Corporate Bodies - Pt 07 - Complicity free porn video

Chapter Twenty-Eight

There can be few more beautiful sights than the early morning sun rising slowly over the majestic and ancient city of Istanbul. Despite my current anxieties, my chest tightened with emotion as I stood on the balcony of the five-star hotel and watched brightening sunlight gradually drive the shadows from the dark streets and iconic buildings.

It would have been close to romantic perfection to have been able to share this view with the woman I loved and respected so much, but that morning I was alone with my thoughts, and those thoughts were troubled.

Somewhere out in the city Amanda, my beautiful, intelligent wife was in bed with a man, probably fat Pamuk, helping secure our future by playing her alter ego ‘Mandy the Whore’ for all she was worth.

Pamuk: the man on whom my future career and our family’s financial success still depended. The fat, ugly Turk with a taste for sodomy who had already brought my sweet wife both vaginal and anal orgasms the like of which I had never seen before, but which I had been forced to watch in extreme close-up on video by Andy - my Boss, my blackmailer and my wife’s regular lover.

A terrible but now familiar nausea passed through me as I fought to reconcile two conflicting forces: the purely masculine mixture of raw anger, green-eyed jealousy and an overwhelming desire to protect the mother of my children and reassert my status as the Alpha Male in her life pitted against my growing feelings of helplessness, of impotence, of meek acceptance of my position of obligate cuckold.

Worse still, along with these dreadful emotions came a powerful and unwanted arousal at the thought of my wife’s complicity in her own degradation, along with an overwhelming desire to watch her sweet body being violated and inseminated by another man once again.

Amanda’s transition into Mandy was by no means the only transformation that was taking place in our marriage.

Amanda and Pamuk had left last night’s smart reception together well before midnight after it had been made clear to us both that a repeat performance of their previous meeting had become obligatory, if the goodwill that had developed between the two negotiating teams was to continue.

We had left our home and children knowing that something like this was inevitable, it was just a matter of when and how. Her acceptance had been unspoken; Amanda’s agreement to accompany me to Istanbul was all the confirmation I was to get that my bright, intelligent, stunningly attractive wife would do whatever was necessary to protect our family.

Her absence had left me to entertain the various Government functionaries that international deals always entailed, knowing that elsewhere, my wife was once again entertaining their Boss in quite a different manner.

From previous experience, I had a good idea what form that entertainment would take but once again, I tried to close my mind to the horror and concentrate on my own part of our arrangement – securing ‘the deal’.

Knowing that the professional part of my life was probably going to turn out well was some consolation. There were still few a details to be agreed, but the big contract with the Turkish Government that would secure both my own and Sandersons' future, was now on the cusp of being signed.

All it needed now was the Minister’s signature; the Minister was Mr. Pamuk; Mr. Pamuk desired my wife sexually; she was in bed with him now.

My wife…

Of one thing I was certain; having made her decision, Mandy would not let us down. She would leave Pamuk a happy and satisfied man, whatever toll it took on her.

From there the agreement would move towards ratification where there would be more pitfalls. Though by no means conclusive, Pamuk’s liaison with my wife would certainly help oil the wheels of Government. The deal would go through, though I wasn’t naive enough not to expect at least one round of last-minute gangplank negotiations, either from the Turkish government, the commission in Brussels, or both.

With a sigh, I looked at my watch, then at the bed in which I had passed a largely sleepless night.

I had expected Amanda to return to our hotel an hour or two after leaving with her lover, but instead I had spent the night alone, watching the clock until the small hours when exhaustion had finally overwhelmed me, and I had fallen asleep.

For the first time, Mandy had been gone all night. Now, with breakfast time approaching, she still hadn’t returned. My jealousy turned first to irritation, then to anger, then to concern.

Where the Hell was she?

Images of my lovely wife and that overweight slob of a man in bed together all night tortured my mind. The video of him fucking then sodomising her across the desk in Andy’s office and the incredible orgasms that this brutal handling had induced in her were burned on my memory forever.

Whatever psychological techniques Amanda was using to separate her ‘home’ self from Mandy the Whore, I was quite unable to differentiate the two of them. In my heart and mind, they were the same. There was no Mandy; it was my wife and the mother of our children who was being fucked by other men and my God, did it hurt!

The fact that it had been my stupid dishonesty that had brought this about, made the pain, humiliation and anger much worse! The knowledge that I now held influence over our friend Yvonne and her husband Mike did help me feel a little less powerless, but that relationship remained to be properly tested and besides, was I really the kind of man who would exploit a family friend?

Who could say? It wasn’t long since I would have laughed in, or even punched the face of anyone who had suggested I would connive at my own wife’s prostitution.

And yet there I was, waiting both for her return and the profits I would receive from the sale of her body.

To my wife, I had become little better than her pimp.

And what about Yvonne, what had I become to her? Her blackmailer? Her Abuser?

If so, she was hardly a reluctant victim. Since our first and only sexual encounter in the country park, she had messaged me a dozen times, asking when we might next get together, inviting me to use her however I wanted, as if welcoming a new, exploitative presence in her life.

Coming from a woman I had thought I knew well and had considered a close family friend, that offer alone was unsettling enough. But worse, what I actually wanted from her was unclear, even to me. Although the feeling of having power over her and her husband both then and in the future had been a thrill, I had no pressing desire to hurt her or fuck her.

The only woman I really wanted to fuck was blonde, had deep blue eyes and at that moment was being fucked by someone else, somewhere in the city.

Perhaps if Yvonne had been with me then, I could have taken out some of my anger and frustration at being cuckolded once again on her plump, compliant body. I had seen Andy do it with a powerful effect.

But neither she nor Amanda were there. I was alone with my nightmares; nightmares made far worse by the near permanent erection that had tented my sleep shorts throughout the sleepless night, that no amount of shameful masturbation could satisfy, and which had continued unrelenting into the early morning.

