Penny's Promiscuity - 49 - Exposure free porn video

They say the road to hell is the smooth, straight one; the deceptively easy path that descends so slowly you hardly know you’re on it until you reach your fiery destination.

They also say that the Devil makes work for idle hands.

As far as Penny Barker is concerned, they are right on both counts.

*

After the extraordinary revelations of that week and to everyone’s surprise, life returned to what approximated to normal in our household and remained so for a long time. At the time, it felt as if stability was finally returning to my life after far too long an absence. Little did any of us know it was just the lull before the storm.

And what a storm it was going to be!

Izzy went back to University and to her boyfriend Jack, knowing that her both parents had cheated but resigned to keeping that fact to herself. In exchange for that, her sex videos and her short but very passionate affair with her boyfriend’s father would remain a secret known only to me and our shared lover, Tony.

No-one else, especially her Dad, was ever to know.

Although I was trying to carry on as before, the disturbance this revelation had made to my peace of mind was profound and continuing. Along with a mother’s natural instinct to protect her offspring, came unexpectedly powerful feelings I had not expected but could not shake off.

The idea of being in competition with my own daughter for a man’s intimate affections, or worse, of the two of us being compared by him as lovers was deeply unsettling. Vivid images of how it had felt being fucked half senseless by him flooded back into my mind alarmingly often, usually triggered by random thoughts, memories or coincidences at any time of day.

Knowing that my daughter had shared those same experiences and had the same kind of memories made my belly ache with jealousy.

At least our recently outed gay son Tim was happy. His boyfriend Thomas’s family had proved more supportive than expected and the two of them were now properly acknowledged as a couple. It did feel very strange preparing a double bed for the pair of them when they visited, and even stranger seeing them cuddling together and casually kissing, but they looked so happy it soon seemed only natural.

I even got to spend a day or two with Samantha, my son Josh’s girlfriend and their baby, thereby temporarily relieving both Josh and Pete of their duties. Rather predictably, the boys used their freedom to watch live sport in a local pub.

As I knew well, secrets are not good for a marriage so Pete and my relationship was somewhat strained for quite a while, but once he realised that whatever magic spell I had cast had worked and that Izzy really was going to keep quiet, even he began to forgive me.

Although there was still an element of awkwardness between us, our life as a couple with a small baby returned to something like the barely regulated chaos in which all such families try to survive.

By midsummer, Leanne had started to sleep through the night too, or at least the gap between her late and early feeds had lengthened to around six hours. This was more than enough for me to feel I had enjoyed a fair night’s sleep myself, so my energy levels were considerably restored.

Everything in our lives was finally going smoothly, or so I thought.

The truth was that is going too smoothly; so smoothly that I didn’t notice the way in which my life was drifting until it was too late.

If I had to name an event, I would say that things began to go wrong when Pete’s work started get much busier. Fully occupied with my baby and my writing, I wasn’t exactly sure what had changed for him, but over time, he started coming home late more often, or later on, staying at the hospital overnight.

This wasn’t unheard of, but for someone in his senior position it was unusual. He even had to work a few extra days at weekends too.

Thanks to his absence and consequent tiredness, Pete’s libido reduced considerably and our highly active sex life deteriorated until it had become at best, sporadic.

Not even our recent change to predominantly anal rather than vaginal penetration and the resulting improvement in my husband’s pleasure, was enough to maintain the sexual momentum we had developed, and which I had unknowingly come to depend on.

Still, at least it gave my body a break physically.

Since our change of orifices and the high frequency of rear penetration, my consumption of panty liners had dramatically increased. I was beginning to worry that if we kept up this pace, I might become permanently loose back there.

I had heard stories of men and women needing to wear nappies after too much anal sex. The thought disturbed me, but there was no way I was going to interfere with my husband’s sexual contentedness.

As a result, the recent one-sided reduction in our sex life, though easy to understand, was difficult to bear. It would have been difficult for any couple, but for a woman with my baby-enhanced libido it was physically painful as well as an emotional strain.

Especially when I knew that Julie, my husband’s only former lover was still single, waiting in the wings with her petite body, her tight vagina, her readily available sphincter and gold pierced clitoral hood.

With my increased energy, near-constant arousal and surging libido, I badly missed his presence in the house and in my bed and was forced to resort to masturbation and my toys on many occasions for the daily sexual relief I now desperately needed.

But at least it gave me much more private time in which to write, to correspond with my readers and, increasingly, to look online for what I told myself was research. This led to a positive plethora of new published compositions spilling from my keyboard, which in turn led to a huge increase in my correspondence with readers, which in turn… and so it went on.

From this new correspondence, a whole series of exciting, real-life erotic stories emerged, each as true as I could make it. Most were within my go-to cuckold genre, but there were other themes too, some light and cheerful, others darker and more brooding. Some were even quite disturbing.

Unfortunately, along with these new stories came new and sometimes appallingly vicious troll attacks. Though by now I was mostly hardened to these assaults, some still managed to cut through my defensive armour and hurt me, especially those few which appeared to be from other women.

Some of the accusations were extreme; some of the threats worrying but as my Grandmother used to say, faint heart never won fair lady.

I knew my online identity was anonymous, so I tried not to let the trolls upset me and persevered and soon, among the many frauds and weirdos online, I found a few real gems too. People I chatted with often; people I got to know better, people I felt I had a real bond with and with whom I could share part of me.

Writing these true tales was fun, but often required long, detailed exchanges by email and in private chatrooms with the readers involved. I always enjoyed these interactions; as well as being the main theme of the story, many good ideas for other works came from them too, along with the opportunity to learn a great deal more about how others lived the life less monogamous.

Often this involved nothing more than listening to incidents in their lives that they believed only an understanding female ear could really appreciate.

Other times, the things I heard showed clearly that Pete and I were by no means the only middle-aged couple to have lived out our cuckold fantasies.

Often the true-life stores were so shocking that even my own more sensational stories were, by these peoples’ standards, not at all as extreme as I had imagined.

