Corporate Bodies - Pt 04 - Fidelity free porn video

Chapter Fifteen

If I ever needed proof of my wife’s genius as a psychologist, then the next few weeks provided it in bucket loads. However doubtful I had first been about the principle of separating Amanda, the sweet wife and mother from Mandy the whore, they were completely dispelled. I could see it working in front of me.

After a few hastily corrected slip-ups, it was clear that with hard work and patience she really could switch her mind between the two personalities and as she managed to do it, so I was increasingly able to do so too.

It’s amazing what the human mind can come to terms with if it really tries, and after two weeks of anxious, broken nights, I could feel my mind grudgingly adjusting to our new relationship.

Though I would be lying if I said I was in any way happy with it.

True to his reputation, Andy kept his word and never referred to his relationship with my wife either directly or by implication. In a surreal way, work carried on as it always had; with the calm professionalism that Sandersons was famous for, making it astonishingly easy to forget during the working day, that I was actually a major fraudster who was being cuckolded on a weekly basis.

At home, it was much less easy to forget, but life was just about tolerable. On the rare occasions that Mandy was mentioned at all, it was only in the third person, as if she was a guest who occasionally came to visit. Whatever was going on inside her head, to outward appearances my beautiful wife was carrying on as if nothing had changed. To my relief, it looked as if our kids were totally unaware that their parents’ relationship had moved to a new phase.

All kids can be self-centred and unaware of what’s going on around them, but for once this selfishness was a boon.

In practical terms, however, we did have to make some changes to accommodate Mandy’s regular presence in our lives, and over the first few weeks, several things happened to change our lifestyle.

Amanda taught at her school on Wednesday mornings and before Andy’s revelation, she used to work out at the gym around lunchtime then spend the afternoon on her PhD until the kids came home from school.

Now every Wednesday just before four o’clock, she – or more accurately Mandy - would leave home to go to her appointment at Andy’s apartment carrying a large sports bag that contained whatever she needed. The previous hour would have been spent bathing and getting her hair, nails and make-up to a position where they could quickly and easily be finished off in the apartment’s bathroom when she arrived.

Amanda always wore her gym kit as she left the house in case the kids or indeed any of our friends became suspicious, only changing into whatever outfit she had chosen – or had been ordered to wear – when she arrived.

I was not allowed to know, or even ask what those outfits were and had to fight my curiosity hard.

While Mandy was away being fucked, it became my responsibility to look after the kids after school. This meant working from home for part of the afternoon, but my new role as Junior Partner gave me a lot more flexibility and of course it wasn’t a problem for my boss, Andy who was ‘otherwise occupied’.

After her first visit, Mandy chose to drive herself to and from her assignations, but at my insistence parked her car a street or two away from the ‘scene of the crime’ to avoid comment from any friends or colleagues who might notice its frequent presence.

When she returned home soon after six, she was usually in her gym kit again but was always distracted, often a little dishevelled, and her face and chest were usually flushed pink. To outward appearances, she looked as if she had simply been exerting herself in the gym.

Of course, the freshly fucked aroma surrounding her body revealed the real direction her exertions had taken; exertions of a very different nature indeed, but only I was ever close enough to know this and always greeted her affectionately for the kids’ sake.

Still in her ‘Mandy’ mode, my wife would not kiss or hug me properly until she had showered, dressed and become Amanda once again.

But I made sure I got close and inhaled deeply whenever I was near her. The distinctive aroma of recent sex that surrounded her on her return, made me shiver with pain. But at the same time and much to my shame, I could not deny that it gave me a perverse new sexual thrill and massive arousal too.

Mandy would then take herself off for a long bath or short shower, depending on how stiff and achy her exertions had made her.

When she came back downstairs, she was ‘Amanda’ and ‘Mum’ again. Apart from whatever small physical marks her adventure and exertions had left on her body, she was to all outward intents the wife and mother she had always been.

To all outward intents perhaps, but definitely not to me!

For me, the author of our misfortunes, there could be no relief. There could be no separation of Amanda and Mandy for her guilt-ridden, cuckolded husband. As far as I was concerned, my wife was being fucked by another man, was reaching orgasms I had seldom if ever provided, and it was all my fault.

After dinner and when the kids had gone to bed, she would then spend an hour or two in the study working on her PhD while I worked on my laptop in front of the TV until bedtime.

The merest suggestion of having sex on Wednesdays after Mandy’s fucking would be met with hostility, so I soon stopped suggesting it.

At first, and to my considerable frustration, Amanda changed into her nightclothes in the bathroom to hide her freshly fucked body from me. But as the weeks passed and her infidelity became part of our lives – albeit an unwelcome part – she became less anxious to conceal herself.

As a result, I could often see how red, inflamed and distended her vulva usually was after Andy’s attentions; something sex with me had only rarely produced even in our younger years. On a few occasions, I could tell she was having discomfort sitting or walking too, especially on Thursday mornings when her body had stiffened up overnight.

My mind boggled as I tried to imagine what she and Andy had been doing.

There were other marks on her body too. On one Thursday morning I saw small dark bruises on her upper thighs and on her breasts; another time, her buttocks bore thin red stripes as if they had been whipped with something long and slim. Once when I hugged Amanda goodnight, squeezing her breasts against my chest, she yelped with pain.

