted, pretending not to know about him and Julie; hoping desperately that it was the only incident that had occurred.
“No… but.. well, I made a mistake too,” he began slowly.
“What kind of mistake?”
“A big one!”
“You slept with someone?”
“Yes.”
“From the look on your face, it was someone I know,” I continued, feigning ignorance.
“Yes it was.”
“Who, Pete?”
He took a deep breath.
“It was Julie.”
“Oh my God!”
I pretended to be shocked. I already knew her side of the story from Julie but if my own honestly was to be tested, it was only right that Pete’s was too.
“It was an accident!” he protested.
“What happened?” I asked, knowing the answer would be painful for me whatever it was.
“Do you really want to know? I promised you the truth but be sure you really want it.”
“I don’t want it; but I think I need to hear it,” I eventually said.
Pete took a deep breath.
“If you’re sure… well, Julie called me on the Monday evening after I left home. She said you and she had talked; that she had asked you to help get her and Tony back together but you had been strange about it. She wanted to ask me to help instead so we met in the wine bar after work.
“We had a few drinks and a long talk then went back to her house. We had a few more drinks there and… well, before either of us realised what was happening we were in bed together.”
I sat back in astonishment.
“You fucked Julie in her own bed?”
He nodded, his face pinking up.
“I stayed the night. I hadn’t intended to do it, it just sort of happened. In the morning we were both embarrassed.”
I looked at him carefully. Perhaps now he had some idea how I had first fallen under Tony’s seductive charms.
“How… how was it?” I asked, bewildered.
“The sex?”
“What else” I asked.
“You really want to know?”
I nodded again. If I was to understand my husband I needed to know it all, however painful. To my dismay, his face lit up as he began to tell me about what I believed was his only act of infidelity throughout our entire twenty-year-plus marriage.
“It was incredible, Penny! Unbelievable! I would never have guessed sweet little Julie would be like that.”
The pain was intense! Not only had my husband slept with my best friend, now he was telling me how great it had been. The tables were well and truly turned now, Penny Barker!
“She was so tight, Penny, as if it was her first time. And she had so much energy. I suppose it was all the personal training she’s been doing for the last year.”
The pain was already almost unbearable but I knew I had to hear it all.
“And so adventurous too. She gave me the best blowjob I’ve ever had, and even…”
He paused as if knowing he was about to go too far.
“Go on,” I said, barely able to meet his gaze.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“If it’s the truth, I need to know it.”
“Well, she insisted we did it… the other way too.”
It took a moment or two for the significance to dawn on me but then I understood. Knowing what her husband had told me, ‘the other way’ could only mean one thing.
“You had anal sex with her?” I asked aghast.
At least Pete had the decency to look shame-faced.
“She insisted. She said it was what she liked best. It certainly looked like it.”
“Jesus, Pete!”
“I know. It shocked me too but it was what she wanted and you and I had never managed so…”
“It seemed too good an opportunity to miss?”
He nodded, now barely able to look me in the eye.
“What was it like?” I whispered.
“Surreal, truly surreal! There she was, our old friend, pretty, sweet-natured Julie on her hands and knees with my cock shoved right up her tight arse.”
“Was it good for you too?”
“It made me sore; I don’t think we used enough lube but it was amazing, Penny. So different from anything I’ve ever done before.”
I just stared at him in horror.
“It was a bit messy though; especially after I’d cum.”
“You came in her arse?”
Pete nodded again. My chest ached; it was much, much more painful hearing about their night of passion from my husband than it had been from Julie but I knew it was a pain I had to suffer if we were to have any chance of a life together. There could be no more secrets!
But to my amazement, along with the pain and almost unbearable jealousy, hearing how my sweet, familiar, handsome husband had fucked a pretty, experienced woman with the sexual appetite of my friend Julie was having a powerful effect on me.
Far from hating him for his infidelity, I found myself actually feeling proud of the man I had married. Hearing about Pete satisfying another woman was actually turning me on, and as for having anal sex with her…!
For the first time since it had all began I had a glimpse of how Pete must have felt being married to a Hotwife. The perverse mix of pain, pride and jealousy that washed through me was entirely new.
There was no way I was going to let this man go without a fight!
Fortunately my body was preparing itself for that fight; the warm glow between my thighs was becoming a heat I could not ignore.
“But it wasn’t just sex,” Pete continued. “We talked a lot too. Thanks to Julie I know all about her shit of a husband. I know how he treats women and the way he’s treated you,” Pete told me earnestly. “He’s treated you like dirt Penny; me too if it comes to that.”
“I know. He’s fucked the pair of us,” I volunteered.