Although I had used chatrooms for years and they had always been a source of ideas and information for real-life stories, they had also been a bit hit and miss so until then I had used them sparingly. Now, as Leanne’s demands moderated and became more predictable, and as my own life became less demanding, I began to indulge myself more and, I quickly found, enjoy myself more too.

I already knew that if I logged in under any female name, I would be deluged with Private Messages from men who thought ‘Hey Babe’ was a sure fire chat up line, that they themselves were irresistible, believed every woman was a slut and that the thing I needed most in my life was their ten or even eleven inch cock thrust hard up my rectum.

I lost count of the number of unwanted penis pics I was presented with. All this did was reinforce my view that however good the male organ could make me feel, it was a singularly unattractive appendage to look at.

But I was a fast learner and soon found to my delight that, if I used a series of manufactured identities and used my author’s imagination to the full, I could be exactly who I wanted to be and have whatever fun I fancied at the time, as well as gaining even more material for my stories – which by then numbered over fifty.

So I became a woman of multiple personalities.

If I wanted, I could safely and anonymously be me; the fifty-something year old married mother of a small baby, temporarily paused Hot Wife and newly discovered lover of anal sex. In a strange way, it felt really liberating to be able to tell my online friends my story and my fantasies; anonymously, truthfully, in all the detail they wanted without fear of being discovered.

My seduction by a close family friend was considered good but unremarkable.

My flings with two young, fit lovers went down better with both my male and female friends.

My daughter and me having shared a lover was always very received well; though the consensus was it would have been better if we had all shared a bed.

Even the shameful truth that I had given birth to a mixed-race love-child after a squalid one-night stand with a boy young enough to be my son could be broadcast in relative safety.

The most popular question from the many would-be-cuckolded men I met was undoubtedly, ‘How can I persuade my wife to fuck other men?’

Interestingly it was never ‘make love with other men’ or ‘have sex with other men,’ it was always ‘fuck’.

The most popular questions from their wives were: ‘Why would my husband want me to?’, ‘Would he still respect me afterwards?’ and often the worry, ‘What if I fall in love and ruin my marriage?’

With Pete’s well documented cuckold fantasies and my consequent, limited experience as a Hot Wife, I was able to provide some insight into these questions and occasionally some advice.

This allowed me to relive some of the more exciting, orgasmic aspects of the last year with a willing, eager audience.

The effects on my own arousal were significant. From their responses, I believe the effects on many of the women I chatted with were similarly powerful. More than one later admitted she had gone on to comply with her husband’s professed fantasy and actually sleep with another man – with or like me, without his knowledge or agreement.

But I could only advise only up to a point. Although my husband had tried hard to persuade me to sleep with other men, in the end, when it actually happened, it had been the confluence of opportunity and an effective seducer that had been decisive, rather than any pressure from Pete.

And even then, I had been pushed out of the realm of marital fidelity, not into the open and consensual wife sharing my husband had wanted, but into the secret world of the unfaithful, cheating wife.

When my marriage vows had first been shattered, it had not been with Pete’s knowledge or agreement; it had been an act of infidelity on my part, pure and simple. I had cheated on him. It was only weeks later and after many illicit copulations with Tony that I had confessed to my husband and – not without misgivings - he had made my status as a Hot Wife official.

Whether I would still have cheated if Pete hadn’t tried to persuade me is something I will never know for sure, but it was too late to worry; the damage had been done. We were where we were. All I could do was tell my story as honestly as possible and try to listen and learn from my new friends.

I’m sure many of them thought I was making most, or even all of it up. But I wasn’t. I had had enough imaginary sex in my stories.

For Promiscuous Penny, it was telling the truth that was the novelty and I indulged in it enthusiastically.

The problem was that over time, like so many vices, my online life quickly and insidiously became seriously addictive. The more time Pete spent away from home, the more time I spent online.

I could have used the extra time meeting real friends, or getting back into my work, or taking Leanne to visit the babies of other new Mums from our post-natal class. But over time, these outings ground to a near halt.

My coffee meetings with Julie had petered out long ago. I wasn’t sure why. Soon, even those with my supportive Boss, Sandie became rare too; the magnetic draw of my online world was too strong and more often than not, I weakened and returned to it.

It wasn’t a big step on the road to Hell, so I didn’t realise it at the time.

But a step it definitely was, taking me deeper and deeper by the day!

With Pete out of the house so often and few social events in my diary, I had enough private time to indulge my fantasies in areas far outside and far more extreme than my usual cuckold or cheating, both in my writing and in chat.

Sometimes I would forget being myself altogether and become a girl like Izzy; young, pretty, tight, insatiable and with my daughter’s apparent penchant for older men. This character was always popular online and never failed to find a partner either for chat or for roleplay; something that at first, I had thought inane, but which I soon discovered my life as a writer made me rather proficient at.

I had expected to be asked to play a young virgin and had no problems with this – memories of my own defloration were still fairly vivid - but it did bother me just how many men wanted me to pretend to be underage.

This was something I always refused to do.

It also bothered me how brutal and violent many of their fantasies became, but over time this worry became less and less until I actually began to enjoy the imagined pain and humiliation my online lovers wanted to inflict on the young me.

Besides, I could always simply bring these conversations to an abrupt end if things became too disturbing.

Most often though, I pretended to be a man very like Pete, or indeed Pete himself; a cuckolded husband, a watcher of his wife’s many infidelities, an occasional swinger and I discovered to my surprise, an enthusiastic enjoyer of pictures of other men’s wives and girlfriends.

As a way to understand the cuckold mindset, it remains by far the most effective mechanism I have ever found.

At first when I used Pete’s name, I was largely ignored and could only watch other peoples’ conversations taking place. I learned a lot from this, certainly about male desires, but also about the way men behave with each other when they believe no women are present.

This was something I could never have discovered in real life. It made me want to find out more.