I could only imagine what she and Andy might have done that could have left her nipples so sore.

My frustration at not knowing was almost unbearable, but as we had agreed and as I had solemnly promised, I never asked for any details about what had taken place during Mandy’s appointment. Though by now my curiosity was almost physically painful and it took all my rather weak self-control to keep my questions to myself, I kept my promise.

After her eleventh appointment she was unusually coy, even for Amanda, wrapping herself in towels going in and out of the shower and wearing a full-length nightgown in bed afterwards. It wasn’t until two days later that I noticed her sparse blonde pubic hair had entirely gone, leaving her smooth and pale, almost child-like between her slender thighs.

For some reason this deliberate alteration to her body to please her lover disturbed and aroused me more than any of the previous signs of infidelity. No doubt Amanda could have explained the psychology behind both Mandy’s actions and my responses, but of course this too was one of the many questions I was not allowed to ask.

Unsurprisingly, our previous, near-daily sex life slowed down considerably. As I have explained, sex straight after her dates with Andy was unthinkable, but over time, the rest of our lovemaking began to suffer too. Daily sex became weekly; weekly dwindled to monthly and then even less frequently.

And when we did make love, Amanda seldom reached orgasm anymore, no matter what I did in the way of foreplay or penetration. Even our favourite, most successful positions proved ineffective. Only my very best efforts at cunnilingus could bring her anywhere near the releases I so badly wanted her to enjoy, and even these orgasms didn’t seem close to the incredible climaxes the state of her body suggested Andy was now routinely giving her.

I noticed a gradual change to her wardrobe too. On a day-to-day basis there was little to show; perhaps her newer skirts were just that little bit shorter or her tops a little tighter, or she carried herself a little differently, but that could have just been my imagination. However, one day when I was replacing freshly ironed jeans in her closet, I noticed a bundle of unfamiliar items in a bag at the back.

Looking carefully around and with guilt written all over my face, I opened the bundle and looked inside, my heart thumping. The garments had clearly been worn but I had never seen them before. Presuming they had been bought for Mandy’s appointments with Andy, I pulled them out to look at, curious.

At first all I found were two cocktail dresses, one red, the other blue. Both were much shorter than my wife would usually wear – the blue dress would barely have covered her bottom - but as I searched further, I discovered more hidden purchases.

Beneath the rails I found a box containing a pair of ludicrously high heels; so high they could not possibly have been used on the street, although the scuff marks on their soles suggested otherwise.

I looked further and found, concealed at the far left-hand end of the closet rail, a handful of very short, very tight skirts unlike anything I had seen her wear in all our marriage. In a low drawer I found some new lingerie too.

The skirts were so short and of such cheap, tacky material that I was sure she would never have worn them in public, at least not when out with me. And the lingerie? Well, in addition to expensive matching silk bras and panties, there were other, cruder items including, to my amazement and horror, a pair of crotchless red knickers and a tiny black bra with no ends to its cups. My wife’s long, sensitive nipples would have poked straight through them.

All these items had clearly been used and from their condition, more than once.

As I bent over to close the bottom drawer, the large, hard erection that had been pressing painfully through the seam of my underpants made its presence impossible to ignore. My head spinning, I took the crotchless panties into the en-suite bathroom, lowered my trousers and underpants, then wrapped them around my cock and, once again, masturbated in front of the mirror.

My reflection looked at me contemptuously as I pumped my rock-hard erection, first slowly, then with increasing force and vigour as vivid images of my wife’s body being pounded by my boss tortured my mind.

Of her lying on her back, legs raised and spread as his hips slammed into the soft underside of her buttocks. Of her climaxing freely and helplessly as his cock battered the smooth peach of her cervix. Of her begging him to fill her with his seed, her orgasmic enjoyment putting my own efforts deep into the shade, ruining her forever as far as our rapidly waning sex life was concerned.

The pain was both exquisite and unbearable, but blessedly did not last long. Soon, release overtook me and I began to cum noisily, my whole body shaking as a full-on, copious ejaculation began. Semen spurted wildly from the tiny lips on my rounded end as my pumping hand became a blur, spraying the silvered glass with thick, creamy sperm-free fluid.

Afterwards, my body still tingling, I wiped the bathroom clean of all traces of my ejaculation, then carefully replaced every item of clothing exactly as I had found it.

I did not mention any of this to Amanda when she came home later that day - though it took all my self-control.

*

As we lay in bed that night, sleep was impossible; my head was overflowing with images of Amanda, Mandy or whoever my beautiful, intelligent wife wanted to be.

Of her parading herself in front of my boss, her pointed nipples standing proud through the bra’s tiny, half-filled cups, her crotchless panties displaying her newly shaved vulva like a wanton slut.

Of her lying, legs spread beneath the man who had taken my place as her only lover, her slender, sweet body being repeatedly and willingly penetrated by a cock as thick as her wrist, her eyes open, her mouth, her body and soul begging to receive his seed.

And throughout the agonising hours of darkness, as these horrific images burned themselves indelibly into my mind, one dreadful thought prevailed.

It was all my stupid, stupid fault.

Chapter Sixteen

Perversely at work, things were going better than I had imagined. I was adapting well to my new role, though the workload was enormous as the proposed date approached for signing the contract with the Turkish government.