I picked up the phone and ordered breakfast for two from room service, then turned away from the world-famous view, went into the en-suite bathroom, undressed and looked at myself in the mirror.

It was not a pretty sight; I looked like what I was - a man who had just spent a tortured night awake. Physically I was in good shape; the time I spent running and in the gym to keep up with my newly inspired wife was paying dividends but could not distract me for long from the predicament I had put us into.

I was shaving carefully in an attempt to look professional for the day’s work, when I heard what I thought was Room Service at the door.

“Come in!” I called, hoping desperately that breakfast would help me feel more human.

My shave over, I stepped straight into the shower without risking displaying my nakedness to the attendant. A few minutes later I returned to the bedroom with a large white towel wrapped around my waist to find a linen-covered trolley bearing croissants and hot coffee standing in front of the window.

I poured a large cup of the strong black liquid and sipped it, staring out of the window once again. The sun had risen higher now, the permanently gridlocked roads were noisy and colourful, and the river traffic had become even more chaotic.

I turned to look at the clock on the bedside table wondering how long I should wait before calling the Ministry to try and trace my missing-presumed-fucked wife.

“Amanda!” I exclaimed in astonishment as I saw a familiar shape in the bed.

The sight of her slender body curled up under the thin duvet took me by surprise; she must have slipped silently into the room along with the breakfast while I was in the shower. She looked so slight, her hair was fanned almost angelically over the pillow and her face was all but invisible under the white cotton cover.

“Mmm?” she moaned incoherently.

“Are you all right?” I asked anxiously, “I was so worried.”

“I’m okay… just tired… need to sleep…”

Her voice was slurred, almost as if she was drunk.

“Did it go… okay?” I asked hesitantly, bending over her inert frame and knowing her reluctance to discuss anything to do with Mandy.

“I’m back. Isn’t that enough?”

“Sorry,” I mumbled in apology. “I was worried, that’s all.”

“It’s okay,” she replied dozily, “I’m sorry too… I just need to sleep!”

Reluctantly, I left her in silence and finished dressing for the day’s important meetings.

If things went well today, especially if Pamuk was in a good mood after his long night with Mandy, we might even close the deal that morning. I tried to keep my eyes on the prospect of a bright future for us all, and not even to think of the night my wife had just spent in bed with the fat, ugly man on whom our futures depended.

Needless to say, I was not successful but five minutes later I was a smart, if bleary-eyed businessman again, and the bedside clock demanded my departure.

Amanda would normally have accompanied me to the negotiations but today she was obviously in no fit state.

I crossed to her side of the bed, stumbling over the mess of discarded clothes on the floor as I passed, and looked down on the sleeping body of my pretty wife. The bed sheet was almost transparent in the morning light and through it I could tell she was naked, the white cotton moulding itself to the contours of her slim, athletic frame. Her breathing was slow and deep. She was indeed exhausted.

I bent over and planted a kiss on top of her head, inhaling deeply as my lips brushed her hair. I could smell alcohol as I had expected, but along with it came expensive perfume, a little sweet sweat and the familiar, distinctive aroma of recent sex.

My stomach churned.

Slowly straightening up, I silently picked up the discarded clothes, one by one. The short, tight fitting designer dress that had showcased her long, slender legs; the small-cupped, silky bra that had presented her breasts so well; the heels that had given her such a graceful and sophisticated bearing as she had chatted to the Government Officials at the reception; the tangled suspender belt and torn stockings fit only for the bin.

There were no panties to be found anywhere. For a moment I wondered when and at what stage in the evening she had removed them. Had she worn any to begin with? And if they had been removed, had it been her that had made that decision?

The powerful aroma of sex that now filled the room made it clear that her body had not been exclusively hers.

The flashing bedside clock brought me out of my reverie. I was almost late, no time for questions now.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Istanbul being the ancient Gateway to the East, the point at which Europe and Asia meet geographically as well as politically, it had seemed to all parties the appropriate place an agreement such as ours should be signed. Ratification would take place later in Ankara.

The journey to the Ministry building in which this important event was to take place was predictably slow. My cruel mind used the time to torment me with yet more images of my whore wife, but eventually we arrived, and the meetings began.

The last-minute negotiations were tortuous, as expected. From both sides, an entire new raft of concerns and conditions emerged but though hard, the morning’s work was productive to the point where, as lunchtime approached, it looked like a deal was within our grasp.

All that was needed was the EU Commission to agree a few minor changes to the main document text.

My lunch break was clearly going to be spent on the phone to Brussels.

It says a great deal about the confidence I had in my wife and the huge importance of the proposed deal, that within a few minutes of the negotiations beginning, the terrible images had faded. It was hours before Mandy’s role in the process hit me again. In fact, it wasn’t until late morning when Pamuk himself joined us in the meeting room that the reality struck, and anger began to build within me.

He looked smart and self-satisfied, but at least had the decency to look a little tired. To my annoyance, he had the temerity to look me straight in the face, his eyes twinkling knowingly as he shook my hand and sat opposite me.

It took all my self-control not to punch his smug, self-satisfied face, but our family’s future depended on the success of these talks. It would have been a betrayal of all my wife had done if I had blown everything through a loss of self-control this late in the day.

I told myself to keep my eyes on the prize though my stomach was churning.

The rest of the morning’s negotiations passed quickly. When we broke for lunch, I found a quiet office in which to make my calls to Brussels. It did not go as smoothly as I had hoped; the latest proposals still fell short of their requirements, but I was given a clear indication of the least that would be acceptable.

The afternoon’s session would be tricky.

I called Amanda on her mobile but there was no reply. I left a voicemail. Five minutes later I left a second message, even more adoring than the first before returning unsatisfied to the fray.