If I took a more positive, proactive role as a would-be cuckold male, I found I could join in some outrageous fantasies of wife sharing, wife seduction and even prostitution, something I found as exciting as it was disturbing.

It wasn’t long before my desire to learn more and be aroused more, led me to kick off some of these sessions myself, pretending to be my cuckold husband.

It wasn’t long after that before I began to use my own real name and description as his wife too, and to listen to all the wonderful, terrible, often painful and humiliating things these unknown men wanted to do to me.

The arousal this brought was exquisite.

During these chats, I often found myself presented with actual photos of other users’ wives or girlfriends, sometimes simple family snaps, other times in various states of undress, offered by would-be cuckolds so that other men could look at, admire, pass judgement on, or in many cases, provide intimate detail of what they would like to do with the girls concerned.

The pictures were usually home-made, mostly faceless and often taken secretly, the camera focussed on their boobs or vulvas. Some had even been taken in the act of having sex, or just afterwards when their bodies still bore the messy evidence.

Sometimes the women had obviously posed for the pictures. Whether they knew their bodies would be exposed to strangers or believed they were only souvenirs for their partners was unclear, but in either case, I began to find the idea exciting.

Sometimes links to the pictures were sent, other times I was invited into private chatrooms where many pictures were posted for all occupants to see. Up to half a dozen men would all be looking at and lusting over another man’s wife, girlfriend or daughter at the same time, telling each other and the man who had exposed her exactly what they thought of every part of her anatomy.

And, often in the crudest of detail, how they would like to treat her.

The deeper the admiration expressed; the cruder, more detailed and more brutal the comments made, the more the girl’s husband, father or boyfriend appeared to enjoy it.

It didn’t matter whether she was twenty or sixty, skinny or plump, pretty or plain, there was never a shortage of admirers prepared to describe in detail and with passion how they would like to undress, fondle, finger and with varying degrees of force, fuck that girl in front of her partner.

It took a few sessions for me to realise that this was a new form of vicarious cuckolding, but when I did, my understanding of the male psyche improved dramatically. As a result, the quality and verisimilitude of my stories improved dramatically too, and many unexplained behaviours about the men in my real life began to fall into place.

Encouraged by these successes, still masquerading as Pete, I began to join in the comments too, and to my astonishment and shame, really enjoyed doing so.

It genuinely surprised me just how extraordinarily erotic it could be, playing along, pretending to be an aroused male, offering to do unspeakable things to women I had never met, and who probably had no idea their bodies were being exposed online.

By the end of each session, the towel on which I sat was routinely soaked.

Who were these women whose bodies I was looking at so closely and who were evoking such powerful emotions in the men in the room? Were they sluts; Hot Wives as I had been? Women who both knew about and enjoyed taking part in their partners’ perversions?

Or were they innocent, unsuspecting wives, mothers and daughters, all exploited by the men in their lives?

Did they have normal, day to day lives completely oblivious of the way they were being lusted over, desired and abused online? Did they make breakfast for their families every morning, in complete ignorance that their husbands had made them the objects of massive male lust only hours before?

And what about the daughters? Oh my God, what about Izzy?

I already knew there were videos of her having sex, so why not stills too? Had one of her ex-boyfriends posted photos of her to be drooled over by large numbers of unknown men? My daughter’s youthful body was much more worth watching than most I had seen.

At least one of those intimate videos had already been shared at least once so why not more? Were Izzy’s sex tapes now being exchanged freely on the internet? Was my daughter unknowingly a porn star?

The mixture of fear, concern and arousal at these thoughts was extraordinary.

And what about me? After all, videos of me having sex existed too, and what about all the explicit pictures Pete had taken of me with Adam, showing me in every kind of sexual position imaginable?

That thought led to many disturbing images.

Before long, I could not stop imagining that pictures of me really had been posted either by one of my lovers or, God help me, by my own husband, and were even now circulating among lovers of the older female form.

Although I had no real reason to believe it had ever happened, to my shame, far from making me horrified, the idea of strange men drooling over my skinny body and telling my husband how and where they would like to touch or even fuck me made me even more aroused.

If posting a wife’s picture was vicarious cuckolding, wanting to be that wife had to be vicarious exhibitionism. But in my near constant state of semi-arousal, I couldn’t help wondering over and over again what those unknown and unseen men might say about me or want to do with me.

Every time I was invited into a chatroom and shown pictures of a new girl, I couldn’t stop imagining that somewhere in the vastness of the internet, a group of men were watching pictures of me.

My emotions slowly changed from fear and revulsion to intrigue, from intrigue to arousal, then finally from arousal to desire.

Slowly but inexorably, the idea became an obsession.

Another step on the road to Hell had been taken.

*

“It’s no use. I’m sorry Penn!”

Pete sighed. I looked up at his handsome face as it gazed down over his athletic chest and flat tummy at my face. His half erect cock still in my mouth, I gazed as sexily as I could into his eyes and saw the sadness that seemed to have crept into him over the past few weeks.

“You’ll be okay,” I reassured him, returning to the task in hand, or rather, between my lips.

For a few more minutes I devoted my full attention to my husband’s cock, licking, sucking, massaging and squeezing in what was beginning to feel a futile attempt to produce an erection firm enough to penetrate my body.

After so many evenings and nights unsatisfied and frustrated, I needed that penetration so badly.

Thanks to all I had learned from my lovers, I knew my oral skills were at least competent. Licking along the ridge underneath his shaft and around the valley beneath his smooth head while pumping him firmly could usually guarantee a rock-hard erection, but even that technique seemed no longer to work.

I raised my face from his groin with a rueful smile.

“You’re tired. You’re working too hard,” I said, trying not to let my disappointment show.

“Sorry,” Pete said again. “It’s not you…”

I looked at the flaccid collection of male genitalia in my hand and toyed with it. Pete’s long, slim cock had been an unusually dark pink even before my ministrations had begun. Now it looked angry and sore. His scrotum flopped loosely on his upper thighs too instead of being the tight pink sack that usually adorned the base of his shaft.

