Penny's Promiscuity - 22 To 25 - Going Pro free porn video

Chapter 22

“Can you see?” the young radiologist asked, running the square plastic sensor over my lower belly.

Pete and I were in a private examination room in the discreet clinic in which the Gynaecologist I had previously visited was based. It was far enough away from home for our visit not to be noticed by our friends or colleagues and the consultant himself was known for his discretion.

I was lying on my back; my slightly swollen tummy was bared and covered in goo to allow our first ultrasound examination to take place. Everything on the screen appeared as it should; for better or worse I had passed the twelve-week watershed with my pregnancy intact.

“Oh my God, yes,” I exclaimed, amazed; for all the world as if this was my first pregnancy rather than my fourth.

But I could be forgiven for this; the last time I had felt the cold slimy conductivity gel on my skin had been over twenty years earlier when the contents of my womb had been Isobel, Pete's and my third child. It was easily long enough ago for me to have forgotten just how great a miracle it could feel having a new baby growing inside me.

From his body language, my husband was clearly feeling something similar even though this time he knew that the baby in my belly had no genetic link to him at all. This child had been conceived in the bed of a twenty-nine-year-old Personal Trainer during my first ever one-night stand.

The sex that had resulted in my complete loss of common sense and subsequent pregnancy had been some of the best in my life – at least, the best I had known up till then. Unknown to me, the very best was still to come. During the full night I had spent in his grubby bed in his chaotic, messy bedroom, young, fit Darren had fucked me in any and every way he wanted, inseminating my unprotected body at least four times.

I had then passed the entire night on my back with his semen inside me.

In the throes of the many orgasms he had given me, the ‘breeding frenzy’ had struck with a vengeance, making me so aroused that I had begged the boy to knock me up; to fuck a baby into my belly just as I had begged my first lover Tony to do the same so many times.

Unknown to either of us, my wish had come true; I left Darren’s shared house the following morning a pregnant woman.

“It’s still amazing even after all these years.”

Pete agreed, squeezing my hand, nobly keeping up the pretence that he was the baby’s father.

It wasn’t hard to be amazed. As we stared open-mouthed at the image presented on the screen, my mind flew back decades to my first pregnancy. Enraptured, we watched as the girl pointed out a clearly distinguishable head, spine, arms and legs. We gasped helplessly at the rapidly-beating image of a tiny heart as if we had never seen such a miracle before.

Before us was the clear outline of a child though blurred by the machine’s resolution and the early stage in its development. The image wasn’t clear enough to tell whether the foetus was male or female; the radiologist thought probably a girl but to Pete and me, that didn’t matter.

“The baby looks fine, Mrs. Barker,” the girl said with a reassuring smile. “Something of a miracle, isn’t it?”

She was right; for a woman of nearly fifty-two to have become pregnant in the first place was a miracle in itself, let alone having apparently been impregnated by a man whose vasectomy had taken place over a decade ago.

I felt my husband’s hand gripping mine tightly and the tears beginning to form in my eyes.

We looked at each other searchingly; after so many years of marriage, each of us knew instinctively how the other felt. My pregnancy wasn’t just a problem anymore; it wasn’t an embarrassment or evidence of shame.

This was now a real, living human baby growing inside me; a new son or daughter being created.

Nothing was said; nothing needed to be said. This was a real child and no matter what the consequences to our lives might be, we both knew there was no way either of us could deliberately harm that unborn child.

The always-remote option of a termination had just become a total impossibility. Now, if nature permitted, at fifty-two years of age, Dr. Penny Barker PhD was going to have another baby.

The child of a man, not her husband.

*

The prospect of becoming a mother again would have been frightening for any woman at my time of life. The prospect of having what my grandmother would have called call a love-child and a small but important proportion of our friends suspecting this was simply terrifying.

And as for what our children would say; that was beyond the realm of nightmares. But at least the most important man in my life was supporting me, even if he couldn’t possibly be happy.

“Are you really sure you can live with it?” I asked Pete as we drove back to our city after the appointment.

“Hmmm?” he asked, distracted.

“Bringing up another man’s child,” I said quietly.

He thought for a moment.

“I’m trying not to see it that way,” he eventually said.

“How do you mean?”

My husband reached across and ran his fingers gently over my softly swelling belly as he spoke.

“I’m trying to make myself see things more positively. Okay, I’m not the baby’s genetic father; that’s not a great start but it’s not everything. I reckon I could do a good job of being its Dad.”

“You really mean that?”

“Right now I do,” he replied. “There’s a long way to go but at the moment, I can handle that idea.”

My husband is an amazing man. As many of you have brutally observed, I do not deserve him. I squeezed his hand as he continued to talk.

“At the moment I don’t feel jealous. It’s odd, but I don’t.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised.

“Really. It’s not like someone else made you pregnant when I couldn’t,” he continued. “We have three kids already.”

That was certainly true. The idea of having to tell them they were about to have a new brother or sister more than twenty years their junior did not appeal to me at all. But Pete hadn’t finished.

“And it’s not like a second marriage where the child’s genetic father is always in the way, trying to interfere and maybe take the child out at weekends,” he went on as we turned onto the city’s ring road. “Darren doesn’t even know he’s going to be a father and never needs to know. If we’re careful and lucky, only you and I need ever know the truth.”

In a strange way, the unspoken acceptance that my pregnancy would proceed according to the will of nature had already brought an unexpected feeling of relief to our complicated marriage. Now, instead of agonising about the apparently logical but emotionally devastating decision whether to have a termination, Pete and I simply had to buckle down and deal with the situation before us.