As expected, negotiations had been complex and tortuous, involving both the EU and Turkish authorities on multiples levels, and I had made several visits to both Brussels and Ankara to deal with important issues as they arose.

This meant that I had to spend more and more time at the office or working from home late into the night. One unexpected benefit of this was that it helped take my mind off my wife’s now regular Wednesday afternoon assignations with Andy, if only for an hour or two. It also felt good to know that, however important Amanda’s sexual compliance had been in getting my promotion, fundamentally I was there because I was bloody good at my job!

The negotiations from the Turkish side were being handled by a team from their Finance Ministry headed by a Senior Minister, Mr. Pamuk. Their objective was to get as much approval from the EU monitors as possible without giving away any more information than absolutely necessary. The EU team headed by Mme Flauret was considerably more idealistic and wanted to know and understand every last intricate detail of the Ministry's operation.

My job, in brief, was to get more information out of Ankara than they wanted to give and to persuade Brussels that the information I had gleaned was more valuable and detailed than it actually was. It was not going to be easy.

In true EU style, the negotiations were punctuated regularly by social events such as drinks evenings, presentations and the occasional dinner. Amanda played her part to the full on these occasions, being both extraordinarily attractive and extremely well-informed company. Mme Flauret, a tall, ascetic, slightly unworldly blonde in her late fifties, took to Amanda well and the two of them spent long periods engrossed in lofty intellectual conversation, much to the disappointment of Mr. Pamuk, who was clearly attracted to my wife for rather more earthly reasons.

Amanda had to play a delicate game with Pamuk, one in which she spent just enough time with him to appear polite, attentive and flattering, but not long enough for him to feel encouraged enough to press his attentions further. His somewhat dubious reputation suggested this would certainly happen at some point.

Considerably shorter than both Amanda and I, and considerably overweight into the bargain, our evenly tanned Turkish colleague was nonetheless pleasant, well-educated and interesting to talk to. His English faultless, he had been part of the government for less than two years and his rise had been meteoric.

His current position was by no means secure, though, and as a result, he was keen to show quick success in his dealings with the EU via Sandersons. For Pamuk, this success involved maximizing his personal publicity in Turkey for consumption by the more traditional, orthodox sector of society that had delivered him his small but workable majority in the recent elections.

His considerable history of philandering was not well known outside a small group of associates, but among those ‘in the know’ he was infamous, especially in his ability to entice, persuade or intimidate the wives of colleagues into his bed. Through my growing network of contacts, I was well aware of this and had warned Amanda on many occasions to beware.

“He’s always charming with me,” she insisted whenever I mentioned the subject. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself in this type of situation.”

I knew this to be true, but having once seen my wife ‘in flagrante delicto’ with Andy and knowing that for many months he had been fucking her – or rather, fucking Mandy on a weekly basis - had changed me.

Having seen with my own eyes the orgasmic heights which my wife could reach in the hands of the right man, I knew I would never feel quite secure in our marriage again.

To my relief, I did notice that Amanda spent as little time with Pamuk as politeness required, preferring to talk to Mme Flauret, or Elodie as we were now permitted to address her.

It was June by the time the complex negotiations with the Turks had been completed. All that remained was the final approval and, of course, the formal signing of the contract. There was an excited buzz around the Sandersons building, not least in my own office as one by one the objections were dealt with and the possibility of success became first possible, then probable, then almost certain.

I had to keep reminding myself that the signed contract was really just the beginning of the hard work, but the feeling of relief and elation as the date approached after so many months of tortuous negotiation made me light-headed.

The actual agreement was due to be signed in our offices on a Friday late in June. The whole Turkish contingent including Mr. Pamuk would be there, along with a substantial number from Brussels. There was to be a dinner and reception on the Thursday night followed by the formalities of the agreement signing on the Friday morning. After that, the weekend was available for our guests to enjoy all that London had to offer at the expense of the EU.

I was able to tell my wife truthfully that both Mme Flauret and Mr. Pamuk had expressed considerable pleasure at the news that she would be at the reception, along with the other partners’ spouses. Amanda had positively glowed with delight at the opportunity to move in such exalted and intellectually stimulating circles again.

To my chagrin, my wife’s appointments in Andy’s apartment had continued throughout the months of negotiations, his workaholic nature apparently applying to the bedroom as much as to the office. Mandy had barely been given a week’s release from her sexual obligations since they had begun, and that had been for our single seven-day holiday.

Thanks to my wife’s strength of character and the continued existence of her alter ego Mandy’s, against all the odds Amanda and I were still married and, astonishingly, still relatively happy together, though the ‘elephant in the room’ of her infidelity did raise its head from time to time. Although the intensity of my own work regime coupled with Amanda’s extraordinary ability to separate Mandy’s activities from her own had made the arrangement just about bearable, it was by no means acceptable.

My own character was much weaker. Nevertheless, by focusing on my job and the kids, for days at a time I was able to forget that my wife was routinely having sex with another man, and that my own dishonesty had led directly to this terrible situation. Whenever the reality hit me, for example on one Thursday morning when Amanda woke up with two large ‘hickeys’ on her neck, I had to remind myself severely that, if I was to continue avoiding prosecution and maybe even jail, neither she nor I had any choice but to live with the current bizarre arrangement; one with which Andy seemed increasingly content.