The feeling of disappointment was hard to conceal but I tried my best.

“Perhaps if we talk about your fantasies?” I suggested. “You haven’t asked me to fuck other men for so long…”

Pete forced a smile.

“You’re right. I haven’t.”

“Do you still like the idea?” I carried on, still slowly pumping. “Still want to be married to a Hot Wife?”

“It still has a certain appeal,” he admitted.

I could feel the slightest stirring in my fist, proving his last statement.

“Still want other men to see my body? Still want me to dress in those short, short dresses when we go out?”

His cock became just a little bit firmer. I was on the right track.

“Still want me to show off my breasts to strangers, like I did on the beach France? Still like having other men’s eyes all over them, making my nipples so, so hard?”

‘Yes!” he hissed, his cock responding even better.

“Still want to ask one of them to fuck me? To make you the cuckold you need to be?”

“God yes!”

“Want me to get ready for him? To style my hair for him? To shave my body for him?”

“Yes! Yes!”

“Want him to strip me naked in front of you? Want him to touch my breasts, my nipples, between my thighs?”

“Mmmm!”

“Want to see me on my knees, sucking his cock? Making him hard enough to fuck me? Want to see me gag on his long thick shaft like the dirty cocksucking slut you made me?”

“Yes Penny! You are a Slut! You are a dirty cocksucking slut!”

Pete’s own cock was nearly fully erect now, his sack tightening nicely at its base. It was almost ready to enter my body but there was still a little way to go.

“Want to see me open my legs for him, Pete?”

“Spread your legs, slut!”

“Want to see him mount me?”

“Yes!”

“Want to ask him to fuck me?”

“Yes!”

“Ask him, Pete!”

“Fuck her! Fuck my slut wife!”

The shaft in my hand was rock hard now, its smooth head swollen and rounded.

“Want to see another man’s cock in my cunt, Pete?”

Despite his arousal, Pete still winced at my use of the ‘c’ word.

“YESSS!”

Without either speaking or breaking eye contact, I rose to my knees on the bed then slowly lifted one leg and mounted him, one knee either side of his waist, his fully erect cock rubbing against the cleft between my buttocks.

Then I reached behind my back, grasped its tip in my fingers and guided it carefully into the mouth of my slowly descending entrance.

“Mmmmm!”

Pete sighed as I lowered myself onto him, his long, slender cock sliding easily its full length into my loose, open, highly lubricated vagina.

Milk dripped from my tiny, middle-aged boobs as the base of my buttocks settled on my husband’s hips and his erect cock forced my cervix high into my belly. I reached for his hands; Pete lifted them to mine and our fingers interlocked.

“What do you want him to do Pete?”

“Fuck you. I want him to fuck you!”

I wriggled forwards and backwards a few times, adjusting the position of Pete’s cock within me, making sure my lubrication was well spread and at the same time, rubbing my already-engorged clitoris against his shaft.

“Fuck me where, Pete?”

“Your cunt. I want him to fuck your cunt!”

I began to rub myself against him more energetically, tilting and flexing my hips as I rose and fell on my knees.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

The base of my buttocks struck the top of Pete’s thighs over and over again, accompanied by the deep, earthier sounds of two middle aged bodies colliding, my poor cervix taking a pounding his Pete’s head with every downwards stroke.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

I gripped his hands tighter. Even after three babies and four lovers, the strength of feeling I had for this man was still intense.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

“God that’s good!” Pete gasped.

“You like the way my cunt feels on your cock?” I growled.

“God yes!”

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

“Better for having been had so many other cocks inside it?”

“Yes! Yes!”

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

“You want it to feel even more cocks, Pete?”

“Yes! Many more!”

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

“You want your wife to be a slut again? You want to watch me being fucked again?”

“Yes! A slut! I want you to be a slut!”

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

I could tell Pete was nearing his climax. In a very short time, yet another dose of semen would burst forth from the end of his familiar cock and be sprayed across my cervix.

Although I knew I would not reach orgasm, it still felt so good to have my husband’s erect cock deep inside me again; to feel the love and closeness that had been lacking for the last few weeks.

“Tell me! Tell me!” I panted in time with my rising and falling.

“I’m going to cum, Slut!”

“Where Pete? Where are you going to cum?”

“In your cunt! In your big, wet, sloppy, slutty cunt!”

My chest went tight with arousal. No matter how often I heard those words, they still invoked the animal in me; the wild, feral creature whose sole purpose in life was to have sex and make babies.

“Do it Pete!” I growled as I reached as close to orgasm as I was going to reach. “Cum in me now!”

“MmmmmMMM!”

I could feel the cock inside me beginning to throb and pulsate and knew that the first rope of semen was only seconds away.

“Do it Pete! Cum in me! Cum in your slut wife’s cunt!”

I looked wide eyed into my husband’s face as he began to ejaculate inside me, his features screwed up with the force of his climax.

Though deprived of the orgasm I still needed, it felt good to be able to bring my husband such obvious pleasure and besides, I could always finish myself off with my fingers or toys once Pete had fallen asleep.

After all, it was what my sex life mostly consisted of these days.

*

‘Hmmmmm’

The desktop computer was taking a frustratingly long time to boot up.

It was the following Monday, Pete wasn’t due home until evening, so while Leanne was having her morning nap, I sat at the study desk, my heart beating hard and a feeling of guilt flowing through me. Choosing my moment had been easy; deciding to bite the bullet and do it had been much harder.

Unsure what I expected to find and apprehensive about what I might actually discover, I began to go through the most promising directories of photographs in the family archive that I could find, in search of any evidence that my images had been shared online.

Although my mind told me it was foolish; that I would find nothing and should want to find nothing, my body was sending completely different messages. My body was telling me in no uncertain terms that it wanted to have been exposed; that it wanted men to have drooled and lusted over it and, just in case the message wasn’t clear enough, it was lubricating for all it was worth into my panties to make sure I understood.