No more doubts or debates; there would be no abortion. I was pregnant and was going to remain so. We were going to have another baby and had to get used to it.

But accepting that fact didn’t mean it would be easy. It just made the problem clear.

The timeframe was clear too. With an official ‘due date’ of early December, we could now plan ahead and take what few steps we could to try and mitigate the damage. There was no time to wait; in a few very short weeks one or other of our friends would notice the changing shape of my belly, the secret would be out and the scandalous rumours would begin.

At least the increasing size of my boobs was unlikely to attract attention. As readers know well, my breasts were and are almost non-existent so the single cup size I had grown so far was unnoticeable. If I ran to previous form, I would swell at least another two cups before giving birth. This would most certainly be noticed and remarked upon – but my swelling belly would have given me away long before then.

The shock and amazement among our friends would be huge but I hoped, manageable.

I strongly suspected that the main reaction from our kids would be disgust. Certainly, that was what I expected from our daughter Isobel but I held on to the hope that the boys would be more understanding and that Izzy would quickly get over it.

That was, of course, if she never found out how the child had been conceived. That terrible revelation would change everything and had to be avoided at all costs.

“So are we clear how we explain the fact that you’re pregnant?” Pete asked, re-running the conversation we had started so many times but not yet finished. “We have to agree to a story and stick to it like glue.”

“Everyone probably thinks I’ve gone through the menopause already,” I said. “The news that I’m still fertile will be shocking enough on its own, let alone getting myself knocked up.”

I thought for a minute or two longer.

“I still think the best bet is to say that your vasectomy reversed itself,” I suggested.

“I’m not sure,” Pete replied. “Recanalisation is very rare. No more than one in four thousand - and some of our friends will know that.”

“But it is possible,” I pressed him.

“Yes, it’s possible,” he conceded. “Vasectomy techniques have changed and I was snipped a long time ago when it was nowhere near as reliable as it is now.”

“Well then, can we use it as the excuse?”

“It’s not a good one but it might be all we have,” he said gloomily. “Whatever we tell them, our lives are going to change, that’s for certain.”

He was right there. Our lives would never be the same again.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” I began.

“Don’t be,” he interrupted.

“But it’s all...”

“Your fault? That’s not the way I want to think about it, okay?”

“And you haven’t even had your fantasy,” I said anxiously. “That’ll be nearly impossible if we have a baby.”

“There’s still time for that,” he smiled knowingly. “Don’t you worry!”

“What do you mean?” I asked as we pulled into the hospital car park.

“I’ve had an idea,” he said jumping out of the driving seat and running round to my side to help me out.

I smiled; Pete was acting the over-cautious expectant father already.

“So what’s the idea?” I asked him as we walked towards the building together.

“Never you mind,” he grinned. “Have a good day, Penn.”

With that, my husband went into work without saying another word.

*

The next week was as close to normal as it could have been. We both went to work, we ate together, watched television together, talked together and even slept together in the biblical sense, sadly still without orgasms for me despite the heightened sensitivity my pregnancy was bringing to my nipples, boobs and vulva.

Work was busy for both of us, which helped make things feel more normal. After all the fear and excitement of the last year, I can’t describe how wonderful it felt to be a little bored once in a while too. Some days I even managed to forget I was pregnant for a few precious hours.

We both knew it was the quiet before the storm but that made these days even more precious.

My writing improved too, both in terms of ideas and the time I managed to spend in it. As before this was mostly early in the morning but my morning sickness was obliging me to get up early anyway and I needed something to distract me from its unpleasant grip.

It was hard to keep my stories anonymous. Incidents from my own real life seemed to work their own way into the plots without my conscious knowledge. A great deal of proofreading was necessary to stop any personal details getting published but the results when they were published, were pleasing.

Less pleasing were the troll messages that followed. Most were the same old stuff and could safely be ignored but at least two seemed to have a deeper, more personal edge.

I tried to ignore them.

Chapter 23

“You’ve done what?” I squealed in astonishment when Pete told me his plan the following Wednesday evening.

We were in bed together, having just replayed my afternoon with Will one more time, once again ending up with me on all fours on the bedroom rug with my handsome husband taking me from behind, my anus once again deeply invaded by his thumb in what for me had become a major help on the road to the very minor orgasm I had just enjoyed, the first in some considerable time.

“I’ve booked them!” he replied. “Aren’t you pleased?”

Pete had fucked me surprisingly roughly given that the baby was growing barely centimetres from where the head of his long, slim cock had pummelled my cervix. I could tell he had something on his mind but could not have guessed the truth; that he had actually bitten the bullet and booked the evening with a real escort couple that we had fantasised about for so long.

“You’re joking!” I gasped in disbelief sitting bolt upright and staring at him.

“No, I’m serious. It’s all fixed!”

“When?” I asked astonished.

“Friday night.”

“This Friday?”

“Yes. This Friday.”

“Two days from now?”

“Of course. The sooner the better! We had nothing in the diary, did we?”

“Oh my God! Where?”

“Manchester of course. I’ve booked the hotel too.”

“But...”

My words faded as the truth dawned on me.

After he had watched me on poor quality homemade video being fucked by Will, the blackmailing young would-be Personal Trainer at our local sports club, it had taken Pete a little time to come to terms with what had happened. Although he was still the man I knew; warm and loving I could tell something inside him had changed and there could only be one cause of this change.

Since then, he had spent a great deal of time on the computer. I suspected he was watching the video over and over again but knew I had to wait for him to start the conversation I felt sure had to follow. Two days later I noticed new video editing software had been installed but still didn’t say anything.