An hour into the afternoon it was clear that we had reached an impasse. When I attempted to break it by proposing the intervention of the Head of the National Bank himself, Pamuk seemed surprisingly pleased. Picking up the phone, he summoned the official to the meeting.

Mr Turen was a smartly dressed man with much darker skin that suggested he hailed from one of the distant parts of the country. Attractive and, in sharp contrast to Pamuk, tall and slim, he exuded an aura of power that made me surprised he had so quickly complied with Pamuk’s summons.

Beside him was his Deputy who he introduced as Yasmin. To my surprise she was a tall, very striking woman dressed rather severely in a Western-style skirt suit but with a neat scarf covering her head. I guessed she was in her early forties but whatever her age, her English was faultless.

Within minutes it was clear that her role went far beyond that of mere interpreter; the woman possessed an intellect far superior to my own or that of her smooth, sophisticated and attractive Boss, who she subtly and impressively managed.

In that respect, she might even have rivalled my own wife’s extraordinary intellect.

Thanks largely to her quiet interventions, an alternative proposal was soon placed on the table which I believed might satisfy both parties. Even better, its implementation would also result in a highly lucrative contract for Sandersons.

I realised immediately that unless it was explained carefully, this aspect of the deal could be misconstrued by the EU as profiteering. Nothing short of an immediate personal visit to Brussels could move things forward. There were no flights available, so I was offered use of the National Bank’s private jet.

This time when I phoned Amanda, she answered straight away.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Stiff and sore,” she replied. “But I’ll get over it.”

“Was it very bad?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m just glad it’s over.”

“Can I do anything…?”

“Just make sure you do the deal, okay? I want to go home.”

I explained the way the day had gone. To her credit, Amanda rallied strongly at the prospect both of leaving Istanbul and of doing so inconspicuously in a private jet, but I suspect any plan that involved leaving Istanbul would have been welcome.

“Can you pack our bags and join me in an hour?” I asked.

“A rather intimidatingly attractive woman has just visited me and suggested I did just that,” she replied. “I believe she’s your Bank Manager’s Deputy.”

This amazed me. Why would Yasmin have done this? Was there something going on behind the scenes?

“Goodness! What did you think of her?”

“She appears to have a very good opinion of you,” my wife replied acidly. “But to be honest, I rather liked her. She didn’t patronise, soft-soap or treat me like a bimbo.”

We ended our call. Another half dozen calls later all was in place for the important trip to Brussels. All I needed was for Amanda to join me and we would be on our way. With only half an hour to go before the flight, I was relieved to see her enter the Ministry lobby accompanied by Turen’s much admired Deputy.

My wife looked simply stunning in a closefitting dark skirt, jacket and heels, her gleaming hair tied back, her lovely face bearing no signs of the ordeal her body had so recently been through. She was walking a little stiffly, but only someone as close to her as I was would have noticed.

There was a distinct aura of mutual admiration about the body language of the two attractive, intelligent women, mixed with more than a little envy. I smiled inwardly; a little competition had clearly done Amanda no harm.

“This must be your wife,” Turen smiled as Amanda and her glamorous escort approached the small group in which I stood. “I have heard a great deal about you.”

I could see Amanda’s face freeze in horror for a split second before her professional smile returned.

“From your husband of course,” he explained. “And from my good friend Andrew in Sandersons.”

“It’s a pleasure you meet you,” she replied taking the proffered hand. “My husband speaks highly of you too.”

His smile appeared genuine, and his eyes sparkled. For a moment I could see how attractive this man might be to any woman and was pleased that I would soon be taking Amanda away from the city.

At that point, a junior civil servant appeared at Turen’s elbow and whispered something discreetly.

“It seems that your transport is ready but there is some time pressure to meet the take-off slot. If you have your luggage with you...”

He shepherded us towards the door where his deputy was waiting alongside an impressive, official-looking limousine. The uniformed chauffeur opened the door, and I began to help Amanda into the vehicle when Turen took a half-step forward and put his hand on my arm.

“I think it would be better if your wife remained here in Turkey,” he said slowly and firmly.

Amanda and I exchanged glances. I looked at Turen, puzzled.

“My friend Mr. Pamuk speaks highly of you both. Your wife is apparently a remarkable woman, and it would be foolish of me to miss an opportunity to get to know her better. While you are away it would be an honour if she would consent to stay in my official Ministerial residence on the coast.”

I could feel Amanda’s deep blue eyes burning into the back of my head but didn’t dare turn to meet her gaze.

“Given her background, it might interest her to visit some of the schools and the University there to see for herself how women in Turkey can be considered equals in an Islamic culture.” He nodded towards Yasmin at his side. “My Deputy in particular is keen to present all that our country can offer to a professional woman.”

I looked into my wife’s eyes and for a moment saw a plea for help. I could only look back at her in despair.

“Perhaps on our return...” I began, but he cut me off mid-sentence.

“It would be difficult for me to give your proposals the attention they deserve without the presence of an educated, native English speaker at my side,” he said, looking me straight in the eye. “It would be a pity if the agreement were to fail at this late stage as a result of a mere misunderstanding.”

Amanda’s eyes burned into me again.

“And I’m sure, in your absence, your lovely wife will continue to improve the cordial relations that have developed between our organisations. My Deputy in particular would like to understand more of the psychology of being a successful woman in what remains stubbornly a man’s world.”

Perhaps I had misjudged the situation. I raised my eyes to meet my wife’s stare. There was pleading in my own eyes but resentful anger in hers.

“May I speak to my husband in private?” she asked.

The request was duly granted with a reminder that time was now of the essence.

“You know what he wants. I can’t do it,” Amanda hissed under her breath as soon as the distance between us and Turen was large enough to prevent overhearing.

“Amanda,” I began, “It might not mean...”

“You know exactly what he means so don’t pretend you don’t!” she interrupted angrily.