My understanding of computers was limited, but I had sat by Pete often enough to have picked up a few techniques and was using them to the best of my ability.

To my disappointment, the most careful analysis of all the browser histories revealed only my own forays into the world of online sex. This proved nothing of course; Pete could have used his laptop or just cleaned out the evidence afterwards, but it soon became clear there was nothing to find.

There was nothing in his favourites either so, frustrated, I turned my attention to the photographs themselves.

Apart from holiday snaps, I had taken only limited interest in photography and as far as I knew, my husband’s interest went little further. I did know that he stored the main archive on our study desktop computer’s hard drive; he had proudly told me how it was backed up to the cloud every day so we would never lose a cherished picture of the kids when they were young.

So I began to search.

Despite Pete’s pleasingly efficient, carefully dated file organisation, it was still a daunting task. Tens of thousands of images went back several decades, and I had few ideas where to look - but I was determined.

There was no sign of any directory either named or dated on or around our two Manchester weekends. I searched for images created on those dates too but again found none. Either the explicit files were hidden, encrypted or Pete was keeping them safely elsewhere.

I was just about to give up and do some ironing when as a last thought, I looked for recently used files and directories. There I found a series of filenames which I could see were photos.

I clicked on the first file. It opened and I sat back in my chair in surprise.

The picture on screen had clearly been taken during our holiday in France the previous year; an image of me in my bikini by our cottage’s private swimming pool that I did not know even existed.

It seemed innocuous; lying on my side in the sun, my tiny yellow bikini revealing rather more fifty-year-old flesh that was perhaps wise, but it was in no way pornographic. Pete must have taken it while I was dozing, or perhaps when he had been concealed by the cottage’s blue shuttered doors.

I found the directory in which the picture was stored; it contained at least two dozen other pictures.

Intrigued and excited, I clicked on a few other filenames to find more images, all of me, all taken by the pool. My legs looked long but incredibly skinny, my bottom bony. In every case, the words that most accurately described the images were ‘revealing’ and ‘sexy’ – at least what qualified as sexy for a woman my age and body shape.

I clicked through a few more, to find myself in the same bikini but this time on my back.

I shuddered with embarrassment as I saw my swollen, bare, obviously pregnant belly exposed to the sun’s rays in all its naked glory. Though taut, the skin on my baby bump showed obvious stretch marks from my previous three pregnancies.

With my arms held above my head, my tiny boobs covered by the tiny yellow bikini top made hardly an undulation on my bony chest.

Again, nothing pornographic, but I did wonder why my husband had concealed this set of pictures from me. After all, he had bored me half to death with the hundreds he had taken of markets or ancient ruins.

The answer to that question became clearer a few clicks later when a new set of pictures appeared. In these I was in the same position and the same location, but with my bikini top removed.

As I have explained, during that holiday the emotions and hormones of my pregnancy along with my stalled Hot Wife lifestyle had led me to dress and behave in ways most women my age would consider unwise. I had worn shorter, tighter, more revealing dresses and skirts showing off more of my skinny, fifty-year old body to the public than any pregnant woman, let alone one my age should even contemplate.

And I had gone topless by the pool and on the beach on many occasions, believing myself to be invisible to all but my husband.

Pete seemed to have taken full advantage of this; the directory contained no less than a dozen pictures of me topless, taken from various angles and magnifications. In some, my arms were raised, making my boobs all but vanish into the flatness of my chest. In others, my arms were forward, showing my boobs at their apparent largest, as two small pointed cones.

With a frown of astonishment, I pressed on with my search and within seconds had found half a dozen pictures that genuinely shocked me.

As I clicked on the first, another picture of me appeared. Or at least of part of me. I looked in horror as the screen was filled with the pink and yellow image of my own bikini-covered groin. I was lying on my back, my legs parted just enough to reveal beneath the swelling of my pregnant belly, the tight yellow fabric of my bikini bottoms pulled high between my thighs.

Nothing below my thighs or above my navel was visible. It could have been any woman; only Pete and I would know it was me. I clicked again to find another, then another similar shot, each one moving closer and closer as the cameraman dared approach.

As the last few images filled my screen, I saw my lycra-covered vulva in extreme closeup. From the smooth curve of my belly to my skinny upper thighs, all was clearly visible. Even the dark patch on the bikini gusset was clear for all to see.

To get that close up, Pete must have had the zoom on his phone close to maximum or else he had secretly brought the camera he had acquired for our first Manchester adventure.

The damp patch was vertical, in the centre of the strip of cloth between my upper thighs. Sweat would have dampened and darkened the edges; this patch could only have been caused by arousal.

I shivered despite myself when I realised this then sat back amazed.

I had no idea Pete had made such a collection.

The fact that my husband had a secret stash of sexy pictures was no real surprise. That they were all of me was far greater a shock. But I asked myself, what had I expected to find? Pictures of porn stars? Of celebrities? Of our friends?

And what was the purpose of the collection? As keepsakes? As masturbatory aids?

Or was it as I had both feared and desired, a source of material to be shared with other men online?

Ten more minutes of clicking revealed a dozen or more pictures of me completely or nearly naked; all of them taken either secretly when I was in the shower, the bathroom or when I was sleeping naked after we had made love.

All of them showed my pregnant belly, my naked boobs, thighs and especially my vulva to any watching eyes. A few even showed Pete’s semen oozing from my hairless slit as I slept.

My heart was thumping in my chest as I reached for the flash drive close by.

*

Twelve hours later I was sitting at my dresser in the bedroom, naked apart from my open-fronted maternity nightie, a folded towel beneath my bottom, my laptop open in front of me.

Pete was away overnight yet again, as the drops of milk seeping from my sore teats testified, Leanne had just had her last, enthusiastic feed of the day and would be asleep for hours.

The feed had as usual left me aroused, but his time my arousal went much, much further.

It was a perfect opportunity – if I dared take it.