Whatever he was doing on his own, the physical aspects of Pete and my marriage simply soared. From the first day onwards, we fucked as wildly as we had ever fucked at any time in our marriage. The first night, after watching the video clips for almost a full hour, Pete had quite literally torn my clothes from my body, forced me onto my knees on the study carpet and fucked me as mercilessly from behind as Will had done on the screen.

The anger and pent-up emotion in his body was almost frightening, slamming into mine as he took me in what at times resembled a hate-fuck. On one occasion, Pete’s fingers had dug so hard into my hips they had marked me for days afterwards, his long, slender cock pummelling my cervix with such violence that I cried aloud, once in pained pleasure, once in defence of my unborn baby.

Perversely, the presence of that baby in my belly made this sexual revolution easier rather than harder for me to deal with. As in the first two of my previous three pregnancies, my own libido was simply soaring. In the first place, this helped meet the increased demands placed on me by my husband, but it had probably helped me cope with my sessions with Will too.

The news that Pete had decided to take a big step forward and ensure he would actually on the spot for my next fucking should, therefore, have come as no surprise, but it did.

“Why now?” I asked. “I thought you didn’t like the idea of using...”

“Prostitutes?” he completed my sentence for me.

“Escorts,” I corrected him.

“I suppose it was seeing the scan,” he replied. “It all became real. We’re actually going to have another baby. When he or she is born, we’ll be right back into nappies and sleepless nights again. The chances of you being a Hot Wife then are nil, so I thought...”

“You thought we had to take the opportunity while we still could?”

“Right.”

I thought for a moment. It made sense in a perverse way.

“Which couple did you book?” I eventually asked stunned, wondering which stranger’s cock was going to be thrust into me and provide the climaxes my husband so wanted to watch.

“Adam and Eve,” he smiled, his eyes twinkling.

My mind rushed back to the websites I had visited in an attempt to remember what this particular couple looked like. They were all physically attractive but some had seemed more appealing than others for naive first timers like us.

“Think about it,” Pete smiled as his fingers stroked the place where my pubic hair used to be. “Forty-eight hours from now you’ll have been fucked half stupid by a professional with a huge cock.”

The thought was already more than a little frightening before Pete added his killer punchline.

“And I will have been there and watched it every step of the way!”

*

That night and the following night my sleep was disturbed by erotic dreams and bizarre terrors. Indeed, I was downstairs in the kitchen at five-thirty that Friday morning with a tummy full of butterflies.

I tried to write but couldn’t. I tried to read the news online but that had been no more successful.

Pete and I had talked briefly about it over breakfast but there had been no time for anything other than telling each other how nervous we were - and for Pete to reassure me over and over again that I didn’t have to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with.

To be honest, I wasn’t absolutely sure I would be able to do anything at all; I was full of anxiety and the idea of paying for sex felt so alien even though it had been my suggestion in the first place. But having checked their website a dozen times, I knew that the couple we were going to meet were attractive and experienced.

And they had such good reviews.

Besides, after all I had inflicted on him over the past months, it would be unthinkably cruel for me simply to back out now without even trying, just when my wonderful husband was about to have his fantasy come true. I owed it to Pete at least to give it a try, especially given how amazing he had been over my steadily advancing pregnancy.

Though I had never done it in cold blood, it wasn’t as if I hadn’t had sex with a stranger before, was it?

It was all but impossible to concentrate at work; my mind straying badly throughout the day’s meetings and consultations. I would have to spend extra time the following week making up for my lack of attention that Friday but as the hours ticked past painfully slowly past I could do little but count them.

Pete was due to pick me up from work at around five o’clock and we were to drive straight to Manchester. My overnight bag was finally packed after many hours of indecision in which I had kept changing my mind about what to put in it; what to wear to make myself look and feel sexy.

I felt like a teen on a first date but I wasn’t the only one for whom this evening was going to be a watershed. Pete was buzzing with excitement too. The night before he had shown me the new camera he had bought for taking pictures and videos while I was being fucked.

Given Izzy’s problems with home movies, I was very uncomfortable with the idea of any more recordings of my infidelities existing. But my husband knew nothing of his daughter’s growing reputation as a slut and, having seen my first highly amateurish video with Will, had insisted we would both want souvenirs.

He had promised to delete everything if I really wanted him to and was being so sweet and excited about it all that I didn’t feel I could make a fuss without giving Izzy’s secret away.

Once again in our new, unfaithful relationship, I realised just how much I loved my wonderful, sensitive husband and really hoped it would all go well - especially for him.

Meanwhile, all I could do was watch the hands on the clock turning slowly round.

I’m ashamed to confess I was so excited I had to change my knickers twice during the day. I hadn’t wet my seat in public since I was a teenager at school. What was happening to me? Thank God I kept some spare panties in the bottom drawer of my desk in case of ‘accidents’ during my time of the month. They had never been needed until now.

My knees were literally trembling and I felt physically sick when five o’clock finally arrived and I began the walk through long corridors to the hospital’s back door. As soon as I stepped outside I could see Pete’s car already in the car park and my heart pounded.

I drew a deep breath and stepped forward, guilt making convincing me with every step that everyone who saw me could tell what I was thinking and knew what I was planning to do that night. It was all I could manage not to run but I kept control somehow, reached the car, pulled open the door and slipped into the passenger seat next to my husband, my heart thumping so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

Dazed, I felt Pete’s lips on my right cheek and fastened my seat belt.

“Okay, Penn?” he asked quietly.

“O… kay!” I replied nervously.

Then without another word, he pulled out of the car park and we were on our way to Manchester.