Given the amount of work that had to be done that week before the signing of the contract, I had hoped that he would release Mandy from her obligations on the Wednesday afternoon, but that was not to be; just before four o’clock she left for her appointment as usual dressed in her gym kit. I was far too busy to work from home that day, so Amanda’s parents had come over to take care of the kids while, unknown to them, their bright, highly intelligent daughter was being fucked hard by her husband’s boss.

When I returned home shortly after eight o’clock, Mandy’s assignation had been over for a while and Amanda was back in residence, all excited about the following evening’s reception and the crowning success of my Junior Partnership.

As we sat watching TV with the kids for an hour or so, I did notice she wasn’t as flushed pink as she so often was after Mandy’s fucking. Perhaps this time, she hadn’t had the extreme orgasms she often experienced at Andy’s hands.

For some reason, this strangely pleased me.

Chapter Seventeen

The following day, the last before the signing, was hectic from start to finish. I was at my desk before seven o’clock, working flat out on the final paperwork and the last few points of clarification. Our clients were due to arrive after lunch and the afternoon was to be filled with meetings at all levels. I had to mediate several times between the two parties during the day – there was considerable mistrust of the Turks generally and Mr. Pamuk in particular by the EU contingent - but by five o‘clock all seemed to be going well.

By six, I was able to tell my clerical staff to draw up the final documents for signing the following morning.

The relief was amazing and permeated the building. We were on the verge of major success and a move into the corporate big league. What was more, everyone knew it was I who had spearheaded the project. It was my glory and although the press releases would place the credit on the heads of the EU and Ankara teams, anyone who mattered would know who had really done the work.

I was already on something of a high when Amanda joined me in the large lobby area for the evening’s reception. She had surpassed herself, dressed in a brand new and very short black, lacy designer dress that simply clung to her svelte figure. Its high hemline, added to her black stockings and high heels, made her legs appear endless. Her long blonde hair was styled around her head rather than its usual cascade, and with just the right amount of gold jewelry she looked breathtaking, like a Greek goddess.

My wife was clearly pleased by the look on my face as she crossed the room and gave me an air kiss.

“Will I do?” she smiled.

“Wow! Amanda!” I gasped. “You’ll cause a riot!”

“Well, I didn’t want to let you down tonight of all nights,” she said in my ear. “I know how important this is to you – to both of us!”

Andy joined us soon after and once again I was amazed at how my wife could compartmentalize her life. They chatted for quite a while without either their words or body language suggesting any intimacy, let alone that they had been having sex every week for over six months.

My wife really was an extraordinary woman. I was a truly lucky man.

Once the guests arrived, the evening passed in something of a blur. Now that all major issues had been agreed, it was safe for those not directly involved in the negotiations to join the group, so the lobby thronged with cheerful, noisy people. Most of Sandersons' senior management was there too, along with their spouses, including our friends Mike and Yvonne

Still very much on duty and working the room in my role as joint host, my time was very heavily occupied and for long periods I lost track of my lovely wife in the crowd. I did notice her chatting with Elodie several times, their faces strangely serious and concerned, but then I saw her with Mr. Pamuk and his team too. The Turk’s hands seemed to stray onto her body with a regularity and familiarity that annoyed me, though Amanda seemed to have the situation well under control.

Dinner was excellent; our Turkish guest was clearly delighted that protocol required my wife to sit alongside him and I have to say Amanda seemed to enjoy his company too, if the laughs and smiles were anything to judge by. I myself was seated next to Mme. Flauvet, who proved a very entertaining companion indeed, and a good deal more attractive and flirtatious than her demeanor during negotiations had suggested.

Andy, sitting on her other side, was clearly impressed with her too, and the two of them spent a great deal of time talking animatedly throughout the meal.

By the time we were enjoying after-dinner drinks on the office’s rear terrace, the mood was very mellow, and as Andy drew the formal proceedings to a close with a short, well-judged speech setting the scene for the following day’s signing, the more hardened drinkers set in for a longer evening’s session.

Just after eleven o’clock, the numbers began to thin out; tiredness began to hit me. I longed for my bed. I looked around for Amanda, but she was nowhere to be seen and I realized I hadn’t seen her for some little time.

I began to go around the lobby and onto the terrace in search of her but without success. I couldn’t find Andy or Pamuk either, though Mme. Flauvet, donning her coat at reception, told me she thought she had seen Andy and someone else leave in a taxi some time ago.

I frowned, anger building inside me. The haze of tiredness and elation around me began to clear. It was obvious what had happened; Andy had failed in his attempt to seduce Elodie Flauvet, so had called on his second option to close the evening properly – my wife!

This was not our agreement!

The thought went through my mind over and over. Okay, we had agreed he could have her once per week, but that appointment had taken place the previous day. We had not agreed that he could call on my wife’s sexual services as and whenever he chose. It had been humiliating enough accepting him fucking her at all; the thought that she had to be available at his whim was not acceptable!

Waving away the last few congratulations from colleagues, I strode angrily out to the car park and threw myself in the driver’s seat, pushed the start button angrily, then with a squeal of tyres, sped out onto the road, my face burning with anger.

How could he do it? We’d done everything he had asked! Wasn’t it enough that I had to let him fuck my wife every week and pay a fortune to him every month? The truth that I had stolen the money in the first place didn’t enter my mind, neither did the fact that Andy had arranged a huge promotion for me to cover the payments. All I could see was that he was treating my lovely wife as an unpaid whore to be fucked wherever and whenever he wanted!