“You’re right,” I confessed, my heart thumping in my chest. “It’s too much to ask. It’s just...”

“Just what? I’m supposed to be your wife! Do you expect me... expect Mandy to fuck anyone who wants to if they can help your career?” she hissed angrily under her breath. “Wasn’t last night enough? I’m still sore, you selfish Bastard!”

“I’m afraid I must hurry you,” Turen’s soft smooth voice insisted. “The plane must take off on time or it will miss its landing slot in Brussels.”

“But we’re so close to the deal,” I insisted to Amanda, my voice low. “We’re nearly there. Once the deal is done our lives can change forever.”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me to do this,” she hissed again. “How many men ask their wives to become whores? How many men let their wives get fucked just because it’s good for business?”

“It’s not like that,” I tried to protest.

“It’s exactly like that!” she croaked.

“Of course,” Turen’s smooth voice broke through again. “It would be in all our interests if the role of your wife in these negotiations remained, shall we say, confidential. If the agreement is signed, I can promise this. Unfortunately, were the negotiations to stumble at this late stage, it might be difficult to guarantee the confidentiality of all that has taken place so far.”

My heart thumped; though smoothly delivered, this was a threat. Turen clearly knew about Pamuk’s relationship with my wife and was threatening to make it public if she did not comply with his wishes.

I could feel the horror in Amanda’s glare. If Mandy’s bedroom antics becoming widely known, the world in general and our friends and family in particular couldn’t possibly understand it – or the division between her two personalities.

“I’m trapped!” she stated coldly.

“On the contrary,” Turen countered, “the choice is entirely in your hands. You have to weigh up the possible consequences of each option.”

Amanda glared at him angrily then stared hard at me, her eyes aflame. There was a long pause.

“Very well,” she finally said, her voice hard and cold. “Mr. Turen, I would be delighted to visit your official residence and see more of… your country.”

She turned away from me as strong hands bundled me into the car and closed the door. The last thing I saw as it pulled away from the Ministry and sped towards the airport was Yasmin, the glamorous Deputy wrapping an expensive shawl around my pretty wife’s slender shoulders.

She didn’t look back.

I closed my eyes as we sped through the traffic.

So, this is how it worked; the gloves were off. Turen, the outwardly urbane, sophisticated man was no different from Pamuk or even Andy. He too needed a hold over me; to assert the power of his masculinity over mine by taking my wife before my eyes.

And once again I had connived at my own humiliation.

What kind of man was I? The answer to that was becoming more obvious by the day.

Chapter Thirty

It was grey and raining in Brussels six hours later when my taxi drew up at the large, glass-fronted EU building. The weather matched my mood as I entered the lobby loaded down with briefcases and an overnight bag, and with a deep frown on my face.

I had only flown in a private jet twice before; the experience had done something to improve my mood though I was still deeply unhappy.

By now Amanda would be on the coast at the official residence of the Head of the National Bank, Mr. Turen.

I had heard something about it from Pamuk during breaks in our lengthy negotiations. Built in the traditional Ottoman style, it was large but unostentatious and offered old fashioned levels of comfort and hospitality.

His collection of carpets was apparently one of the finest in the region and his chef was simply superb. In other circumstances, my wife would have found both them and the culture fascinating, but I suspected she would have little opportunity to indulge her interests this time.

My mind raced and my heart thumped wondering what might be in store for her.

The EU ministry team were assembled in the smart metal and glass meeting room, and we got down to work straight away. I buried myself in the discussions and negotiations; desperate to have something to take my mind off what might be happening back in Turkey.

After nearly four hours we had thrashed out a formula which looked as if it might suit all parties; satisfying the EU desire for transparency, the Turks’ need for confidentiality and of course ensuring that only Sandersons could possibly provide the security and reassurance needed by both sides.

It was one of the most difficult and complicated negotiations of my life and despite everything else that happened, to this day it is still the one of which I am most proud.

Confirmation of the proposals by the Commission could only take place the following morning so it was with some reluctance that I went to my solitary hotel bedroom that night.

I called Amanda on her mobile to hear that the phone was out of range. I tried again an hour later with the same result. I tried a third and a fourth time but to no avail, so lay on my bed with the TV screen giving the room an eerie monochrome glow.

I tried to doze but it was impossible, my mind constantly wondering what would soon happen in the next and hopefully final stage of discussion in Turkey, and what might actually be happening now to my wife.

After another sleepless night I tried to recover some composure in the shower, then dressed in a fresh, clean shirt and caught a taxi to the Commission offices where the EU team were already waiting.

The hours that followed seemed interminable. At times it felt as if everyone in Europe had been asked for their opinion and would not be satisfied unless the documents were amended exactly as they wanted.

Bureaucracy had surely gone mad, but at least it kept my thoughts away from the tribulations Amanda might be facing.

The entire morning was wasted in this disheartening way but eventually a compromise was reached. Even so, it was late when I caught the plane back to Turkey and later still by the time I had followed my wife’s journey to Turen’s coastal residence with the final precious agreement document in a locked briefcase.

Well after midnight, my car pulled up outside the impressive gates of the retreat. Documents were inspected and my face scrutinised before I was politely admitted, searched by unsmiling security guards, then escorted by a very pretty young lady to one of three self-contained lodges within the compound where I was told, my wife had slept the previous night.

Once alone, I looked around the lodge’s main room. It was sumptuously decorated with white walls, rich hangings, deep carpets and a great deal of gold-coloured ornamentation. The lighting was low, there was the low hum of air conditioning but despite the hour, there were no sounds of habitation.

Turen was clearly a wealthy and powerful man if his second home was as opulent as this.

I entered the bedroom and looked around. The bed was low and large but again showed no sign of recent use. There were no signs of my wife’s toiletries on the dressing table either and none of her clothes were in the walk-in closet and her suitcase stood in the corner as if she had just arrived.