Chapter 24

Some people talk too much when they’re nervous. Pete and I are the opposite; we tend to retreat into ourselves and silence descends. With such a momentous event ahead, we had been on the road for a long time into our journey before either of us spoke, both preoccupied with what the evening might or might not have in store for us.

I can’t be sure what was going through my husband’s mind, but my belly was alive with butterflies and my feet were getting colder all the time. More than once I was tempted to ask Pete to call the whole thing off; to chicken out now before it got too weird and too serious.

But then I remembered that, although most of the promised physical pleasure would be mine, the planned event was in fact for my wonderful, patient, long-suffering husband who so far had enjoyed little benefit from our supposed new Hot Wife and Cuckold lifestyle.

But paying for sex?

Although the idea of using escorts had been mine – well, the idea of one of my online friends - now the reality was only hours away, it seemed so sordid and dirty. I tried to think about the couple’s website and the warm professionalism it projected.

Adam and Eve; their attractive bodies, albeit with pixelated faces. The warm biography on the site and above all, the very positive, reassuring feedback posted on the site from clients - clients who sounded not unlike Pete and me.

It would be okay, I told myself over and over again. Sex without love or even the passion of seduction might actually be better in some ways.

I thought about our friends, my work colleagues and finally our three children. What would they think or say if they knew their mother was going to be fucked by a complete, much younger stranger? And all so their father could watch and join in if he wanted?

“What’s the joke?” Pete asked slightly nervously, breaking the silence for the first time in fifty miles.

“Hmm?”

“You were grinning all over your face!” he smiled.

“I was thinking what Izzy might say,” I told him truthfully.

“I was wondering that too,” Pete replied. “That girl needs to lighten up; let her hair down a bit. Be a bit more open-minded about things. What’s the matter?”

Pete had seen me almost choke at his words. He was puzzled, but then I had gone to great lengths to keep the knowledge of his precious daughter’s sexual history away from her innocent father’s ears. Pete still knew nothing about Izzy’s pregnancy scare, the way she had cheated so openly on her boyfriend, her new nickname, or the homemade sex videos in which she had apparently starred.

As far as her father knew, Isobel Barker was still as pure as the driven snow.

I sighed as our car crossed the stark but beautiful high moors of the peak district.

“How long until we get there?”

“Getting impatient?” my husband Pete asked with a smile, pressing hard on the accelerator and overtaking a slow-moving tractor on the winding, picturesque road.

I sat back in my seat and watched the scenery go past. The Peak District was its usual impressive bland of dark rocky crags and open pastures as we crossed in the evening sunshine. The atmosphere in the car was tense but it was with excitement rather than fear or hostility.

Whatever did or did not happen in the privacy of our hotel room, it was a long time since we had enjoyed a romantic weekend away together. If I chickened out, we would at least enjoy two nights in a five-star hotel in the centre of Manchester with its good food, galleries and interesting surroundings.

But if all went to plan, in only a few hours’ time my husband would be right there in the room watching as before his eyes, Doctor Penny Barker PhD, his wife of over twenty years, the mother of his three children and about to bear a fourth, was fucked senseless by a good-looking, professional bull.

“How do you feel about it now it’s actually happening?” Pete eventually asked, his voice unconvincingly casual.

“Nervous,” was all I could muster in reply.

“Having second thoughts?”

“No! Well, yes, but... I don’t know,” I gabbled.

“You don’t want me to turn round and go home?” he asked half-jokingly, putting his hand on my thigh.

The idea did have an appeal but instead, I took his fingers in mine and squeezed.

“Not unless you want to,” I said, looking into what I could see of his face. “You’re sure you can handle it?”

He laughed hollowly.

“I’m nowhere near sure but if you’re prepared to give it a try, then so am I.”

Silence descended again as I sat back in my seat again and half-listened to the radio. My head was full of doubts, misgivings, desires and lusts along with a sense of disbelief that it was all really happening.

Were we crazy? We must have been crazy just to think of it but were we really crazy enough to go through with it?

I wasn’t at all sure but the minutes before I had to make a decision were ticking away as we descended from the moors and began to approach the big city. I fidgeted in my seat, my body betraying me by beginning to lubricate merely at the thought of what was ahead.

“It will be okay,” Pete reassured me as we made our way through the half-built regeneration schemes that dominate whole sections of the outskirts. “No, it will be better than okay; it will be fantastic. And I’ll be there all the time remember? You’ll be perfectly safe.”

“You’re sure they don’t know who we really are?” I asked anxiously for the umpteenth time.

“Certain! No more than we know who they really are. I used a fake email address and a pay-as-you-go phone.”

Jesus! Pete really had thought this out!

“Just don’t get so carried away that you use our real names.”

Although our soon-to-be partners called themselves Adam and Eve, these were so obviously professional names that Pete and I had decided not to use our real names either. In fact, to make things even more fun and illicit, we had decided to use false names with each other from the moment I stepped into the car.

Pete had decided to call himself John; an unimaginative choice if ever there was one as I pointed out teasingly. When he asked what he should call me, in haste I had chosen the first female name that came to mind, the central character from one of my favourite erotic stories.

I was, therefore, to be Alice all weekend.

Although my husband knew nothing about this, the idea of becoming a character in one of my own stories was giving me a massive thrill, especially given what Alice had got up to in those tales!

For safety’s sake, the plan was for us to meet our intended partners first for drinks in the hotel bar to get to know each other and see if Pete and I – John and I - still felt the same. After that, if we still wanted to go ahead, we would go up to the room my husband had booked and take it from there.

Although we had both agreed we would feel safer and more confident meeting a couple on our first joint date, Pete had told them that he didn’t expect to be involved with the wife to any great extent. The date was first and foremost for ‘Adam’ to give me the fucking of my life in front of him.

