“You made what?” I gasped into the hands-free phone in my car.

I was driving myself to work the following morning feeling like I had been run over by a bulldozer. My body ached, my head throbbed and my vulva was raw from the onslaught it had received barely eight hours before.

Plus of course my previously mild morning sickness had chosen that day to become more severe.

I had called my daughter as soon as my car had hit the road. Prior to that there had been no time. Exhausted from Will’s energetic fucking, I had overslept the alarm and been forced to dress hurriedly and skip breakfast to avoid being late for my morning meeting.

Izzy’s phone was answered instantly despite the early hour, telling me immediately that she was anxious. The relief in her voice showed clearly how relieved she was not to have to wait any longer. First she made sure I was alone; that her father wasn’t within earshot then, after less than a minute of preamble she had blurted out the extraordinary news, almost making me crash the car in shock.

“We…” Izzy’s voice was low and desperate. “We made a sex tape.”

“What in God’s name were you thinking of?” I demanded angrily.

“Everyone does it Mum,” she protested tearfully. “And I thought we were going to be together forever so it didn’t matter and...”

I pulled the car into a lay-by to the annoyance of the driver behind me who sounded his horn angrily. I pulled on the handbrake and turned off the engine so I could concentrate on the almost unbelievable words coming through the car’s speakers.

I listened, stunned, aghast and amazed as my twenty year old daughter told me how she and her previous long-term boyfriend Steve had on more than one drunken evening, recorded themselves having sex.

“Everyone does it?” I demanded in disbelief.

“Well, lots of people anyway,” she replied sounding at least a little ashamed.

“Jesus Izzy!”

Was there no limit to the girl’s bad judgement and her even worse timing, I wondered while she assured me that amateur porn was common practice among young couples these days.

Of course in my cuckold researches I had come across plenty of homemade videos but it had never crossed my mind that my own daughter would be stupid enough to take part something similar. I suppose, given her recent record and the stupid things I, her mother had done I should have expected something like this.

But I hadn’t expected it and now my already over-complicated life had just become that little bit more difficult to handle.

Eight weeks pregnant by a boy young enough to be my son and in a precarious marriage to a would-be voyeur cuckold, wasn’t my life messy enough? Indeed less than twelve hours ago I had been obliged to let my impregnator’s housemate fuck me crudely late at night in the sports club changing room to prevent him giving away the details of what had up till then been my only one night stand.

My body was still sore and achy from that surprisingly pleasurable encounter, and now I had to deal with the third sexually based disaster in my daughter’s life in only a few weeks.

Do the responsibilities of being a parent never end? Apparently not!

From her broken, tearful conversation, I gathered that Izzy and Steve had been in the habit of filming themselves ‘in flagrante delicto’. The risks, though screamingly obvious to me seemed not to have registered in my supposedly intelligent daughter’s mind. On one particular occasion they had filmed themselves having especially noisy sex in his room in the Hall of Residence in which they were both living.

They had been particularly pleased with the resulting movie. The disaster now was that this video file had somehow leaked out and my daughter’s new boyfriend had apparently now seen it.

Suddenly Izzy’s panic of the previous evening made sense, if nothing else in my life did.

“What did you record it on?” I asked.

“Steve’s Dad’s camera,” she said, her voice breaking into short sobs. “He’d borrowed it.”

“Specially to record the two of you together?”

“No, for his course. It just seemed a good idea…”

“Not to waste the opportunity while you’d got it?” I asked sarcastically.

“That’s right,” came the embarrassed reply.

“And you think Simon’s seen the video?”

“I don’t know. I think he has but he’s not answering any of my calls or messages so I can’t be sure.”

I could hear her breaking down. As a mother, the heart-felt tears of my distressed daughter brought out all the maternal instincts at once, however ill advised her actions might have been. I wanted desperately to hug Izzy, to comfort her, to bury my face in her hair, her head in my arms and to help her. But as we were on the phone and she was over four hours’ drive away from me this wasn’t possible.

But I was also angry with her for her stupidity. This was the third time in a matter of weeks that my supposedly bright, supposedly intelligent daughter had got herself into a difficult situation sexually. Her last fiasco had been when she arrived home unannounced with the news that she thought she might be pregnant with her ex boyfriend’s child.

It was through trying to help her deal with the agonies of inconclusive pregnancy tests that my own highly unexpected and even more unwanted pregnancy had become known, if only to me and then to my husband.

“Is it obvious who it is?” I asked, trying not to let on that my researches had made me very familiar with this type of home video. “Is the picture good enough to make it out?”