Puzzled, I returned to the lounge and looked for a telephone with which to call the staff. Then I remembered I was in a private home, not a hotel. There was no telephone; there would be no reception desk. If I wanted to find my wife I would have to go and look for her. I lowered my briefcase and overnight bag to the ground alongside Amanda’s suitcase then pulled off my tie, opened my shirt collar and stepped out into the darkness.

Though narrow, the well-swept pathways were lit by occasional low lights so there was no risk of tripping, but most of the compound was in darkness. Almost the only light – and that was a low glow – came from a larger lodge a short distance from where I stood.

I approached it slowly, not wanting to intrude on my host’s privacy but needing to know what had happened to my wife. There was no sound coming from within. I tried the door; it was solid and heavily bolted, but light still streamed onto the grass from gaps around the window drapes.

I circled the lodge, trying without success to find a vantage point before eventually finding a small, completely undraped ventilation hole only a couple of feet from the ground.

Moving silently around the lodge’s perimeter, I dropped to my knees and peered through it into the chamber beyond. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the low light within but when the scene before me came into focus my heart almost stopped.

The room was large and low-ceilinged with old oil lamps placed around its walls giving it a deep orange glow. The floor was covered in exotic Turkish and Ottoman rugs and was dotted with richly patterned cushions and blankets. There was a large incense burner on a low table on which also stood a silver coffee pot and an unlabelled bottle alongside three small glasses.

It looked like a set from a harem scene in a ‘fifties Hollywood movie.

But what froze me to the spot wasn’t the decor or the heady aroma which was filtering through the hole into the night. No, my eyes were drawn immediately and inexorably towards the activities taking place on a large, scarlet carpet in the centre of the room.

Exotic, beautiful and intelligent, the tall, intimidating Yasmin lay on her back on a white sheet which had been thrown over the rich, thick rug. She was naked apart from the thin black choker around her neck and an equally thin gold chain fastened around her right ankle. Her small, uniformly tanned breasts were firm and pointed with large deep-brown nipples. Her head was thrown back and her long, dark hair was fanned out over a gold embroidered pillow.

The contrast between the darkness of her skin and the whiteness of the sheet was striking but I was only dimly aware of this because my gaze was fixed firmly on her groin.

Yasmin’s legs were splayed wide, her mouth was open, her eyes tightly closed and her back arched in ecstasy as, between her thighs, a blonde female head slowly moved from side to side and up and down.

It was a blonde head I knew very well; my lovely, intelligent wife was performing oral sex on another woman as if she had been born to it. Mandy was giving pleasure to the intimidatingly intelligent and successful Banker with a skill nothing in her previous life had even hinted she possessed.

Even as I watched, Yasmin’s upper body convulsed, her thighs closed and her hands gripped Amanda firmly by the hair as a powerful orgasmic pulse passed through her.

I stared in astonishment; there, before my eyes, my extraordinarily attractive wife was on her knees between Yasmin’s spread legs, dressed only in dark blue thong panties. Her parted buttocks were raised obscenely high, and her chest and shoulders were almost on the floor as she buried her face firmly in the woman’s groin.

Her long blonde hair was pulled back between her shoulders and tied with a dark blue ribbon that matched her panties. Her hands were behind her back; I gasped when I realised they too had been bound with the same blue ribbon, but she showed no sign of reluctance or hesitation as her active mouth went about its task.

Yasmin’s next orgasm was building before my eyes. She tipped her head back; tilting her dark-skinned, hairless vulva towards my wife’s eager mouth and the tongue that was showering it with pleasure.

My heart thumped, my chest felt tight and the bulge in my trousers grew and grew.

The air filled with the sounds of mounting female pleasure until, as I watched helpless and spellbound, the clever, sophisticated, capable Yasmin was brought to another mighty climax. Her legs closed hard but fruitlessly on her lover’s pale skinned body, her hands gripped Mandy’s head tightly, first pulling her face onto her pulsating vulva, then pushing it away again as a fresh wave of orgasm rolled over her, and her body pulsed and flexed wildly.

But Mandy was relentless. Barely breaking rhythm, she kept tonguing and tonguing until wave after wave of climax washed over the woman and she fell backwards helplessly on the cushions. My wife’s head swiftly followed her lover’s pulsating groin, shuffling on her knees until her bottom was presented directly towards the hole through which I was watching.

Her buttocks raised high, this new position spread my wife’s buttocks wide, the dark blue fabric of her thong stretched tightly around the pale skin of her waist and down the open cleft between her smooth, pale cheeks.

I could clearly see the dark patch at its base where her lubrication had saturated the thong. However reluctant she might have been to stay; my wife was clearly not finding this lesbian experience entirely unpleasant. Her obvious ability in that direction suggested it was far from being her first such encounter, but when could she have honed her undoubted skills – and who with?

But those thoughts were halted abruptly when my eye was caught by a movement in the corner of the room, and I realised that the two girls were not alone.

Sitting very still in a deep, comfortable chair and watching the couple on the carpet was a tall, slim, deeply tanned man I immediately recognised.

Chapter Thirty-One

Turen appeared to be naked apart from a dark-coloured towel wrapped around his waist and was toying with what looked like a cruel, curved knife as he watched the two girls. I ducked down from the widow to avoid being spotted, but his attention appeared to be focused solely on the action on the rug before him.

As I watched, he rose to his feet and slowly approached the two writhing female bodies. His lips moved as if he was speaking but his words were inaudible over Yasmin’s low moans.

He drew closer, smiled, then bent over and slit the blue ribbon securing Mandy’s wrists with his knife. It must have been razor sharp because it parted almost without resistance. My wife shook herself free of her soft bonds, barely acknowledging his presence as her hands rose to join her mouth buried deep in her lover’s crotch.