For this reason, Pete had chosen the couple in their forties.

From all I had seen online, they both looked very attractive. Well-muscled, toned, with strong legs and tight buttocks, Adam’s physique had made me tingle even from his pictures. He had been working as an escort for a good few years and was described as ‘VWE’ (Very Well Endowed - more jargon I had learned).

I noticed that his supposed wife ‘Eve’ was short, blonde, full figured and big-breasted – the antithesis of my tall, dark, skinny, flat-chested physique. Was my husband unintentionally sending me a message here I wondered?

As we passed through the busy streets with my hands on my pregnant belly, along with increasing fear, excitement and arousal, many thoughts passed through my mind, most of them troubling.

Pete was right; there wasn’t much time left before our lives were turned upside down. In a few weeks, I would be able to feel the baby move. A short time after that, my pregnancy would be impossible to hide and we would have to decide on and stick to our story no matter what our family and friends said.

It would be tough. I frowned at the thought.

The odds against a man’s vasectomy spontaneously failing in his fifties and him subsequently fertilising a peri-menopausal woman of the same age would make even the most pessimistic bookie smile. Our medical friends would know this; most would jump to conclusions, all would be scandalised.

Though those conclusions and scandal would be sensational and wide of the mark, the alternative of voluntarily making our lifestyle public was too terrible to imagine.

Some friends would guess I had had an affair; some might even think they knew who with. They might possibly be right, at least about my first extra-marital lover but they would be wrong about the father of my child.

But that was little help.

The bigger worry by far was what our children would think. The two boys were busy getting on with their lives and wouldn’t notice until Pete and I had got our story together. But after the phone calls I had had with our daughter Isobel recently, we did not have the luxury of time as far as she was concerned.

Izzy-Oh-God, our intellectually bright but sexually stupid daughter; the female star of at least one poor quality and increasingly well-distributed homemade porn movie, would be coming back home as soon as her exams were finished.

Given her new and well-deserved reputation, her head should be distinctly bowed but I knew that would not prevent her passing judgement on her parents.

I told myself firmly that the disapprobation would eventually pass. What would come next would last a lifetime. If nature permitted, in a few short months the baby would be born and the freedom Pete and I had enjoyed as adults would be over.

But before all that happened, we had a few precious weeks to fulfil the fantasy that had dominated Pete's and my sex life for over two years. If things went well, the next few hours would herald my overdue, short-lived and highly improbable return to the life of a Hot Wife.

And the fulfilment of Pete’s deepest sexual fantasies.

*

Eventually, the tall, grand, if ageing buildings of the city centre surrounded us and we pulled into our hotel’s car park. Pete killed the engine and we sat back in our seats in silence.

“Well, we’re here,” he said quietly. “Are you okay... Alice?”

I didn’t reply. Instead, I took a deep breath and slowly climbed out of the car, my tummy alive with nerves as Pete lifted our bags from the car’s boot.

We had arrived!

The hotel was one of Manchester’s grandest and had been recently refurbished. All the public rooms were huge and designed to impress. I had stayed there once before for one of my interminable conferences and remembered with relief just how anonymous one could be in such a place.

Pete and I checked in under our real names without incident though throughout the process I felt guiltily certain that the hotel staff could see right through me and that they all knew exactly what I was there to do.

Declining help with the bags, Pete picked up them both and guided me to the lift. As we ascended to our floor, the mirrors on the walls showed the reflection of a skinny, anxious-looking woman, definitely in her fifties alongside a handsome, professional-looking man who could have been five years or more her junior.

To my mind, there was guilt written all over my face. Then I felt Pete taking my hand.

“Relax! You look great. You’ll look even better soon. Trust me; it’ll all be okay.”

A minute later we were in our room with the door closing silently but firmly behind us.

I looked nervously around the place in which, if all went well, would be the scene of my latest and most extraordinary sexual exploit; the place where, for the first time, my husband would watch me having sex with a stranger.

I have to say I was impressed. Pete had really pushed the boat out and booked a mini suite. The room was very large, furnished in a modern style with plenty of dark wood and pale fabric. It felt warm and luxurious. There were two full-size double beds against one long wall, an open area with a television, sofas and a minibar and through another door was a huge bath and shower room with ‘his and hers’ sinks and mirrors.

“How much did this cost?” I asked as I inspected everything.

“Never mind!” he grinned. “I thought we should play safe and go for the best. I didn’t want our first time to be anywhere dark and squalid. Besides, there’ll be four of us in here and we might need a bit of space.”

My tummy rumbled nervously again. What on earth might we get up to that would need two double beds and a small lounge?

There was a table in one corner on which stood a beautiful display of flowers, a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two tall flute glasses. I looked at the card with the flowers.

‘To Alice and X from John. With all my love and adoration.’

I smiled at my husband then crossed over and kissed him on the lips.

“And X?” I raised my eyebrows in question.

Pete simply put his hand on his tummy and I understood. He meant the baby.

“You are a very special man,” I told him, kissing him again.

Pete opened the bottle and poured two foaming glasses.

“To another first?” he proposed the toast.

“For us both,” I agreed.

Pete clinked his glass against mine and took a long sip. The champagne was, as I had expected, superb and must have cost a small fortune. A second sip confirmed this. In my condition, I knew I shouldn’t be drinking at all, but this was only one evening. Given everything else that might happen, a single glass of champagne seemed an acceptable risk.