The lights were on in Andy’s flat as I pulled the car into a vacant spot and leapt out, not really knowing what I intended to do but knowing that, as a man, I had to do something. Enough was enough!

Walking briskly around to the front door of the building, I realized my first mistake. There was an entry phone system, and the door was locked. Shit! How could I get in? Was there a fire escape? There must be!

I ran around the back to see if I could reach it, but then noticed a drunk young man wobbling his way towards the doorway. Running up behind him as casually as I could, I made a mental note of the code he clumsily entered onto the pad, then pushed past him and ran up the stairs. They were softly carpeted, so I made little sound as I climbed up to the second floor and the door to Andy’s flat.

There, I found my second mistake. This door was closed too. In frustration, I put my ear to it and thought I could hear low music playing. Checking there was no-one around to see me, I dropped to my knees, opened the letterbox cover and pressed my head against the slot to hear more.

Then I heard it: the soft, repeated sound of a woman’s voice moaning. It was low and muffled but unquestionably the sound of mounting arousal.

Amanda!

The name ringing silently round my head was all I could think of. My wife was in there, being fucked as I stood in the doorway.

What should I do? Confront them? Stop them? Attack him?

I recalled vividly that terrible night so many months ago when I had been forced to watch helplessly as Andy fucked Amanda for the first time in his office, on his desk.

Could I really bring myself to watch them doing it again?

But could I just turn my back and leave them fucking?

The answer to that last question was provided by the swelling in my pants and the tightness in my chest. I could not leave without knowing more. Desperately I looked around for a way to find out, running up and down the landing and corridor for any means of seeing into Andy’s apartment.

Then I saw it. The apartment block was expensive, even by London standards. Every room had either a balcony or a railing, including the landing and room from where the low glow was coming and, presumably, the noises were emanating.

The walls had been made of patterned panels, with horizontal ridges between them about six feet apart. If I climbed over the railing on the landing and very carefully worked my way sideways with my toes in one ridge and my hands gripping the one above, I could perhaps, step by step, make my way to the window of the room in which my wife was even then being fucked.

It would be tricky, perhaps even dangerous, but it might work – if I dared.

I returned to the locked door and put my ear to the letter slot once again to help steel myself. The sounds of female arousal and pleasure were louder now, much more intense. My captive erection responded in kind, providing all the persuasion that I needed.

My heart thumping, I looked around to ensure there were no witnesses, lifted first one, then the other leg over the landing railing and began the twenty-foot journey towards... towards who knew what?

The ridges were small but blessedly not slippery. Several times either one hand or one foot slipped, but thank God, never both at once. After what seemed an age, and without looking down once, I inched my way along until I reached the window then quickly climbed over the rail and into the relative safety of the balcony.

Panting with exertion and with my heart thumping even louder, I gingerly tilted aside my head and looked into the bottom corner of the room’s window.

A large Venetian blind covered all the glass, preventing anyone in the other apartments from seeing in, but up close, things were different; the horizontal slats had not been completely closed. Eyes as close to the glass as mine could clearly see through the window and into the room beyond – if they dared.

What’s more, one of the windows had been partly opened, presumably to bring fresh air into what could only be a sweaty, steamy, sex-infused atmosphere in the room. Through this small gap, the sound of moaning seemed to be coming, louder now and more passionate.

Amanda! What was he doing to her? Whatever it was, she was clearly enjoying it more and more.

Should I hammer on the glass and bring their copulation to a premature end? After all, this was way beyond our agreement. Andy had no right to be fucking my wife that night.

But what would they do if I did? What would Amanda – no, Mandy, think of me bursting in as she climaxed?

I had to see inside first. Slowly, gingerly, I raised myself on my knees until my eyes were just over the windowsill and peered through the lowest gap between the blind’s slats, blinking as my vision adjusted to the room’s low light.

It was indeed a bedroom. There was a large divan in full view opposite the window. A familiar man clad only in a white towel around his waist was circling the bed, his back towards me, blocking my view of the bed and its moaning female occupant.

It was Andy!

I stared at him; whatever his age, his body was in great shape. Lightly tanned, well-muscled and fit, he made me feel ashamed of my own physique and, from the heavy tenting of the towel, was struggling to contain a huge erection.

Every few moments he leaned over and did something on the bed after which another muffled moan filled the room. Each time he reached out, the moans grew stronger and louder, building in intensity until finally as the muscles of his shoulder flexed, they merged into a loud, high muffled squeal of orgasm.

Amanda! Mandy! What in God’s name was he doing to make her cum so hard? He hadn’t even mounted her, and yet there she was, orgasming helplessly on his bed!

“Good girl!” he whispered. “I thought you’d enjoy that!”

Andy moved from the foot of the bed to the side, clearing my field of view and there, lying full length on the bed, her body still shaking with the aftermath of her first orgasm, was…

Yvonne!

Chapter Eighteen

It wasn’t Mandy on the bed at all!

A huge feeling of relief washed over me, partly because Andy hadn’t cheated on our deal after all, but mostly because, thank God, I hadn’t burst into the apartment with all guns blazing and destroyed our one route out of bankruptcy and prison.