“It’s good enough,” she said downcast. “You can’t see Steve’s face. If you know him well you can tell it’s his body but his face isn’t visible”

“But yours is?”

“Yes,” she snuffled. “My face is there - front and centre. And I’m shouting... you know, those words.”

I knew what she meant. As readers will remember, my daughter had acquired the soubriquet ‘Izzy-Oh-God’ after her loud orgasmic cries throughout the first night she had spent with her current and recently-acquired boyfriend Simon.

Apparently not knowing she was already in a long term relationship, Simon had seduced and comprehensively fucked my daughter throughout the night of the Student Union Ball. She had woken the next morning naked and still in his bed to find a message on her phone from her boyfriend Steve dumping her immediately.

Worse, by the end of the day her new nickname had spread throughout her circle of friends.

When he had discovered she had a boyfriend, her seducer Simon had left Izzy and gone back to his own University four hours away by train. She had been distraught but once he realised her relationship with Steve was over and that he was responsible for the break-up, Simon had returned to see her again and they were now a couple even if geography did make it difficult to be together.

This early in their relationship, how Simon would react to seeing his new girlfriend appearing in a leaked sex tape with another boy could only be guessed at. I doubted he would take the same encouraging attitude that my husband did of my own infidelities.

What was it with the women in our family that made us so stupid where boys were concerned?

“Is the video explicit?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Very?”

“You can see everything.”

“For God’s sake Isobel!”

Although I was angry, in a perverse way I wanted to know exactly what she had been filmed doing. But as her mother it would have been a very strange thing to ask. I doubted she would have told me anyway; despite her own chequered sexual history, my daughter could be prudish beyond belief when it came to her parents’ sex lives.

“Where was it? The file I mean,” In asked, trying to be a bit practical.

“On Steve’s laptop,” Izzy replied.

“Is that the only place?”

“It’s on mine too,” she said crossly. “But I didn’t send it, did I?”

That wasn’t my point but I didn’t argue; she was too upset.

“And nowhere else? Be sure Izzy.”

She thought for a few moments.

“We’ve both got online backups to the cloud, I suppose,” she eventually said.

I understood what this meant. I did not trust or use cloud storage myself, preferring the security of physical things such as flash drives and external hard drives, encrypted of course. That way I always knew where all the incriminating evidence of my writing and my affair was.

“How do you know Simon’s seen it?”

“Lauren told me he had,” she said sheepishly. “Now I can’t get him to answer his phone.”

“Oh! Lauren told you!”

I did not like Lauren, the supposed friend of my daughter with whom she had got drunk the night of the ball; the night of her seduction by Simon. What’s more, Izzy had met Simon through Lauren in the first place; a ‘friend of Lauren’s friend’ who was visiting the University for the weekend.

I had always suspected it was Lauren who had told Steve that Izzy was cheating on him. Steve had been informed of his girlfriend’s infidelity while it was actually happening so the number of suspects was very small indeed. Lauren had then moved in on Steve quickly afterwards, working her way into his bed while he was still on the rebound.

I had not yet met Simon and was deeply suspicious of him too but I had to confess I had always liked Steve.

Despite Izzy being my daughter and in distress, since their break-up my sympathies had tended to lie with her cuckolded ex-boyfriend rather than his errant girlfriend. Although I knew it was hypocritical of me and completely against my maternal instincts, I could not blame him for dumping her, especially as her infidelity had been so very public.

It’s not that I wanted Izzy to get hurt; I just didn’t want Steve to be damaged – which he most certainly had now been.

In my view, Lauren was the root cause of it all and could not be trusted. If Simon had indeed seen my daughter being fucked by Steve on video, it seemed to me more than possible that it had been Lauren who had made it happen. Though why she should want to do that was a mystery. As far as I knew, Lauren had already got what she wanted; she and Steve were now ‘an item’.

I couldn’t immediately see what she had would have gained by breaking up Izzy and Simon but there was plenty about my daughter’s life that I didn’t know, as the morning’s revelation had just demonstrated.

“Did Lauren say how it got out?” I asked.

“She says Steve must have sent it to him to hurt me. Or one of his friends did.”

“His friends? How would they even have seen it? And why would he do that anyway? Is he still angry with you? I thought he and Lauren were...”

“Fucking?” I winced at my daughter’s use of a word that Pete and I used routinely. “Yes Mum they are but she doesn’t think it’s serious.”