There was a long pause during which our hands squeezed together tightly.
“Was it good, being a Hotwife?” he eventually asked.
“Yes Pete, it was,” I answered directly. “I will always be grateful that you let it happen.”
“Despite it going so wrong?”
“Has it gone wrong forever?” I asked, looking him in his beautiful deep, distressed eyes. “Can’t we put it right between us?”
“Tell me again what it was like,” he said, ignoring my question.
“You really want to hear?” I asked, amazed at his appetite for punishment.
“Maybe one last time,” he smiled, though we both know it wouldn’t be one last time. “About the boy.”
I took a deep breath.
“Okay. Well, it was amazing; the best sex of my entire life.”
Pete looked both bright eyed and hurt at the same time.
“I’m sorry Pete, but it’s true. Your cock is long but it’s thin and after the kids, I’m not tight any more. You can’t stretch me like you used to and that makes all the difference. Thick cocks stretch me tightly – it feels like I’m a teen again. Darren’s not as long as you but much thicker; he made me cum so hard and so often it blew my mind.”
“Go on,” he urged.
“But it’s not just size, Pete. Darren’s technique was amazing too. He put so much energy into it, thrusting himself into me so hard and so fast I couldn’t keep up. I just surrendered completely and let him do whatever he wanted. There were moments when he was fucking me when I thought he would split me in half, or choke me, or stop my heart.”
“That’s so hot, Penny,” Pete growled, his hands gripping mine even tighter.
“And he recovered so quickly too. I couldn’t believe it. Before my mind stopped spinning from one ejaculation he was inside me again.”
“How many times did he fuck you?” Pete asked, stressing the word ‘fuck’ even more crudely.
“I lost count,” I told him again. “But at least four.”
“Did you cum every time?”
“Apart from the last when I fell asleep on him.”
“How hard did you cum?”
The look in my husband’s eye was bright and almost frighteningly lustful
“Longer and harder than ever in my life. It was the best ever, Pete. The best ever!”
“Did you scream?”
“Every time!”
“What did you scream?”
“That I wanted him to cum in me.”
“In where, Penny?”
“In my cunt, Pete! In my cunt!”
“What else did you scream?”
“That I wanted him to knock me up! To fuck a baby into me!”
“Jesus Penny! You really yelled that?”
“I really yelled it, Pete!”
“And did you mean it?”
“At the time I really I meant it! I wanted his baby!”
“Did anyone hear you?”
“If anyone was in the house they couldn’t have missed it.”
“Jesus Penny you’re such a fucking slut!”
Without another word, my husband swept me into his arms and kissed me full and hard on the mouth. Despite being the thing I wanted most in the whole world, at first it was a shock and my body went stiff. To my horror, he misread my reaction badly.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised immediately.
But I didn’t let him get a word further. In an instant my mouth was on his and the most passionate embrace of my entire life began. The sheer lustful energy with which our lips met, our mouths moved over each other and our tongues intertwined seemed to take us both by surprise, but once it had started there was no stopping us.
Within seconds his hands were all over me; on my bottom, on my thighs. Then my dress was lifted high under my armpits; a moment later my bra had been flipped up and his hands were on boobs, crushing them cruelly, squeezing my tiny hard nipples and making me cry in pain into his open mouth but I didn’t care.
Pete forced me back onto the bed. It took a few moments before my baffled brain could understand what was happening but instinct came to the rescue. Of their own accord, my hands began to claw at his strong, fit body, ripping open his shirt to stroke his muscular chest, neck and shoulders.
But there was no time for sensitivity; ignoring my touch, Pete’s hands were instantly on my belly, on my mound, inside my knickers. His fingers were between my thighs, forcing my legs apart. I let them open wide, surrendering the parts of me that wanted him most then gasping as a long finger plunged between my thighs and along my slit.
Oh God yes! Yes! Do it Pete!
His hands tore my knickers roughly from my vulva, the gusset parting, leaving only ragged elastic around my waist. I fumbled with his belt but Pete was in too great a hurry to wait. Batting my fingers aside, he lowered his trousers and briefs to his knees in a second then mounted me without ceremony.
Suddenly my husband’s knees were between mine, his body between my spread, skinny thighs, his hot chest crushing my bruised boobs. I felt the weight of his hips on mine, the head of his cock rubbing against my slit, forcing my inner lips apart.
Do it Pete! Fuck your cheating slut wife! Make her yours again! YES Oh YES!
My husband’s long, slim erection entered my body in a single violent thrust. Pete’s fingers on my slit had done their job well and the massive arousal that learning about his night with Julie had produced meant that my vagina was literally seeping lubrication.
