Andrew was cooking dinner when I arrived home. How appropriate it seemed to see him standing at the stove in his apron. I made myself a rye manhattan and took a seat in our sunroom overlooking the lake without a word to him. I wasn't nervous, but I wanted him to be. Just the slightest bit. Almost a payback for the months of anguish I had endured.

Eventually Andrew wandered in, still in his apron, and sat across from me with his back to the lake. From the way he looked at me I could tell he was curious, wondering about my behavior. I hadn't said hello to him nor had I given him the perfunctory kiss long habit had trained him to expect.

"Will dinner wait?" I asked.

"It will," he responded.

Several minutes passed during which I sipped my manhattan. Casually, seductively crossing and recrossing my legs, I was enjoying his apparent discomfort as much as the ripple of the lake against the shoreline in the quiet of the evening.

"You really do want it, don't you?" whispered from my lips after a long interval of silence. "You really do want me to cuckold you. It took me quite a long time to believe that you do, and even longer to bring myself to want it, too. But I've done it. I hope it's what you anticipated."

The silence continued. I couldn't be certain, but I thought I saw his stomach clench as if hit with a gut punch. I sat waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

Long after the silence had once again become uncomfortable, he asked, his voice almost trembling, "Who is it?"

"You are getting way ahead of yourself, Andrew," I replied. "Tonight we have to come to an understanding. You have to, really. I have pretty much made up my mind. I am going to give you what you seem to want. It never was what I wanted from our marriage, but I will give it to you. But..." And here I hesitated for what must to him have seemed an interminable moment... "But," I finally continued, "only on terms I can live with. It already has begun and I will not turn back. So just listen to me. We can stay married, and I want to stay married. But I confess I don't understand why you would."

He didn't storm out of the room. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't say a word. He sat and waited.

"I am not going to change my way of life," I began after several long minutes. "I won't be seen in this community as the woman running around behind her husband's back. I don't want to be seen that way, and I don't think you expect me to be seen that way. You had better not. But I will be having regular sex with one or two married men and I don't intend to hide it. Do you understand?"

He sat dumb, probably numb.

"Do you know why my lovers...." I stopped, giggled, a twinkle in my eye. "My bulls..." I continued. "My bulls. Do you know why my bulls will be married men? Married men whose wives are aware that they are fucking me?"

Again he said nothing. I sneered at him, disgusted. "They won't threaten our marriage." I let it sink in like a dead weight. "Our marriage..." I continued, shaking my head. "Can you even believe that...our marriage. What a marriage it is. But I want it to continue. I hope you do, too."

I realized I had given him quite a lot to think about in one quick rush. Better, I thought, to slow things down a bit. "Come on," I relented, "we don't have to sort this out all in one sitting. Let's have dinner."

-------- -------- --------

Over dinner I told him he would have to move his things into the first floor guest room. That he would be sleeping there, by himself, from now on. The master bedroom was mine. He took it remarkably well. After cleaning up he immediately went and began to move his things. I knew it wouldn't take him too long, so I followed him upstairs shortly and while he was out of the bedroom carrying a load of clothes to the guest room, I removed my skirt and panties and left them conspicuously on the bedroom floor. When he returned for his next load, I was standing in the bathroom with the door open, leaning over the sink, looking into the mirror. Bent at my waist, I was removing my makeup and was bare from the waist down except for my garter belt, stockings and heels. From the door he could see all of me except my face and head. The stripes on my bare bottom were unavoidable.

When I heard him at the door, I said as casually as I could, "Would you please put my skirt and panties down the laundry chute?" After waiting a second or two, I followed with, "Did you hear me?"

"I've got them," he mumbled and soon disappeared with his last load.

It had been quite an afternoon and quite an evening. More than enough for several days. I finished undressing, then slid into a slinky black nightie. Wondering whether he would be there in the morning, I soon fell fast asleep.

------- ------- ------

We met over breakfast the next morning, both dressed for work. Andrew was sullen. I ignored his discomfort. We ate in silence until we were almost finished. Then I unloaded. I figured this would be the first real test. "I've made a dinner date for Friday night with your mother and sister. You need to tell them," I said, waiting placidly for his response.

"Must we?" he began.

"I don't want either of them seeing me out and about, or hearing secondhand, that I am fucking around on you. We must," I declared, with finality. "And you will do the telling."

He knew he would, and he did.

....... ....... .......