I thought for a moment. The whole situation would have been laughable if it hadn’t been so hurtful. Izzy had hurt Steve by cheating so Steve had hurt her back by sending her new boyfriend the video?

It didn’t really make sense; after all he had dumped her not the other way round. Unless...

“Do you think Steve’s still in love with you?” I asked tentatively.

“It’s a funny way of showing it if he is,” she replied.

That might be true, I thought, but stranger things had happened. Besides, from what I had seen it didn’t seem in character for Steve to deliberately hurt Izzy. I had always thought he was very much in love with her; I couldn’t imagine him doing something as vicious as this even though she was the one who had cheated. But then I had thought Izzy loved him too and look what she had done!

“Has anyone else seen it?” I asked.

“Not as far as I know. I’m not even sure Simon has seen it.”

“So the only thing you know for sure is what Lauren told you.”

“And that Simon isn’t answering any of my calls or messages, Mum.”

There could be a number of reasons for that but I didn’t suggest any of them. The clock on my car dashboard showed five minutes to nine o’clock. I was already an hour later than usual and there was a meeting due to start at any moment.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” came the downcast reply. “I needed to tell someone and you’re the only one I can trust.”

“I’m always here to listen,” I told her sincerely. “But I’m not sure I can say or do anything practical to help right now. Not until you know what’s really happened. Is there anything you need now?”

“Just be there for me Mum, please. If I’ve been dumped twice inside a month I’m going to need you.”

***

It was a relief to get to work and to return to normality; well as close to normality as the Barker family ever got these days. It was even more of a relief to find a minor crisis taking place on one of the wards which demanded all my attention for most of the day.

For a few precious hours I could be Dr Penny Barker PhD again; calm, professional and in control of at least one aspect of my life.

From time to time my fifty-one year old body complained at the treatment it had received but I steeled myself and tried to ignore the discomfort. It was harder to ignore the memories of the way that same body had felt while it was being so comprehensively fucked by my latest young lover but the busyness all around me helped me cope even with this.

Indeed the day was so busy that it wasn’t until nearly six o’clock when I was sitting in my car again and had started the engine that I remembered I was returning to the madness of my domestic dramas.

In a few short hours my husband would arrive back home after his conference knowing his wife had been fucked by yet another stranger in his absence. What would follow our re-acquaintance was, I hoped predictable and positive but I could never be sure and had promised never to take my amazing husband for granted again.

Of course Izzy had made me swear not to let her Dad know about her latest sexual predicament so I had another secret dilemma to face on my own.

I cursed all daughters under my breath, including myself and tried to concentrate on driving. It sort of worked.

To my relief I had heard nothing further from Izzy or from Will during the day but I had received a series of messages from my husband, presumably during breaks in his conference. At first they were mostly innuendo, suggesting things he wanted to do to me on his return. Then as the day progressed they became more and more explicit.

This had told me two important things; firstly that he was getting bored with his conference. No surprise there! Secondly and more importantly it suggested that he bore little or no resentment about my infidelity with Will the night before.

After Pete’s behaviour on the phone – apparently masturbating in his hotel bed while I described what had happened in the sports club - I hadn’t expected any bad feelings from my husband. But now he had had an entire night to think about it I wasn’t entirely sure how he would feel in the cold light of day, still less when he saw me in person again and presumably would want to inspect closely what remained of the scene of the crime between my thighs.

As I drove home the memories of all Will had done to me came flooding back with a vengeance. The images in my mind were many and vivid but one stood out above all the rest; the reflected expressions on both our faces as the boy reached climax and began to fill my body with his seed.

I changed my already-damp knickers when I arrived home but it was no good. No matter what mundane tasks I did that evening; that clear, imprinted image and the way that moment of insemination had made my middle-aged body feel were unshakeable. I can still remember it vividly even now.

In a vain attempt at distraction, I busied myself getting dinner ready, hoping and praying all would still be alright between my husband and me. I set the table with our best crockery and cutlery, laid out water and wine glasses and linen napkins and opened a bottle of the best red wine we both loved as the kitchen filled with the aroma of cooking.

I went up to the bedroom and changed, my tummy filling with butterflies by the minute. By the time I heard the gates begin to open and his car crunching on the driveway I was alive with nerves, my knees were trembling and had to hold on to the banister for balance as I descended the stairs and entered the kitchen again.

When he saw me in the flesh, how would my husband really feel about a wife who had been unfaithful yet again?