“Oh YessSSS!”
I hissed loudly as my abandoned female body welcomed the strong, phallic presence of the man I loved; the man who had three times created life in my belly. The man I feared I had lost.
I was still sore from my final dry fuck with Tony the previous day but I barely noticed. As my husband’s wiry pubic hair rasped roughly against my freshly shaved mound, I felt his smooth end hard pressed hard against my cervix then pause. The frustration was a torment.
“Fuck me Pete! Please Fuck me!”
“What are you Penny?”
“A slut! A cheating slut!”
“Where shall I fuck you, slut?”
“In my cunt! In my cheating cunt! Please make me yours again! Fuck me hard, Pete! Fuck me till it hurts!”
And then he really did begin to fuck me; hard and immediately. It wasn’t making love, it wasn’t sweet or caring; Doctor Peter Barker fucked his lying, cheating, slut wife as if all the pain and frustration of the last few weeks was being driven from his body though his erect cock. The longer he fucked me, the harder he fucked me, the force of his thrusts growing stronger with each passing moment.
“Yes! Yes!” I croaked amid the pain. “Do it, Pete! Let it all out!”
“Fuck you, Penny!”
“Do it Pete! Do anything you want! I don’t care if it hurts! Just fuck me!”
And fuck me he did. Though I barely knew the word, my husband hate-fucked me, taking out on my helpless body all the bottled-up agonies my infidelity had brought him; all the humiliation, all the anger he had kept suppressed, all the torment he wanted to inflict on his cheating wife.
And I let him hate-fuck me; I didn’t resist in any way.
I didn’t protest when he crushed my boobs in his fists, when he pulled my dress so hard it tore, leaving red lines that lasted a week. I didn’t feel the burns as his violent thrusts drove my lower back hard into the sheet or when my head struck the headboard with every stroke.
I didn’t resist when he pulled out, flipped me over and took me from behind like a dog with my face pressed into the pillow. I loved it when he slapped my buttocks with his palms then dug his fingers deep into the flesh of my cheeks as he plunged agonisingly deep into my vagina, hammering into my cervix with every thrust.
“Yes! Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me!” I croaked through the wet slapping sounds and feral grunts.
This was what I wanted; this is what I deserved. It was I who had inflicted the hurt on my husband so it was my body that deserved to feel the consequences. I wanted it to hurt; I wanted to feel at least some of his pain. I didn’t deserve to look my husband in the eye as he fucked me, I deserved to be treated like an animal, a fuck-toy; the focus of his justified anger.
I wanted him to fuck me harder than he had ever fucked anyone before!
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck you! Fuck you Penny!”
His voice was hard and coarse, the anger wild and almost tangible.
“Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me!” I growled back. “Cum in me Pete! Cum in your slut wife!”
Then for what was probably barely a minute but which felt like a lifetime, Pete seemed to lose control completely, his body slamming into mine from behind with a violence I never suspected he possessed.
“Fuck you Penny! FUCK your CHEATING CUNT!”
His cock hammered into my cervix over and over again, so hard it felt as if I had been punched in the stomach. His hands grabbed my neck from behind and squeezed. Sweat fell onto my back as his hips slammed into my buttocks from behind so hard I fell forwards.
Pete’s body followed mine face down onto the bed, his cock still buried deep inside me, his knees spreading my legs wide as he thrust like a madman, his rhythm completely broken.
“Cheating CUNT! Cheating CUNT!”
“Oh Jesus! Jesus!” I wailed, partly in pain, partly with the realisation of how badly I had hurt him.
‘SLAP-SLAP-SLAP-SLAP!’
“Lying Cheating CUNT!”
But this amount of lust; this amount of anger could not last long and eventually Pete’s passion broke, his climax rushed in on him and I felt the throbbing of his cock deep inside me as the force of his orgasm exploded in a massive ejaculation.
“Aaaaggghhhh!”
Pete’s body went into spasm and emptied itself wildly into my eager, willing vagina. Rope after rope of semen spurted into my body as the monstrous pressure of his climax was released and along with it, the anger and violence within him.
“Aaaaggghhhh!”
His cock within me throbbed and pulsed wildly before the thrusting began to wane and finally slowed to a halt. For a long time we lay in silence, his body heavy on my back, my face pressed hard into the pillow, his cock buried deep in my vagina, both of us panting for breath. Then I felt Pete’s erection begin to soften and the fullness inside me slowly slip away until his flaccid cock flopped messily from my body.
I lay face down, legs spread wide, exhausted and battered as my panting husband rolled onto the bed alongside me.
“Did I hurt you?” he eventually asked as his breathing returned to something like normal.