Ignored by the two lovers, Turen backed slowly away and re-took his seat.

A moment later, though partly unsighted, I saw my wife slide her left hand underneath her own chin. The muscles of her arm flexed and from the sudden bucking of the Turkish girl’s body that immediately followed, I guessed she had thrust her fingers into Yasmin’s vagina.

Apparently satisfied with the result, Mandy’s muscles bunched, and her shoulders flexed again. Yasmin bucked wildly again and again as my wife’s determined fingers were thrust repeatedly inside her.

A moment later, she raised her blonde head leaving the dark-skinned woman’s vulva in full view.

I stared, amazed at the glistening, pale right hand that was half buried in dark, weeping female flesh then watched spellbound as before my eyes, my sweet wife began to finger her new bed partner with an expertise I had only ever seen in porn videos.

Her hand was over the girl’s mound, partly cupping her vulva, but I could tell at least two fingers were buried deep in her vagina. Mandy was working those fingers hard, jerking her hand up and down, I guessed seeking and stimulating the woman’s hidden g-spot hidden in a way I had tried many times to achieve but with limited success.

Mandy’s prowess must have far exceeded my own because the effect on her companion was instant. Yasmin’s dark-skinned legs fell wide apart and her head flopped helplessly backwards then her whole body convulsed, the muscles of her tummy contracting, hauling her helpless head and shoulders upwards where they shook and trembled obscenely.

Between her thighs, my wife’s fingers were working overtime on her companion’s vagina. Yasmin fell helplessly back on the pillow again, her whole body bucking and contorting with the intensity of her orgasms. The room filled with the sound of a woman’s moaning, then squealing then all sound was cut off as her convulsions robbed her of breath.

But nothing this intense could last forever. Eventually Mandy’s arm and hand began to slow and Yasmin’s spasms began to ease. She lay on her back gasping for breath, the aftershocks of her climax rippling through her slender body as Mandy or Amanda, still on all fours, admired her handiwork.

There was a brief stillness, then I became aware of another movement from the corner of the room. Turen was on the move again.

Casting aside his towel, the big man approached my wife from behind, the knife still in his right hand. Frozen to the spot, I found myself incapable of even the slightest movement, not knowing where the greatest danger lay.

The sharp, cruel weapon in his hand was long and thin and it twinkled in the low lamplight.

The meaty weapon that hung between his legs was on a different scale; long, dark and, to my anxious eyes, almost as thick as his powerful wrist.

I watched helplessly as he knelt on the carpet behind my wife’s kneeling frame then slipped the blade of the dagger under the thong. A flick of his wrist later and the strap between her buttocks had been neatly severed.

The blue waistband slipped quickly up her smooth back until it bunched loosely around her waist, the thong disappearing instantly between her thighs to reveal a glistening, inviting slit between her parted cheeks, dark, puffy and simply weeping juices.

Turen moved his powerful body into place behind my wife’s inviting buttocks and exposed, readily accessible vulva. I could sense her bracing herself for what must inevitably follow. Her arms tensed, her neck stiffened and her eyes closed but she made no attempt to move away from her soon-to-be penetrator.

If anything, she seemed to raise her bottom a little higher and open her knees a little wider as if to make his entrance easier.

My chest ached as I watched the woman I had married and the mother of my children preparing herself to be violated by another man. There was no hint of resistance or reluctance; as far as I could see, she wanted it and wanted it badly.

A broad smile passed over Turen’s handsome face as he took the end of his monstrous cock in his right hand and, placing his left palm on my wife’s left buttock, began to work its smooth, rounded head up and down her slit from behind.

Mandy’s head dropped between her arms as the huge dome was rubbed up and down her lips, then her whole body tensed as Turen found his target. An expression of pleasure crossed his brow and a look of fear flashed across my wife’s pretty face as the man’s large right hand joined his left on her buttocks.

Then, before my eyes, slowly but with inexorable force, the Turk thrust his hips forward, driving his monstrous cock hard into my anxious wife’s waiting vagina.

She gasped, her head rose until she was staring sightlessly at the ceiling as he entered her, biting her lip and opening her eyes wide, whimpering as if in pain. He paused at the sound, then pulled back before thrusting forward a second, then a third time.

The huge shaft began its inexorable journey into my wife’s soft, sweet, pale, slender body again. It clearly still hurt but there was to be no going back now. Her continued discomfort was obvious, but she still made no objection, merely panting away the pain, her small breasts dangling down, rocking gently forwards and backwards as, with a slow, sawing motion, the mighty cock sank deeper and deeper into her.

Finally, there was no more shaft to see; Turen had bottomed out inside my wife’s vagina. His lower belly was pressed against her pale, bony buttocks, his balls against her clitoris.

My heart was thumping so loudly that I was amazed they couldn’t hear it. I could see Amanda’s chest heaving as she tried to adjust to the monstrous presence within her.

Then the fucking began.

Turen withdrew until only his head was inside her body, then thrust himself full-length into her in a single powerful stroke. Amanda yelped in shock as the entire shaft entered her quickly and irresistibly. He pulled back and thrust again with the same result.

Then he began to fuck her and fuck her hard. In long, deep strokes he began to pump his cock into my wife’s vagina, quickly establishing a rhythm that spoke of long practice and an intention to keep fucking her for a long time.

Amanda’s body must have been adjusting to the penetration at speed; the sounds of his body striking hers quickly became wetter and more earthy as her lubrication began to flow in earnest.

Turen’s pace increased but he was still fully in control. The same could not be said for Mandy, whose body was reacting to the man’s presence with increasing intensity. The yelp of surprise was quickly replaced by soft moans of pleasure; the moans became louder and coarser; then became gasps.

“Oh God! Oh my God!”