Now at least I had a chance to take stock of the situation and with luck, get away undiscovered. But when I looked again at our close friend as she lay twitching with post-climactic after-shocks, my eyes nearly popped out of my head!

Yvonne was naked, lying on her back in the middle of the large king-sized bed. Her arms were raised above her head, her wrists tied together and secured to the headboard by what appeared to be the necktie Andy had been wearing earlier that evening. Her bare legs were spread wide apart, each ankle tied to a corner of the bed’s frame by what could only be either torn tights or stockings.

A large pillow had been placed beneath her buttocks, thrusting her chubby belly, hips and groin upwards, parting her heavy thighs even wider and leaving her dark, wet, hairless slit obscenely and clearly displayed in the reflection.

Christ! Yvonne! What the hell are you doing…?

My friend’s head rested on the mattress, her face partly obscured by her large, shapeless breasts that flopped on her chest, their nipples huge, dark and apparently grossly deformed.

I stared at them, puzzled. Wait! Those weren’t her nipples.

I looked again through the slats. Yvonne was writhing on the bed, apparently in extreme pleasure. I looked harder still, then blinked in astonishment. A cruel-looking, metal-jawed clamp was attached to each of her large, dark teats, crushing it cruelly and pulling the globe beneath it horribly out of shape.

Oh, sweet Jesus! What had I walked in on?

I tore my eyes away from those tormented breasts, across the generous folds of her chubby tummy and down to her crotch where something large protruded from the top of her dark, gaping slit.

Surely no-one had a clitoris that large or that deformed!

I stared again and again but couldn’t quite make out what it was that stood so proud and so ugly from her vulva. Then I lost sight as her body flexed and squirmed in another powerful orgasm.

“I love it when you cum like that,” Andy’s voice was amused but still soft and seductive. “Shall we try something a little stronger now?”

A strange, muffled sound of assent emerged from Yvonne’s mouth.

“You really are a slut, Yvonne.”

With those words, Andy leaned over, raised his hands to her groin and before my watching eyes, attached something black and plastic to whatever the object was that protruded from her slit. Then he squeezed it half a dozen times in his fist.

There was a series of soft sucking sounds, then the body on the bed convulsed wildly, muffled choking sounds coming from my friend’s mouth as either a bolt of pain or another wave of orgasm struck her.

“That’s better!” Andy whispered, removing the plastic device. “Cum as hard as you can, Yvonne! There’s no-one above or below us tonight. We’re all alone; you can make as much noise as you want!”

As he stepped back, the low light from the lamp shone onto Yvonne’s plump, wide-open thighs and hairless vulva. There was a dark patch high up on the inside of her right thigh that might have been a birthmark. For a moment I couldn’t make out what it was, my attention focused so heavily on her crotch – from where I could now clearly see a small glass cylinder sticking out at an obscene angle from between her legs.

Something large and dark filled the lower half of the tube.

Jesus, it was a suction cup! And that was Yvonne’s clitoris. Andy had pumped it to a monstrous size, and my friend was loving every second of it!

Oh, my fucking God!

I had heard of this of course and on business trips had seen had one or two porn DVDs where they were being used, but had never dreamed I would see it happening in real life. Nor had I any idea just how effective clitoris pumping could be – which was certainly impressive if Yvonne’s convulsions were anything to go by.

Andy flicked the cylinder with his fingers. I watched in silent awe as another wave of orgasm struck the helpless woman, pulses of pleasure rippling through the plentiful flesh of her thighs, belly and breasts. Yvonne raised her head in confused ecstasy, and for a moment I saw the red silk neckerchief that was tied around her mouth to muffle the volume of her moaning.

“Beautiful!” Andy’s low voice filled the room.

Then with a mischievous smile he reached over and twisted the glass tube between his fingers, now two-thirds full of Yvonne’s grotesquely distended clitoris. Her body immediately bucked wildly, and she squealed into the gag. He did it again, though this time slightly more firmly and with an even stronger reaction from the tied woman.

“Even better than last time, Yvonne!”

He moved to her breasts, where he tugged on her nipple clamps. I could see the teats being cruelly stretched before he let go of the jaws.

“Is this what you wanted? Is this what you deserve?” he asked with a slightly malicious tone.

Yvonne’s head rolled from side to side in what could have been either pleasure, pain or even both mixed inextricably together. Another low moan filled the room.

“My pleasure, my dear,” Andy smiled. “And speaking of my pleasure, I think it’s my turn now, don’t you?”

He stood upright and his towel fell to the floor freeing his erection, which sprang forward and upwards.

I gasped despite my predicament then slapped my hands over my mouth.

Months ago, when he had first fucked Amanda, his cock had been mostly obscured by his shirttails but even then, I could tell it was an impressive appendage. Its immediate effect on my wife as it entered her body had testified brutally to this.

Now, with him totally naked, it stood hard, firm and despite his age, boldly erect, as if bursting from the small patch of tightly curled hair at its base. Long, thick and dark, it looked intimidating even to me, and for a moment all I could think was how Amanda must have felt when it was first thrust into her tight, inexperienced vagina.

“Let’s get this thing out of the way,” he smiled.

He reached over and pressed something on the top of the glass tube. There was a tiny hiss of air as the vacuum was lost then he gently slid the glass off Yvonne’s cruelly misshapen clitoris. She gasped loudly into the gag. Whether this was in relief or disappointment, I couldn’t tell, but its removal suddenly allowed me to see the short, dark, grossly swollen female phallus that stuck grotesquely upwards from the apex of her slit.