My hands trembled as I booted up the machine and logged into the two online chatrooms that I most often frequented, signing in openly as my husband, Pete and looking to see if any of my regular friends were online.

I had high hopes; this late at night would be early evening in the USA so a good many men, and rather fewer women would be signing in after work or after dinner.

My heart thumped as I searched; success!

Within a few minutes I had greeted no less than five male chatters I knew were either actual or would-be cuckolds themselves, and who had with me, admired pictures of each other’s wives and girlfriends many times before.

It was the work of less than two minutes to create a shared room and invite them to join me.

‘You’re not usually this forward Pete’ appeared in the chat bar. ‘What’s up?’

‘It’s my turn tonight’ I replied.

‘You got pics of your wife for us?’

‘Yep’

‘Hey guys Pete’s finally going to let us see his Hot Wife’

‘Hey! Great’

‘About bloody time’ from a chatter who could only be British.

‘I hope she’s worth the wait’ I typed.

‘So do we. You’ve waited long enough’ came the immediate response.

‘Well get on with it’.

My finger hovered nervously over the Upload icon. Was I really brave enough or foolish enough to expose myself online to men who were, after all, strangers?

My tummy was alive with butterflies as I bit my lip and clicked the button.

Seconds later my screen, and the screens of five unknown men were filled with six images of a skinny, pregnant fifty-one-year-old woman by the bright blue waters of a Provençale swimming pool. Some had her face down, some face up but, thanks to careful selection and cropping, in none of them was her face recognisably visible.

I had actually done it. There I was on screen, clad only in a tiny bikini, available for them all to see. I waited, my heart thumping, for the first comments. The first message came within seconds.

‘Hot!’

‘This really your wife Pete?’

‘Yes of course,’ I replied.

‘Not some random women on holiday?’

‘Nope that’s her’

‘Wow!’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Penny’ I typed instinctively.

The thrill that came over me when I realised I had unthinkingly used my real name was a revelation.

‘You said she was fifty something’

‘She is’

‘But she’s pregnant’

‘Yes. Well she was then.’

‘I didn’t know you could be pregnant that old’

‘Neither did we’

‘Shit man! You didn’t mean to knock her up?’

I drew a deep breath.

‘I didn’t knock her up. I’ve had the snip’

‘Fuck! Who did it then?’

‘One-night stand’

‘He younger?’

‘Not even thirty. Personal trainer’

‘You’re kidding right?’

‘Not kidding. He fucked her all night and sent her home with a baby in her belly’

‘Jesus Christ’

‘She pregnant still?’

‘No. The baby was born last year’

‘Does he look like his Dad?’

‘Yes, but it’s a girl’

‘Fuck me, that’s hot’

There was a gap. When the conversation re started, all five watchers began to chip in, and the chat began to gather a momentum of its own.

‘Nice long legs. I like ‘em skinny’

‘Yeah and a tight ass too. She work out?’

‘She used to’

‘Love that big, pregnant belly. Wish I’d fucked that baby into her’

‘Me too. I love knocking up other men’s wives’

‘You wish, Bob’

‘Really! I’ve knocked up two cuckold’s wives’

‘Bullshit!’

‘I’d give her one any day. Look at those tits’

‘Where? I can’t see any Lol’

‘Love those tiny tits’

‘Me too. Those are REALLY small’

‘Yeah like bee stings’

‘Lol’

‘Lol’

‘You got any pics of her bare tits Pete?’

My body was tingling at these comments, my vulva getting damper by the second, but my hand was steady as I clicked on three more images, this time topless, and uploaded them. My topless boobs appeared on the screen is all their glory, such as it was.

‘Hey! Nice!’

‘Jeez they look even smaller bare’

‘Right but really sexy too. She breastfeeding the baby?’

‘Yes she is’

‘With those puppies? Poor thing must be hungry? Lol’

‘Those nips are rock hard tho. She’s well turned on’

‘Yeah I see them. She get turned on easily Pete?’

‘All the time’ I typed truthfully, feeling the truth of those words spreading throughout my body.

‘Did she know you were taking the pics? Is that why she’s hard?’

‘No I took them secretly. She’s hard most of the time these days’

‘You ever suck those nips? Ever drain her milk?’

Pete had never done this, but I knew it wasn’t what they wanted to hear.

‘Sometimes’

‘Taste good?’

‘Very’

‘Get her wet too?’

‘God yes!’

And indeed even the thought was making a difference. My already hard nipples were now like rocks, my vulva positively oozing lubrication.

After a few minutes more, my thighs had parted a little way and my fingers had strayed to my groin where they toyed absent-mindedly with my soft downy triangle.

‘You like fucking her after feeding Pete?

‘Love it’

With one hand occupied, may answers had to be short and sweet.

‘She demanding?’

‘Very’ I replied, again truthfully.

‘She still fuck other men too?’

‘Wants to’

‘Got her diary close by? LOL’

‘She like black men?’

‘Never had one’

‘Jesus Pete. You gotta get her fucked by a BBC. She wont; know what’s hit her’

‘Yeah. I’m available too. Have cock, will travel’

Three smiley faces appeared in the dialogue bar.

My fingers moved faster and the glow in my lower belly grew stronger. The air in the room felt cool against my wet vulva. Keeping my eyes fixed on the screen, I leaned back in my chair, spread my legs wide then plunged my fingers into my slit and over my clitoris.

“Mmmmmmm!”

My body responded quickly as I knew it would. No stranger to masturbation, I could tell that this session was going to be a good one. I watched the words appearing spellbound, stroking myself gently but firmly as the men’s dialogue grew more passionate and more explicit.

‘I’d love to see that pussy with a thick black cock stuck in it’

‘Shit yeah’

‘How about that pussy Pete? Got any closeups?’

I gulped. Things were going faster than I had expected. The effect on me was much more powerful than I had expected too. Reluctantly, I withdrew my fingers from my crotch and loaded a couple of the pictures of my bikini covered groin.

The zoomed in image of my thighs, belly and crotch filled the screen so completely that I sat back on my chair.