The smile on Yasmin’s face as she watched her erstwhile lover being fucked by her Boss was a picture. Envy at Mandy’s pleasure and anger at having her new female lover taken from her were mixed with triumph at seeing this sophisticated Western wife reduced to little more than a whore by her handsome, virile Turkish employer.

On the carpet, Mandy was reaching what I could see would be only the first of many orgasms. Her head was thrown forward, her back arched, her arms trembling as the first powerful tremors of climax rippled through her.

“Oh God yes! Oh God yes!”

Turen’s thrusting was relentless; his speed increasing but still well under control. A second, more powerful climactic wave passed through Amanda’s helpless body, her arms nearly giving way, her legs and hips shaking so wildly that the man had to grab her hips in both hands to prevent her falling forward.

SLAP-SLAP-SLAP-SLAP!

His thrusts were deep now and as violent as I had ever seen a man fuck a woman. As a third wave of orgasm surged through my wife’s body I saw a look of pain flash across her climax-contorted face and her head was thrown violently back by the force of his thrusts.

My wife’s head thrashed from side to side in helpless surrender to the pleasures wracking her body, those deep blue eyes I knew so well flashing dazedly around the room until…

Until they found mine staring back through the window.

I froze as Mandy’s huge black pupils locked onto my helpless eyes with an intensity that showed beyond doubt that she had seen me and knew I had been watching.

Even if I had tried, I would not have been able to avert my gaze from the action taking place before me.

But I didn’t try; instead, my eyes flicked from my wife’s constant, accusing, penetrating stare to her lover’s hips and back as faster and faster, Turen’s cock pistoned into her, telegraphing his intention to cum and cum soon. The sudden change of pace must have hurt; Mandy’s eyes bulged then were screwed tightly shut, breaking her accusing gaze and giving me a moment of relief from guilt.

But it was short lived; her eyes locked back onto mine as her back arched and she came once again.

There before me, my wife; the mother of my children was on her knees being fucked by a man we barely knew, prostituting herself to help further my career and for the good of our family.

I should have been ashamed, have averted my eyes, perhaps even hammered on the wall to stop it… But right then all I could think of was how unbelievably arousing the entire scene was, and how painful the erection that was tangled in my underwear.

The slapping grew louder and faster; he was about to cum. in a few seconds, Turen would flood my wife’s battered vagina with his seed. From the expression on her face, Amanda must have realised this too but made no attempt to prevent it, merely bracing herself with her arms as the violence of the assault reached its peak.

Then it happened.

As I stared unblinking into my wife’s deep blue accusing eyes, Turen’s climax struck and he began to cum. His head rose and coarse, harsh words in a language I could not understand spilled from his lips as deep inside my wife’s body, semen began to spurt from the tip of his cock.

“Amandaaaahhh!”

Turen’s ejaculation was long and copious, his contorted body slamming violently and repeatedly into my wife’s buttocks over and over again as he emptied himself into her fully compliant, unresisting body.

And throughout her entire, unprotected insemination, my wife’s eyes never left mine, her accusing gaze tearing a hole through my dazed mind and penetrating into my soul.

Suddenly there was a noise close behind me. I froze; for the first time dragging my eyes away from the terrible scene. There was the light of a torch fifty yards away, coming not directly towards me but definitely getting closer.

It held my breath and stared into the darkness. There was the flare of a cigarette lighter followed by quiet male voices. In the light of the flame, I saw two security guards about fifty yards away, guns on their hips.

I looked anxiously for signs of a guard dog but to my relief could see none.

It was time to leave and leave quickly.

I glanced back into the room to see three naked, panting bodies lying on the carpet on which the action had taken place, but could watch no more.

Terrified of discovery, I crouched against the lodge’s wall, keeping as still as I could until the guards had passed into another part of the garden. Then, when the coast was clear, walked silently through the grounds to the lodge where Amanda and I were supposed to be asleep.

My head was spinning; I felt sick.

The night was warm and the lodge was beautiful, but there was a chill inside me as I unpacked my overnight bag, washed and readied myself for bed.

I lay in the darkness, wondering how long she had spent with our hosts; how long she had been part of his harem, how long she had been lost to me, whether I could ever win her back…

And whether she might ever be able to forgive me.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I rose at six, alone, unslept, unrefreshed, and tried to revive myself with a short run along the seashore.

As I passed the cabin where I had watched my wife being so comprehensively fucked, I halted, made sure there was no-one around to see me, then dropped to the ground and peeped in through the low hole once again.

My heart thumped; two female figures curled together like spoons lay on the carpet-covered floor, draped in a sheet. They were breathing slowly and deeply, asleep.

One had dark hair and darker skin, the other was paler and blonde.

I watched for a full minute before rising unsteadily to my feet and running swiftly onwards, as hard and fast as I could, trying to ignore the hardening cock within my running shorts.

Amanda hadn’t returned to our lodge by the time I left. I was relieved; after all I had seen, I was in no way ready for the conversation.

And Amanda knew I had seen it.

In Turen’s private jet, the journey to Ankara had been fast and efficient. The sole other occupant of the cabin was one of the Banker’s young male assistants with whom I made rather stilted small talk, as if both of us were trying to pretend nothing untoward had happened the previous night.

I had gone to the Embassy for some last-minute confirmations and discussions with Brussels and was relieved to find all was still in place for the formal signing planned for later that day. All the time trying desperately to put all I had seen out of my mind and concentrate on the important task front of me.

After a very brief lunch with the Junior Consul, he accompanied me by limousine to the city’s administrative area and made sure I was in the right place at the right time to meet the right people. I was ready and well prepared, but very much aware that, from the moment the young man left me lone in that room, the mission’s success or failure was down to me – and to my extraordinary wife.

Both Turen and Yasmin were bright-eyed and alert when I joined them and Pamuk in the meeting room early that afternoon. The atmosphere was cordial and friendly, but I couldn’t help feeling that there was an undercurrent of triumph emanating from my hosts.