But as if this wasn’t shocking enough, it also revealed that the dark mark on her inner thigh was not a birthmark at all, but a small black tattoo in a very familiar shape; a shape the I saw literally every working day of my life.

A small but distinct salamander had been inked high up on Yvonne’s inner thigh, close to where her pubic hair would have been, had it not been thoroughly removed.

For a moment, I was taken aback. Did Yvonne really have the Sandersons logo tattooed on her crotch?

Or was it Andy’s tattoo? Andy’s stamp? And if it was, what did it signify? Ownership? Control?

There was no time for speculation because a strong male voice sounded loud and clear through the open door.

“You want me to fuck you now?”

I didn’t need words to know that the mumbled reply meant not only consent, but desperate desire.

I watched as Andy climbed almost casually onto the bed and positioned himself between Yvonne’s helplessly parted thighs, lining his hips against her pillow-raised vulva.

“You really want it? You want me to stick my cock in your cunt?”

Another muffled moan of anticipation.

“Your clit’s pumped up and swollen, you know it’s going to hurt like hell?”

The moan that followed sounded almost desperate.

“Well, if you’re sure, let’s see how this feels.”

I watched as he leaned over her, taking his weight on one hand, the other directing the head of his cock. Andy’s muscular body was now between the window and Yvonne; all I could see was his strong back, tight buttocks and thighs and one of her chubby spread legs either side.

There was a movement of hips followed by a louder moan as if of pain.

A moment later, I saw the muscles of his buttocks contract, his hips were thrust forward and a loud wail from Yvonne filled the room.

“Nnnnnnngggghhhhh!

Yvonne’s muffled cry as Andy penetrated her pumped, grossly swollen pussy was rich, full and passionate. This time there could be no mistaking the pleasure she was feeling as his long, thick shaft was thrust deep into her plump body. He paused halfway, withdrew slightly, then with a flexing of his buttocks, drove his full length into my friend’s body until his pubic hair ground against her protruding, engorged clitoris.

The squeal that emerged from Yvonne’s mouth as her distorted, hugely swollen nub was first touched, then tickled, then crushed by Andy’s pubic bone could have broken glass, despite her gag. The force and violence of the spasm that rocked her went beyond anything I had seen even in porn films. Her whole body bucked wildly, first downwards as if to pull her sensitive parts away from the invading cock, then wildly upwards, driving her vulva powerfully upwards against the huge organ on which it was impaled.

Andy didn’t move; he simply held his body firm and still as again and again, Yvonne drove herself violently and uncontrollably up and down against his motionless shaft, fucking herself on his thick pole, her spasms of orgasm getting more and more extreme with each passing moment.

Only once her bucking had subsided a little did he begin to thrust, slowly and steadily into her vagina. I watched spellbound as her body began to flex, raising her head off the pillow as far as her tethered arms would allow.

Andy’s pace and power began to build; Yvonne’s face contorted, and her eyes closed tightly as wave after wave of climax rocked her body. I stared open-mouthed at the reflected scene before me, the risk of discovery no longer in my mind. There, on the bed merely yards away from where I hid, my wife’s best friend was thrashing on the bed, pulling wildly at the restraints that bound her as my boss pounded her helpless, bound body.

I could see she was beginning to tire, but Andy gave her no respite, thrusting faster and deeper into her body, forcing her heavy thighs wider still. Yvonne’s head was lolling from side to side, exhausted by her many orgasms, but Andy was relentless and merciless.

“Mmmmggghhhh! Mnnnnggghhh!”

Even from where I crouched, I could tell that Yvonne’s voice, though muffled by the scarlet gag, was pleading. Given her exhausted condition I supposed she was begging him to slow down or stop, but how could I possibly know?

Whatever her intention, Andy’s response was to begin the slow speed-up towards his own climax. The session was going to end and end soon. The wet slapping sounds in the room grew louder and faster; the bed creaked as if in pain.

As Andy’s thrusts became the short, sharp stabs that I knew heralded a messy climax and copious ejaculation, I heard Yvonne starting to orgasm one last, exhausted time.

Before my watching eyes, her body flexed, her head rose from the mattress, her eyes flew open…

And she looked straight through the gap in the blind and directly into my watching eyes!

For a split second our eyes locked together, her pupils huge, dark and glazed. My heart thumped in my chest and my breathing stopped dead.

I froze, desperately hoping it hadn’t happened, but knowing without doubt that it had.

And then the spell was broken as with a loud grunt, Andy’s rhythm broke, and he began to cum in Yvonne’s plump, open, fecund body. As his hips slammed violently into my friend’s inner thighs and pubic mound, her eyes rolled back in her head and a long, low, final wail emerged from the lips of the woman being inseminated beneath him.

There was no time to inch my way back along the ridge to the landing and escape the way I had arrived. There was only one possible route: over the balcony’s edge. I looked into the darkness below. I knew there was a grassed lawn beneath me, but the drop must have been twenty feet.

The sounds coming from the bedroom were fading as their climaxes receded. If Yvonne really had seen me, it might only be a matter of moments before I was confronted by two angry lovers. There was no option other than to jump.

I climbed over the balcony rail, crouched as low as I could holding onto the uprights, then dropped like a stone.