‘Wow! So big!’ appeared in the dialogue box.

‘That’s one hell of a pussy’

‘And so wet. Look at those dark patches’

‘Christ yes. She’s oozing lube.’

‘Bit of a cameltoe too. I love thick, meaty lips’

‘If ever I saw a pussy that needed pounding it’s that one’

My hands flew back to my slit and resumed their important work. I bit my lip as a wave of pleasure rippled through me.

‘Right. Had you just fucked her Pete?’

‘No. Fucked her afterwards’

My reply was invented. I had no idea whether Pete had fucked me that day but given all we had done that holiday, it was odd-on that he had.

‘She shaved? Can’t see any fur’

‘Was then’ I admitted. ‘Trimmed now.’

‘I prefer a bit of fur. Something to get stuck between my teeth’

‘LOL’

‘You lick it much Pete?’

‘Often’

‘Any creampies there lately’

‘Not for a while’

A sad face emoji.

‘Imagine licking warm cum out of that cunt’

‘Yeah. Feeling those skinny thighs either side of my head’

‘Sniffing that poon tang’

‘You eat out the cum that knocked her up Pete?’

‘Wasn’t there’ I replied on my husband’s behalf.

‘Too bad’

There was a gap in the chat. In my mind I pictured five men sitting at their computers, their trousers around their knees, their cocks erect, their hands pumping. The idea that my fifty-two-year-old body was causing it, was incredibly arousing.

My fingers moved faster between my spread thighs, faster and faster, in small fast circles over and around my hardening nub.

“MmmmmMMMMM!”

The first tremors of a minor climax came barely a minute later. A second flush followed soon afterwards. I bit my lips to stifle the sound. It felt good but that night I needed more.

‘How many cocks has she had?’

‘Since married?’

It was so hard typing one handed.

‘Yep’

‘5’

“Including yours?’

‘Yes’

‘How many times she been fucked?’

‘God knows.’

‘Fifty? Hundred maybe?’

‘Probably’

‘Her pussy looks well used’

‘It is’

‘She still tight?’

‘No. Very loose’ I added, posting another sad face emoji.

‘Too many kids?’

‘One too many maybe’ came a helpful suggestion.

‘Shame’ chimed in another watcher. ‘I hate it when a good pussy gets ruined’

‘Better stick it up her ass instead. LOL’

‘You fuck her ass Pete’

‘Lots’ I admitted, again truthfully.

As if in response, my sphincter began to tingle. I worked it with one finger while the others played frantically with my slit and engorged clitoris.

‘She like it up the ass?’

‘Yep’

‘Is she tight back there?’

‘Very’

I added a smiley face.

“MMMMMMMMMMM!”

I tried again to suppress my moan as the next wave of climax rippled through me.

‘She good in bed Pete?’

‘Yep’

‘Have you watched her being fucked?’

‘Yep’

‘Up the ass?’

‘Yep’

‘Eat the creampie afterwards?’

‘No. Condom’

There was another brief pause; long enough for the image of five masturbating men to fill my head again. Another wave of pleasure rippled through me.

‘I want to see that pussy bare’ eventually came on screen.

‘Yeah. Show us her slit, Pete’

‘Show us her clit, Pete’

‘Show us her hole, Pete’

‘That doesn’t rhyme’

‘Fuck rhyming. I want to see Penny’s cunt wide open’

‘Fuck yeah!’

‘I wanna see those lips. I wanna cum watching that cunt’

‘You got her bare cunt Pete?’

‘Yeah. Don’t let us down fella. I’m nearly ready to cum too’

As far as I knew, the only pictures of my bare vulva were hidden away in Pete’s Manchester stash. Immensely aroused, massively turned on by the thought of my body about to bring five men I hardly knew to orgasm, I knew I would only get the release I needed if I somehow satisfied them.

But how?

I saw my phone on the desk next to my handbag and snatched it up. It sprang into life. Suddenly I knew a solution was in my hand, but was it sheer madness? Sheer wickedness?

‘Come on Pete. Give us her cunt. I can’t hold back much longer’

Knowing it was insane, I touched the camera icon. I could hear my heart beating and my tummy was so tight I felt almost sick, but there was no going back. Slowly, carefully I lowered the camera between my open thighs then, with the fingers of my other hand, I parted my puffy outer lips and exposed the collection of soaking wet flesh inside.

‘Click. Click-Click’

Within seconds, a message appeared on my laptop screen telling me that the images had been transferred. Seconds later and with barely a moment’s thought, I had clicked the Upload icon and they were on not just my screen, but five others somewhere in the world.

‘Jesus Christ Pete!’

‘Fuck me that’s’ one hell of a pussy!’

I stared at my screen, partly horrified at what I had done but at the same time, more aroused than I had been for many months.

There, slightly out of focus but in full close-up colour was my own bare fifty-two-year-old vulva. My fingertips were visible, obscuring most of my trimmed, greying pubic triangle but holding my lips open obscenely wide. My clitoris was clearly visible too, its rounded nub standing firm and proud between my fingertips, pointing directly towards the camera. Beneath it lay the entrance to my vagina, a dark, pink-rimmed hole, framed by long inner lips and gaping from where I had thrust my fingers deep into it.

‘This really Penny?’

‘Yep’

‘You get to fuck this?’

‘Yep’

‘You share it too?’

‘Yep’

‘Fuck I wanna meet you guys in RL’

‘Me too but I gotta cum right now’

‘BRB’

‘brb’

There could only be one reason for their temporary absence.

For me, this thought was the final straw; I had to join them; I had to cum too and cum hard, right there and right then.

Desperate for release, I threw myself on the bed, rolled onto my front and thrust my bunched fist into my groin. Crushed between my hips and the mattress, my fingers curled up and into my body, first on my clit, then inside my vagina, then back to my clit again, feeling the sensations building and building very quickly indeed as I humped my own hand.

“MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!”