“A bit,” I replied, still stunned at the power of his assault.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I wanted it. We both needed it,” I replied, rolling onto my back.
“You’re not angry?” he asked, almost puzzled.
“I’m not angry,” I repeated. “It’s what I deserved.”
I looked across at my husband to find his eyes fixed on mine. For a very rare moment I couldn’t read his expression at all.
“Did it make you feel better?” I asked.
“I suppose it did,” he replied.
He reached over and held my hand. After what had just happened it seemed a ridiculously trivial thing to do but the love and intimacy was enough to bring the tears back to my eyes. We lay hand in hand for a long time.
“You want us to get back together? To give it another try?” he eventually asked.
“More than anything else in the world.”
He paused again, making me even more uneasy.
“What about Penny the Hotwife?” Pete eventually asked.
“She’s gone,” I said firmly. “I’m a one-man-woman again!”
There was another of Pete’s pauses, again a little longer than I had hoped.
“We said we’d be completely honest with each other, didn’t we?” he said in an uncertain voice.
“Of course! No more lies,” I replied.
“Well, if I’m being really honest with myself as well as you…” Pete began then paused, infuriatingly.
“What, Pete?”
He seemed unsure how to go on.
“Well, the last couple of weeks have been horrible but…”
“I know. I’m really sorry,” I repeated for the umpteenth time.
“I don’t mean that. I mean that before it all went wrong, those months when you were a Hotwife were some of the most exciting of my whole life. Yours too, I suspect.”
I couldn’t argue.
“That’s true. It was unbelievable while it lasted. But it’s all over now. No arguments, no lies, no more fucking; I promise. It’s all over!”
I meant it too; although it had indeed been the most exciting time of my life, I now knew that my amazing husband was much more important than any quick fuck could ever be.
“What… what if I didn’t want it to be over?” he asked.
“Pete?” I could hardly believe my ears.
“So much has happened since December. We’re not the people we used to be, Penn. You’re not; I’m not. We’ve both tasted forbidden fruit now and it’s changed us both.”
This was an uncharacteristically earnest speech for my handsome husband. I listened carefully.
“I can’t go back to where we were before. I don’t want us to be a boring, middle-aged married couple, growing fat together, watching daytime TV, playing with the grandkids and growing to loathe the sight of each other as our sex life grinds to a halt. You’re too sexy for that and I’m too young to give up on my biggest fantasies!”
“You mean…” I began.
“Sharing you with another man brought an excitement to our lives like we’ve never known. It made us both feel younger, sexier and, until the last few weeks, brought us closer together than we’ve been for years.”
“But what about…?”
“Oh, there’s no denying it nearly cost us our marriage too but I think that’s because we made mistakes. I don’t want to lose the good things, Penn. If we can learn from those mistakes, perhaps we can keep the good parts going and avoid things like…”
“Like the last few weeks?” I volunteered.
“Like the last few weeks,” he agreed.
My mind was spinning as my husband continued.
“I don’t think you and I ever saw this lifestyle in the same way. I wanted a Hotwife who would sleep with lots of men; who would have fantastic no-strings sex with me watching and maybe joining in.
“Your fantasy seemed to change on the way. At first you just wanted great sex too but once you had a regular boyfriend you got deeper and deeper into an emotional relationship. That’s where we went wrong.”
He was absolutely right, as were all my online friends. Though I suspect my love for Tony had started long before his cock entered my body, there was no doubt that at first it had been great sex and the way that sex made me feel that had driven my infidelity.
“When it comes down to it,” he continued. “I loved being married to a sexy Hotwife.”
“But I thought…” I began but he interrupted.
“Oh, I didn’t like being married to a cheating wife or a lying wife,” I blushed. “But the thrill of living with a woman as hot and sexy as you was the most exciting thing I’ve ever known.”
It had been great for me too but I was too uncertain to say so.
“What do you want us to do about it?” I asked, unable to believe my ears.
“Well the first thing must be to spend more time together; being a couple again; getting to know each other again and learn to enjoy each other’s bodies.” He laughed. “You must have learned a few things from both of your lovers; I’d like to feel the benefit.”
I smiled. This was easy to agree to.
“Then maybe – after a few weeks or months – we could try the lifestyle again,” he said earnestly. “But we would have to do it better next time.”
“How do you mean?” I asked, pleased with the direction things were going but still unsure.
“Well the number one condition is simple. I don’t want you to see that bastard again no matter how much you miss him or want him. I don’t care how good in bed he is; it has to be over with him. Full stop!
Pete sounded hurt, as he had every right to be. But he was preaching to the converted; my love for Tony was dead.