We began to unpack and get ready, the atmosphere between us growing almost electrically sexual. I could feel Pete’s eyes burning into my back as I removed from my bag and lay neatly on the bed the tiny cream satin lingerie we had chosen for me to wear and the hold-up stockings to go with it.

Unsurprisingly, neither of us had much of an appetite so we asked room service to bring up a few nibbles and a club sandwich for us to share. Pete pecked at his when it arrived a short time later. I was too nervous to eat even that much and left most of my food untouched.

Our bags emptied and placed in the corner of the room, Pete went into the en-suite and ran me a deep bath, taking maximum advantage of the expensive, perfumed toiletries alongside. I stripped slowly to my underwear, hanging up my work clothes carefully in the room’s closet.

“You are such a sexy piece, Alice!”

Pete’s voice was low and lustful. For a moment I wondered whether he was having the same second doubts that filled my mind but his next words ended that speculation.

“I can’t wait to see that amazing body being fucked!”

There was no adequate response to this; I just smiled then slowly walked through to the waiting, foaming tub. Closing but not locking the door behind me, I stripped off my remaining clothes, gingerly lowered myself into the water then tried to relax.

The bath was warm and deep and began to work its magic. Slowly but surely my heartbeat returned to something approaching normal and I began to soap myself indulgently.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in!”

Pete opened it with his foot and entered bearing my champagne glass. He handed it to me with an admiring smile then left me alone again.

Again, the thought that no pregnant woman should drink alcohol flashed through my mind. But I knew the evening wouldn’t go smoothly without at least a hint of Dutch courage. Besides, it hadn’t been an issue with my previous pregnancies.

I sipped the bubbly fluid slowly as I carefully washed and shaved my arms, legs and vulva, taking extra care to catch every loose pubic hair on my mound and around my slit. It was fiddly work but when I had finished my flesh was as smooth as it had ever been - if a little sore, pink and highly sensitised.

After washing my hair and drying myself I moisturised carefully, especially where the razor had done it work. I shivered with pleasure as I rubbed the cool fluid between my thighs and on my lower belly then pulled on the hotel’s white fluffy bathrobe and returned into the bedroom.

Pete looked at me admiringly then smiled and went into the en-suite himself. A moment later I heard the shower running. I sat at the large dresser to dry and straighten my hair.

He had finished in the shower long before I was ready, had dried himself and wrapped a fluffy white towel around his waist. As he entered the bedroom I was amused to see it was already noticeably tented. He stood so close to me that the air from my dryer was ruffling the hair on his tummy and chest.

“Do you need some help with that, John?” I asked, nodding towards the bulge in his towel.

“I’d better save it till later, Alice,” he smiled. “You never know when it might come in handy.”

Suddenly it all felt a lot more real again and my heart thumped in my chest.

What do a husband and wife talk about as they get ready for the wife to be fucked by a stranger? It wasn’t something either of us had encountered before so, not knowing what else to say to each other, Pete watched me get dressed in near silence.

He looked on spellbound as I slowly pulled the cream satin panties up my skinny, freshly-shaved legs then stared silently on as I covered my tiny boobs with the matching bra.

“Would you like to help me?” I asked, remembering some of the things my online cuckolds had advised.

I didn’t need the help and we both knew it, but it felt right for him to play a part in preparing me for my lover. Without a word, Pete fastened the clasp of my bra behind my back.

“Would you pass my stockings?”

Pete handed them to me slowly and silently. Sitting on the dresser’s stool I slowly pulled on the white lace-topped hold-ups – Pete’s favourites - then, as he brushed his hair and pulled on his underwear, I sat at the dressing table with my makeup ranged out before me, carefully doing what was necessary to make me feel a little less human and, I hoped a lot more sexy.

I had decided that Alice’s cheeks should look slightly more tanned than Penny’s, her eyes slightly darker and bigger. Her lips would be redder too and glossed in a way pregnant Penny seldom chose but which I imagined sexy Alice would enjoy routinely.

It was beginner's psychology; in a crude way trying to distance Penny the real-life mother and wife from Penny the unfaithful, cuckolding slut but in a strange way, it did help.

The job finally done, I stood up, slipped on my heels then looked at myself and my lingerie in the full-length mirror on the closet door, turning from left to right and back.

At first glance, I thought I didn’t look too bad for a woman in her fifties, but then I noticed the slight sag in my buttocks, the evidence of cellulite and the small but by now distinctive bulge in my lower belly. I didn’t need to look to know there were stretch marks down there too.

For a moment my confidence began to wobble.

“You look good enough to eat!” Pete growled from behind me.

“I look like a middle-aged mother of three,” I sighed.

“You look how a Hot Wife should look,” he insisted. “Just relax and enjoy everything. We never need to see them again if you don’t want to.”

He was carrying the short red dress I had bought to make me feel even more like my character Alice and even less like me. It was close fitting; I needed Pete’s help to get me into it, smoothing it down over my hips, thighs and the contours of my bump before pulling the zipper up to my shoulders.

“You look amazing, Alice,” he told me in a voice I believed. “Oops! Don’t forget this!”

Pete handed me my increasingly heavy Pandora bracelet before carefully inspecting his soon-to-be-unfaithful wife.

“Perfect,” he whispered as if genuinely awestruck by my appearance. “Just perfect.”

The honesty in his voice gave my confidence one last, powerful boost.

“You’re looking pretty good yourself,” I replied.

I have to say, my soon-to-be cuckolded husband did look great in his usual dark trousers and open-necked designer shirt. The cut of both garments showed off his nicely-toned body well. For a moment I wondered what on earth I was thinking, being unfaithful to this amazing man. But then I remembered that Pete’s urging had played a huge role in my original infidelity and that we were in Manchester as much for him as we were for me, as Pete’s excited demeanour was making very clear.