Chapter Nineteen

Twenty minutes later I limped up the driveway and let myself quietly into our house so as not to wake the kids or Amanda’s babysitting parents, shedding my muddy shoes in the hallway and padding upstairs in my socks. My left ankle had been badly twisted in the fall, but my mind was still spinning so wildly from all I had seen and could not avoid imagining, that I barely noticed.

Once in the bedroom, I undressed and donned my sleep shorts, then cleaned my teeth before sliding under the duvet, my tummy alive with nerves.

For a long time, I lay on my back, alone in our marital bed, the soft bedside light glowing romantically. My head was buzzing, quite incapable of sleep.

What on earth had just happened? And what on earth was happening now?

On the eve of what should be the greatest triumph of my working life, all I could think of were the evening’s bizarre events.

There were so many unanswered questions: about Yvonne and Andy, about Yvonne and Mike, about my wife and Andy, about my wife and Pamuk, about myself. The only good thing was that I hadn’t stormed straight into Andy’s apartment as I had originally planned. The thought of what might have occurred then sent a shiver down my spine.

Most importantly, where the hell was Amanda now? Her mobile went straight to voicemail and, after all I had just seen, I knew for certain she was not with Andy.

And what in God’s name had I just seen? Had I really seen our friend of so many years, the woman with whose family we had been on holiday so many times, tied to a bed, her body humiliated and exquisitely tortured, climaxing wildly at Andy’s hands and on his cock?

And had Yvonne really seen me through the window, or had it just been her orgasm-glazed eyes and my own guilty imagination?

And even if she hadn’t seen me, how on earth could I face her and Mike tomorrow knowing what I now knew?

My mind raced as a cold realization washed over me.

What about Mandy’s appointments with Andy? Had my own sweet wife been in Yvonne’s situation too? Had Mandy’s long, slim legs been tied to the bed like Yvonne’s, her slender thighs spread wide, exposing her most private places for Andy’s pleasure?

Had my wife’s small, firm, pointed breasts suffered the grip of those evil-looking clamps? Had the teats that had fed our children felt the merciless grip of those steel teeth? I remembered clearly how sore her breasts had been one Thursday morning; the thought made my chest ache.

And dear God, had Mandy’s tiny clitoris been sucked into that glass tube too, drawing it cruelly out until it protruded long and proud from between her labia? Had the sweet nub I had licked and sucked so often been abused and tormented as badly as Yvonne’s?

And then, with her clit massively engorged, had my sweet, beautiful wife reached orgasm as freely, frequently and uncontrollably as I had just seen comfortable, homely Yvonne do? Had Mandy climaxed through the pain as she had been penetrated by Andy’s massive cock too?

Sleep was impossible! There was nothing I could do except lie there and wait for my wife to return.

*

It was a little after two in the morning. I was lying, still awake in the darkness of our bedroom, when I heard the purr of an expensive car’s engine as it pulled into the driveway. Its door was quietly opened and there was a low murmur of voices before it was closed again softly. The car’s engine rose in tone and as the sound of the departing vehicle faded away, I heard the house’s front door being carefully opened and closed, then the sound of feet padding up the stairs.

A moment later the bedroom door was silently pushed back and a dark figure slipped into the room. I lay motionless, breathing slowly as if asleep, though sleep was the last thing I could do right then. My half-open eyes were well adjusted to the low light and I could see Amanda approaching the bed on tiptoe, shedding her designer clothes as she came closer to my still, apparently sleeping body.

I felt her rummaging under the pillow, drawing out her pyjamas, then wriggling quickly into them before slipping silently and cautiously into the bed alongside me. She lay very still as if listening carefully.

I breathed slowly and deeply, pretending to be asleep, not knowing whether it was Amanda or Mandy lying next to me, afraid of learning what had delayed her so long, and yet desperate to know every sordid detail.

After a few minutes, the aroma of recent sex washed over me. It was faint, and half concealed by the smell of shower gel, but to my expert nose, was unmistakable.

The aroma from her body announced without doubt that my wife had been fucked and fucked hard. The faint but distinctive taint to her breath told me that she had reached orgasm recently and frequently.

But who with? I swore silently in agonised frustration.

She couldn’t have been with Andy because I had seen him with Yvonne in his apartment. It must have been someone else. Someone at the reception? Someone who disappeared about the same time she had vanished?

I thought hard, but only one name came to mind.

Surely not! Surely it couldn’t have been that slippery fat bastard, Pamuk?

But why would she do it? Why would a woman as tall, slim, beautiful and intelligent as my wife let a short, overweight, lecherous old man fuck her? And even if she did, could a man like that really make her cum as hard as she obviously just had?

I rolled onto my back and felt Amanda’s head turn towards me, staring as if trying to decide if I was awake. Not feeling strong enough or clear enough in my mind for this encounter, I forced myself to breathe slowly and deeply again, sucking in lungfuls of the sex-infused air in the room.

Eventually, apparently satisfied I was asleep, her head fell back onto the pillow and her body relaxed. Shortly afterwards, I heard her breathing match mine but unlike me, she was really asleep.

I lay listening for hours, my tummy churning, a pain in my chest and tears of frustration forming in my eyes.

What had she done? Why had she done it?

And why did the thought keep me feel so massively, unrelentingly aroused?