“It already is over,” I said honestly. “And forever.”
“He’s a shit, Penny.”
“I know,” I said with feeling.
Tony had treated me like dirt and like a cock-crazed slut I had let him do it, giving in every step of the way.
“He’s already history, I promise,” I told him again.
There was yet another of Pete’s pauses.
“How do we do it? I’ve only had two lovers and both of them started by accident,” I eventually asked.
“Two lovers so far,” Pete corrected me then looked down, embarrassed.
“Well?”
“I’ve been looking into it,” he began awkwardly. “There are websites to help people like us find other like-minded singles or couples.”
“How long have you been looking at those?” I asked, surprised.
“Ever since we started having fantasies,” he blushed.
“Before Tony seduced me…!”
“Long before. There are websites with stories too,” he told me sheepishly. “I’ve been reading them for months. Some are unbelievable but some are really good. Maybe if you read one or two you’d have some ideas how we could do it ourselves?”
Pete clearly thought I would be angry or unimpressed with him looking at online porn. Little did he know there was a reasonable chance he had read one of my own stories – and enjoyed it, I hoped.
“We need to keep the dates short too; only fuck dates, no more romantic overnights. And from now we agree every time. Either I’m there with you or you check it’s okay with me first.”
“O-kay,” I replied uncertainly.
“It’s only common sense; you need to be safe.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe I’ll get to watch or even join in this time.”
“Are you sure really you want this?” I asked, still amazed.
“I’m sure I want it if you’re sure you want it too and can stick to the rules.”
“I’m sure, Pete,” I replied, unable to believe what was happening. “In a few months.”
“Meanwhile you’ll just have to make do with my cock for a while. Can you live with that?”
It was said jokily but the relief washed over me. Pete positively beamed. He leaned towards me, I leaned towards him. We kissed long and deep before he rolled me onto my back and reared over me again.
This time it was slow, loving and gentle. I was sore and my body ached but it felt so good to be back in the arms of the man I loved that I didn’t even notice. Pete kissed my lips, my boobs – even the hickeys on my neck before his amazing mouth descended to its favourite place between my thighs.
The first climax followed swiftly, the second hard on its tail and, when his cock entered my body again, I had no trouble whatsoever reaching a wonderful, breath-stealing, life-enhancing orgasm at my husband’s hands.
I looked up into the eyes of the man I loved as he filled my welcoming, still-fertile body with his warm essence. As I luxuriated in the wonderful, earth-mother sensation that insemination brought, I believed I now truly understood the difference between lust and love.
And knew, with my husband’s agreement, I would find each one with a different man.
We missed the dinner completely. Poor Kasha.
At least room service was good.
***
“… beginning our descent into Birmingham International Airport..”
The drone from the plane’s PA system roused me from the deep slumber that had lasted the whole of the ninety minute flight home. I shook the sleep from my head, smiled and apologised to the rather good-looking businessman on whose shoulder I had apparently been dozing.
“It was nice almost taking to you,” he said with an ironic smile.
Having had so little sleep the night before, it was all I could do to manage the fifteen minute chat the two of us had enjoyed before take-off.
“I’m sorry,” I grinned sheepishly.
“It’s not a problem. Call me if you want to take up where we left off.”
He passed me a business card. I blushed; it was a long time since any stranger had made such an overt attempt at picking me up. I looked down at my left hand where my wedding ring once again lay. There was a similar ring on his left hand.
He saw where I was looking and blushed himself.
“You never know,” he smiled. “You might change your mind.”
***
That night I lay in our marital bed feeling the aches in my body return with a vengeance. I was alone again but it felt very different from last week. My husband had not left me; he was simply away for work and would return in a few days.
After that, we would have a few wonderful weeks together, rekindling our relationship, sharing the excitement of all that had passed, making love when and where we wanted.
I felt very excited and very content. The ring was back on my finger; we had made our choices and were happy with them. Pete wanted a Hotwife; he would have his wish. If that meant he had to remain a cuckold it was a price he was willing to pay.
For me, the prospect of wild and exciting sex with other men was both thrilling and terrifying. But if it was what my husband wanted it was fine by me. The most important thing was that we were still married.
I began to doze, playing with my wedding ring under the duvet. It had been frightening to be free, even for two weeks. Now my so-called freedom had gone, in a bizarre way I felt more liberated. Secure in my marriage and my husband’s love, my body could enjoy the new and exciting world of sex without risk to our relationship.
But however many men I might fuck in the future, I knew I would never doubt my relationship with the father of my children again.
A slut I might be, but I was Mrs. Peter Barker and Mrs. Peter Barker I wanted to remain.