“Are you ready?” he asked eagerly.

“As ready as I can be,” I replied, not really feeling it.

“Remember, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he told me one last time.

“I know, Pete. Thanks,” I smiled more confidently than I felt.

I picked up my evening bag and walked nervously towards the bedroom door. Pete opened it for me and I walked out into the corridor and into a new phase of my life.

Chapter 25

We descended in nervous silence. I surreptitiously checked myself in the lift’s all-round mirrors throughout the brief journey, wishing dearly I was ten years younger. Or maybe twenty. When we reached the lobby, I slipped my arm through my husband’s and he led me to a quiet table nearby.

The plan was that Pete would meet our escorts for the evening on his own and check that they really were the couple we were expecting. If he was in any way unhappy, everything would stop. I would not even get to see them. If possible, he would also deal with the financial side of things without me present so that the rest of the evening could pass like a real date rather than a paid-for encounter.

I watched as he crossed the lobby and turned into the bar. A warm glow passed through me; my husband looked very handsome in tight black trousers, a silver-grey open-neck shirt and dark, well-cut jacket.

Pete was gone a surprisingly long time. For a while, I was worried something had gone wrong. I had just taken my mobile phone from my bag to call him when he reappeared with a broad smile on his face.

“Is everything alright? I was worried,” I began but he just smiled again.

“Everything’s fine; better than fine!”

“What are they like?”

By now my nerves were strained almost to breaking point.

“’You’ll see in a minute. I don’t think you’re going to be disappointed,” he said reassuringly. “In fact, I think you’ll be very pleased.”

He took my hand as I rose to my feet. I slipped my arm through his and we walked through to the bar which was just beginning to fill up after dinner. My knees were trembling with nerves and I tottered on my heels several times, holding onto my husband’s arm for balance.

The bar was very large and very grand. Because of this, it wasn’t anything like as crowded as I had expected on a Friday night. As we made our way through half occupied tables to the furthest corner, I realised Pete was directing me towards a smartly dressed couple sitting opposite each other in a four-person booth by the window.

I did a quick double-take when I saw them.

The male half of the couple rose to greet me politely as I approached. We kissed on the cheek as if we were already acquaintances. He smelled a little too strongly of aftershave but I have to admit was even more handsome in the flesh than his online, pixelated photograph had suggested.

“Hi,” he said in a deep voice with a distressingly strong local accent. “I’m Adam. This is Eve.”

The names were obviously false but I didn’t care; I wasn’t planning to use my own name either. I looked at the woman smiling up at me; a pretty, full-figured blonde with suspiciously orange-coloured skin.

“Alice,” I said.

I looked across at my husband who nodded towards the seat alongside Adam who wriggled along the bench to make me comfortable. As I settled into place, I noticed he made sure my leg ended up pressed firmly against his and immediately felt his hand resting lightly on my thigh.

My first instinct was to brush it away but I fought against it. Pete was lowering himself onto the seat alongside Eve when I tried to catch his eye but before I could send him a silent message, the waitress arrived and we ordered more drinks.

To cut a long story short, after a nervous start and an unwise glass of wine to add to the champagne we had enjoyed upstairs, I finally began to relax a little. In this respect, our new friends were very reassuring indeed.

Firstly, from their body language and the way they talked, they were obviously a real married couple rather than just two escorts teaming up for an evening’s date. That made me feel much happier.

They had been together for eight years and had two children, both at primary school. Dressed in expensive black jeans that showcased his powerful thighs and tight bottom and a designer polo shirt, Adam looked as if he spent many hours in the gym each week.

For a moment I wondered what his trained body would look like naked then blushed as I realised I would probably find out quite soon. Then I blushed again as I realised I had almost unwittingly accepted things would go ahead!

Eve was full figured but not overweight. Her dress was white and gold, tight and more than a little flashy but I had to admit it suited her orange skin, long, curled blonde hair and her somewhat brash personality. They both wore wedding rings and Eve sported a large diamond engagement ring on her left hand too.

For a while, we chatted awkwardly. To my relief, the noisy bar and our secluded booth made it very unlikely we could be overheard and I loosened up a little more.

It soon emerged that escorting was very much a part-time, if profitable hobby for them as they both had ‘proper’ jobs during the day. Adam’s job had been quite manual, at least in the past. He didn’t specify what it was exactly, but I got the strong impression that building was involved. It would certainly have helped maintain his impressive physique.

I guessed he was in his early forties and was well built, slim and very good looking in an obvious, slightly common way. He was smooth-talking too. Strangely attractive despite his local accent and genuinely charming from the start, paying me a great deal of attention; gradually calming my nerves, relaxing me further and making me feel a lot more attractive and desirable.

He was definitely not an intellectual but in an odd way this made it easier. I expect it helped Pete too; there was no chance whatsoever of me getting emotionally attached, however good Adam might be in bed, but as a ‘bit of rough’ for the evening, he was simply perfect.

We weren’t there for conversation after all!

Eve was a few years younger if I had followed their conversation correctly. She worked part-time as a beautician and looked after their two young kids. She was bubbly and friendly but reassuringly not at all Pete’s usual type. Curvy and with the abundant boobs promised by their website, she was extremely attractive, but with the same obvious, slightly common appeal her husband possessed.

Occasional swingers before the children were born; it had been Eve who had apparently got the two of them into the escorting business. One of her friends in the beauty salon – a girl already into escorting - had been asked by a client if she could bring a man along to her next appointment for a threesome. Knowing that Eve and Adam had swung in the past and were very short of cash after their unplanned second child, she had asked Eve if her husband might be available.