The two men were dressed in expensively tailored business suits as befitted their powerful positions. Yasmin was also in a professional looking, tight-fitting skirt suit with headscarf, but still wore the black choker and gold anklet I had seen before.

It was hard to imagine this smart, efficient woman being the same one I had seen the previous night. She was poised and confident, her dark hair positively gleaming with health, but I couldn’t help noticing a slight flush on her face and chest that suggested her most recent orgasm had not been too long ago.

“I trust you slept well,” Pamuk began, shaking my hand. “With such a late arrival last night and an early start today, you can have had little chance to rest.”

For a moment I wondered whether he knew how little sleep I had had and why, but there was no sign of this on his face.

“There will be time to relax once the agreement is signed and ratified,” I replied, gritting my teeth. “We have all worked hard for this. We deserve a bright future.”

“Indeed we do,” Turen chimed in, beaming as he too shook my hand. “I’m so pleased everything has proceeded as we all desired,” he continued. “In matters such as this there are so often last minute... difficulties. I’m pleased that your wife was able to play such an important part in ensuring these did not arise.”

He gestured behind me. I turned and to my amazement found Amanda standing quietly and meekly towards the back of the room. She was dressed like Yasmin in a smart, tight-fitting business skirt suit and high heels, but her long blonde hair was uncovered and pulled back into a business-like ponytail.

She bowed slightly in acknowledgment, her eyes lowered submissively as her lover of the previous evening praised her and I noticed she too now wore a black choker and anklet.

“You have a remarkable wife,” he added.

“Thank you,” was all I could think to say.

I tried hard not to stare but could not fail to notice her rather stiff, awkward movements as she bowed, or that she appeared to have a stiff neck. It wasn’t hard to imagine how those injuries had come about.

“I have arranged for her to visit some of the more unusual sights and museums our city has to offer,” Pamuk stepped in. “Rarer exhibits not normally open to the public but which, with her education and intellect, I believe she will really appreciate. Will that be acceptable?”

He had addressed his question to me but instinctively I looked towards my wife for confirmation. Her deep blue eyes flashed angrily and resentfully at me. However compliant she was pretending to be with our important friends, she was still very much the fiery Amanda inside – a fact I would no doubt soon see only too well.

But that would have to wait. With considerable courtesy, my wife was spirited away by Pamuk’s staff and the meeting began.

Looking back, it could hardly have gone better. All three of the key Turkish representatives were in good, expansive moods and their junior staff took a lead from their superiors. With only minor modifications the counter proposal from the EU was finally accepted and less than three hours later a series of handshakes sealed the agreement, subject to ratification.

I could scarcely believe it had happened. Professionally this was the greatest success and the greatest day of my career thus far. I had succeeded in bringing both sides together in a deal that was good for all and at the same time had secured lucrative contracts for Sandersons from both parties.

I was a success. Sandersons would be rich. Once we had paid back the money I had stolen, Amanda and might even become rich too.

But this success had come at some considerable cost as far as my wife’s reputation and fidelity were concerned. From what I had seen, it had not been entirely unpleasant for her, but all the same there would be a price to pay for her extraordinary compliance.

~~~

“I’m not sure how long I can keep this up,” Amanda growled.

We were driving from the airport to my parents’ home to pick up our kids after returning to the UK early the following afternoon. The flight home had passed in near silence, the tension between us almost tangible.

“Did they hurt you?” I asked anxiously.

“THEY didn’t hurt me,” she said ominously. “Anyway, physical injuries heal quickly.”

She didn’t need to say any more. My regret did not even begin to acknowledge the immense service she had done for me and indirectly for us both.

The fact that she had apparently enjoyed acquiescing to her hosts desires didn’t change the fundamental fact; my wife had once again prostituted herself for what I tried to convince myself was our benefit.

I owed her so much.

“At least it worked; at least the deal has gone through. We will get a lot out of this, Amanda,” I said in a weak attempt to pacify her.

“So you say,” she said coldly.

“What?” I asked anxiously.

She turned in her seat to look at me, her deep blue eyes full of the fire I was seeing more and more frequently.

“You came very close to treating me like a prostitute. Okay, it wasn’t a bad experience, but you didn’t know it would be like that!”

“I’m really sorry,” I told her and meant it.

“Don’t ever forget that it’s my… Mandy’s body. If I choose... if she chooses to use it then that’s her decision. You can’t just tell me who to fuck and when. I’m not your whore, okay?”

We drove northwards in silence, Amanda staring out of the window while I wondered whether she would mention the fact that I had actually watched her in action with her lovers. That I had seen her with my own eyes and knew that she had been getting considerable enjoyment from the experience.

“As long as I can keep Amanda and Mandy separate…” she eventually said. “If I can just hold it together until we’ve paid Andy back, maybe our lives will be our own again.”

Our lives might be our own again, I thought, but they would never be the same. I loved my wife desperately but after this much infidelity, our relationship couldn’t possibly go back to where it had been before.

“Andy will be pleased,” I agreed. “Maybe we can cut back your dates and…”

“Maybe,” Amanda interrupted with an unenthusiastic sigh. “Right now, all I want to do is sleep, okay?”

“Of course,” I smiled. “I love you!”

She did not return the compliment.

I turned the radio on low while Amanda dozed and for the next hour tried as hard as I could to concentrate on the road and on the bright future ahead for both Sandersons and for us.

I tried desperately not to think of my sweet, highly intelligent wife and the mother of my children with her pretty, blue-eyed face buried in another woman’s cunt while her own was being fucked hard and expertly by yet another stranger.

I tried even harder not to picture the look of pleasure and excitement on her pretty face as she was brought to orgasms more intense than any I had ever supplied, over and over again.

Not surprisingly, I did not succeed!