The wave of climax that immediately surged outwards from my groin shook me bodily, making me growl and groan uncontrollably, my face buried in the pillow. Soft pinging sounds came from the laptop across the room as more messages appeared on the screen, but I was beyond watching or caring.

Instead, I thrust my fingers hard into my weeping vagina once again then dragged them roughly across the underside of my clitoris. My hands shook as I came noisily and messily, desperately trying to stiffly the moaning to prevent me waking my sleeping baby.

“YYYyeeeeeooooWWWWW!”

I bit my lip hard as I came hard, my whole body shaking, bucking against my hand, my mind picturing men all over the world bringing themselves to messy climaxes, their lust and passion inspired not by porn, not by models or movie stars but by my own well-used, middle-aged body.

“AAAAYYYYOOOOOWWWW!”

As the image of cascading semen burned into my mind, a final, massive orgasm rolled over me, wave after wave, each pulse stronger than the last. My hips bucked against my fist, my mouth opened wide in silent scream, my face burned with the intensity of my climax until I finally let my fingers fall loose, my body crushed them beneath my groin, and I lay trembling face downwards on the bed.

Oh God! What had I discovered?

*

A few days later, I was sitting in the nursery, alone in the house, giving Leanne her evening feed.

Three times since that first night I had pretended to be my husband and exposed myself to different groups of men online. Three times I had heard my body praised, criticised, abused, and lusted over. Three times I had watched as strange men had explained in sordid, painful detail what they would like to do with me and to me and all in front of my helpless cuckolded husband.

Three times I had brought myself to orgasm with my fingers.

I was hooked, and eagerly looking forward to getting back online again when to my surprise, my phone began to ring out and Tony’s name appeared on the screen.

I should have ignored it as I had done before, but Pete had been absent from my bed too often and I had been feeding as usual without panties, sitting on my folded towel. Consequently, I was feeling a little neglected, more than a little aroused and as a result, was not thinking as clearly as perhaps I should.

Something told me I was about to make a mistake, but instinct was stronger, and I picked up the phone. Leanne was lying on one arm, latched tightly to my left nipple but if I wriggled a bit, I could just about press the green button.

‘Home alone again Penny?’ the familiar voice asked knowingly, stressing the word ‘again’.

‘How do you know?’ I asked, suspiciously.

‘I have my sources’ came the enigmatic reply. ‘Want some company tonight? It must be about feeding time, so I know you’ll be feeling horny.’

This was a new approach, but I was wise to the danger Tony represented.

‘Run out of teenage girls already?’ I asked.

The tone was supposed to be bitter and sneering, referring to his outrageous seduction and repeated fucking of my daughter Isobel the previous year.

‘Bella wasn’t a teenager when we fucked.’

His response came straight back, deliberately taunting me in return, by using both the ‘f’ word and the pet name he had given her during their affair.

‘Only by a few weeks.’

Izzy had been twenty, but only just when he had first seduced her.

‘She’s very experienced for her years. Very adventurous too. Like mother, like daughter perhaps?’

The thought of the two of them in bed together, of his familiar fifty-something year old body rising and falling between my daughter’s willingly spread, twenty-year-old thighs was hard to shake from my mind. It should never have happened once, let alone become an affair, but for reasons with which I was only too familiar, Izzy had kept coming back to Tony for more.

‘Is this supposed to make me want you back in my bed?’ I asked. ‘Because it isn’t working.’

‘Spoilsport!’

I waited a minute or two in case he had anything more to say before speaking.

‘What do you want?’ I asked, frowning.

‘I miss you Penny. You know how much. And I know how much you miss me too.’

‘Like I miss root canal work.’

‘Ha ha! Good joke but you know I go much deeper than that.’

I grimaced at the innuendo. We both knew that it was the extraordinary thickness of Tony’s stubby cock, not its much less impressive length that brought his conquests so much pleasure in bed.

But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of saying so.

‘What do you want Tony?’ I repeated impatiently.

‘I just wanted to make the offer. It can’t be easy being alone with the baby so often.’

Again, I asked myself how he knew I was so frequently alone. But he was carrying on.

‘And I know you. If you’re not getting fucked regularly, you’ll be climbing the walls.’

How could he possibly know my sex life had become so sporadic and disappointing?

‘I could come over and help,’ he offered. ‘I’m good with children, aren’t I? Your children especially.’

‘Leanne is too young, even for your twisted tastes.’ I replied bitterly.

‘Ouch! That hurt! It’s you I want Penny. You know I’ve always had a thing about nursing mothers.’

‘Pervert!’

‘Takes one to know one.’

‘Grow up, Tony.’

There was a brief pause.

‘Why don’t I bring dinner round? As I recall, you always enjoyed Chinese food after a good fucking. Sex builds up your appetite too.’

‘I’ve already eaten thanks. Goodnight Tony I...’

I made to hang up, but he interrupted me.

‘Pete really wouldn’t mind if we got together again, not now. You do know that?’

This wrong footed me for a moment. As far as I knew, my husband would go berserk if he found out I had even been talking to Tony.

‘I think you’re wrong there,’ I replied.

‘Am I Penny? Don’t be so sure. Times change. People change. Things happen.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just saying. Anyway, you know where I am if you need me.’

‘Why would I need you?’

‘No reason. But if you change your mind I’ll be right there, ready, willing and able. Sweet dreams!’

To my annoyance, this time it was Tony who ended the call.

I stared at the phone, puzzled. Both his words and his tone of voice suggested he knew something I did not; that he held some secret over me. I did not like that idea at all.

I put the handset down hard, the sudden movement dislodging Leanne from my nipple. Sighing, I turned her round and began feeding from my other breast. She latched on quickly and soon the serene flow of milk from my body into hers resumed.

The warm, tingling feeling from my nipples to my clitoris returned too, for the moment distracting me from trying to work out what Tony had hoped to achieve from his strange call.

Though I got nowhere, one thing was certain. Whatever his motives were, they were not what he had just pretended.