Eve had been uncertain, to begin with, but the client was rich, the promised money was good and their bank balance precarious. So, after a good deal of debate and a lot of misgivings, she had reluctantly agreed that Adam could go.

He had performed well. The evening had gone very successfully indeed, the client had been very happy and the money even better than expected but her friend’s reports of Adam’s prowess in bed had been so very positive as to make Eve feel vulnerable and unsettled.

But money was money so she had agreed the two could work together again. After two more evenings with her friend followed by enthusiastic praise of his lovemaking, Eve had decided that enough was enough. Despite having no experience as an escort herself, she had insisted that she and Adam should to try and work as a couple themselves.

She signed them up with an agency and, after a slow start, they were now beginning to enjoy themselves.

For a moment I wondered maliciously whether, after having had two children Eve’s vagina had loosened as much as mine had after having our three.

After half an hour of conversation, Adam’s hand had worked its way high up my thigh. The urge to sweep it away had been conquered, I was enjoying the attention and it was clear to all four of us that we were hitting it off well.

Pete shot me a questioning glance across the table. I looked back into his open, pleading eyes and, with a lump in my throat and my heart thumping in my chest, nodded almost imperceptibly. His eyes twinkled and a broad smile crossed his face. He raised an eyebrow as if to ask if I was really sure.

I nodded again, my heart racing as it dawned on me what I had just done. We really were going to go ahead with the evening’s plans. Pete whispered something into Eve’s ear and showed her a white envelope in his inside jacket pocket.

“Not here, John,” she whispered, pushing it back but smiling indulgently.

“Sorry,” Pete said embarrassed. “We’re new to this.”

“It’s okay,” Eve smiled, her hand falling to his thigh in much the same way as her husband’s was on mine.

We talked a little longer, our conversation restricted to innuendo and whispers but the increasing noise in the crowded bar made it highly unlikely any of us could have been overheard.

The commitment now made, it quickly emerged that Pete and I were an unusual booking. Most often they were asked to do a full bisexual foursome with their clients, or more common still, have a single man join them for a threesome in which their client could take part whenever he wanted.

We discussed quietly and obliquely what might happen when we went upstairs. Adam told us that they sometimes did a show for voyeur clients in which he and Eve went through lots of different acts and positions together. It was a routine designed to be good to watch and which allowed the clients to join in if they wanted.

He suggested that I took the role his wife usually took and let him do to me all the things he usually did to her.

I was very nervous, unsure whether I would be capable of going through with it. Despite the last months, my experience in bed couldn’t possibly compete with that of a professional sex worker like Eve but at the same time, I was desperate to know what all those things they did were and how they felt.

“From what you’ve said I would guess this really is your first time,” Adam stated quietly.

Pete and I exchanged glances.

“It’s not the first time. Pen... Alice has been with another man,” my husband said. “But it will be the first time I’ve stayed and watched.”

This time it was the turn of Adam and Eve to look at each other and smile.

“You’re going to love it, Alice,” Eve smiled at me knowingly with a genuine glint of pleasure in her eye. “You can trust me on that. He’s very, very good!”

“I hope so,” I smiled back nervously.

“Okay then,” Adam began. “First a bit of safety information; like you get on a plane.”

Pete and I laughed a little too much.

“Seriously though,” Adam continued. “Some first-timers find it a lot harder than they expected when things get started for real.”

“I can imagine,” my husband snorted.

“And not just first-timers,” Adam continued. “Even experienced swingers can find it really hard watching their wives getting...” he looked around then decided not to use the word that was on all our lips. “Well, let’s say they find it very hard just to sit back and watch. Sometimes they get a bit angry.”

“I’m sure they do,” Pete replied with feeling.

“Some wives get part way down the path then change their minds too,” Eve added, looking directly at me. “So we always insist that if either of you – EITHER of you wants it to stop then we stop,” she said firmly.

There was a brief silence then Adam took over again.

“The whole thing can only work properly if you’re both okay about everything. If one of you wants to go on but the other wants to stop then that’s too bad; we stop. You both have to want to go all the way. Is that okay with you?”

He looked into my eyes then into Pete’s. We looked at each other.

“Okay,” I said nervously.

“Yes. I’m okay with that too,” Pete confirmed.

“The other thing is,” Eve carried on. “A lot of couples like to talk and shout during... when it’s happening. Wives especially like to shout out ‘no’ or ‘don’t touch me’ or even call for their husbands to help them. It’s hard for us to know when the shouting is real and when it’s all part of the fun so we use a safety word. Do you know what that is?”

“Yes,” I replied immediately.

My online researches had strayed into the world of BDSM enough for me to have picked this up. Pete gave me an odd look and I blushed.

“Great. The word we use is ‘abort’. You can shout ‘no’ and ‘stop’ and ‘get off me’ all you like and we’ll just carry on. But if we hear the word ‘abort’ then we’ll stop right away. Is that okay?”

For a moment I wondered if we would end up being one of those couples. Although I had slept with Tony many times and Pete had even taken me to do it, I did not know how he would react when he actually watched another man doing for real all the things we had fantasised about for so long.

But we would both find out very soon because suddenly it was all agreed and after nearly an hour’s chat we were on our way up to our room.

Author's note - I'm trying to turn Penny's Promiscuity into a series of full-length novels. What follows in this and all following posts are extracts from those novels. The structure might be slightly different from previous chapters and not all postings contain sex but rest assured, the sex will come soon afterwards.

I hope you still enjoy the continuing story. It's still all my own writing and above all, Penny is still Penny!