I had donned my short black cocktail dress with stockings and heels as I knew he loved. I had bathed, shaved my arms and legs and trimmed my pubic hair. Given my husband’s past performance, I hadn’t bothered with knickers; he already knew what kind of girl I was.

In an attempt to kill the last few minutes before Pete’s arrival I went to my already-booted laptop and opened my authors email account. The handful of emails I expected was there, all except one positive and reassuring. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Two were from my long-term online correspondents including one of my two female friends and I dashed off replies with pleasure. While I greatly enjoy reading enthusiastic and detailed messages from my male friends, I find those from female readers even more fascinating. Had I been able to get advice from an experienced Hotwife in the early stages of my affair with Tony, I might have been better able to avoid the many foolish mistakes I made and the near disaster that my behaviour had brought to my marriage.

As a result, I had been open and honest with both my online female friends for many months, sharing rather more of my personal life than I would with most of my male friends and learning more about them and their own progress into the world of infidelity in return.

The troll message was from a new tormentor I had acquired a month before. Its style and detail were distinctly different from the usual crude abuse that could relatively easily be ignored. This person seemed to know how to get under my skin with offensive remarks that were much better directed at me personally than simply expressing hate at the world. I deleted the message but not before I had read it several times.

I was deep into reading a long letter from one of my oldest and closest online friends in which he was reminiscing about a particularly exciting evening he, his wife and her lover had enjoyed over thirty years before when I heard the sound of Pete’s key in the door.

Somewhat aroused by the story, my husband’s arrival made me jump guiltily and I slammed the cover of my laptop closed in near panic.

He was back; whatever was going to happen would happen now.

The handle turned; the door opened. My stomach churned when I heard Pete’s footsteps in the hallway.

“Penny?”

“In here,” I called out nervously.

I waited in the kitchen as his footsteps crossed the hallway.

I loved him and wanted him so much my chest ached. Please God may he still love and want me!

I took a step towards him; he took one towards me. I took another... then Pete’s hands were on my body, his mouth was on mine. I opened my lips; his tongue was inside, seeking and finding mine. We kissed wildly and passionately, our mouths open wide as if we were still teens.

I felt my husband’s hands on my body, eager, active, his fingers seeking and finding my tiny boobs, crushing them hard in his fists. It hurt but I loved the pain. His fingers found my nipples and nipped them viciously; I squealed but he ignored my discomfort and I made no attempt to stop him.

It was good pain and I deserved it!

Then my boobs were freed and his hands were on my buttocks, kneading them firmly through my dress. It felt good; it felt very good. I responded with a mixture of relief and desire; my arousal rising so quickly it caught me by surprise.

Seconds later I felt the hem of my dress being lifted and Pete’s strong, warm hand was on my bared, bony cheeks, forcing my lower belly hard against his groin. The erection bulging there was firm and impressive despite being constrained by clothing.

There was a slight pause as Pete discovered the absence of knickers then the oh-so-welcome assault began in earnest.

My chest tightened and my legs shook as a long searching finger began to explore the base of my slit from beneath. I could feel my vulva oozing lubrication onto Pete’s hand, the level of desire and passion rocketing.

Our mouths crashed together so hard I felt sure I would have a fat lip in the morning, our tongues slithering over each other like two snakes as my vulva was fingered roughly and irresistibly.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Pete hissed coarsely in my ear when we finally came up for breath.

“I’ve missed you too,” I smiled back, biting him on the ear as his hands gripped both buttocks at once.

“And you’ve been fucked again, you slut,” he growled.

“That’s right Pete,” I hissed. “I am a slut! I’ve been well and truly fucked.”

“Say it again, Penny!”

Pete was almost snarling; his hand moved from my bottom to my groin then slid downwards until it was cupping my mound.

“I’ve been fucked, Pete,” I obeyed. “Your pregnant slut wife has been fucked again.”

His finger was moving up and down my slit from its base between my thighs to the half concealed but hardening nub at its apex.

“Oh Penny, that’s so hot! Say it again.”

“Are you sure?”

“Christ yes!”

“I’ve been fucked again Pete; another man has stuck his cock into your wife’s cunt and fucked me!”

“Did he cum in you?”

“Of course he came in me! They always cum in me!”

“In this cunt?” Pete asked, thrusting his finger so hard into my vagina that I winced.

“Yes! He came in that cunt!” I hissed, searching for the right words; words that would drive my husband to greater heights of arousal. “He filled your wife’s cunt with his sperm filled cum, Pete!”

It was over the top crudeness but it had the desired effect.

“Did he? Well I’m going to fuck it right back out of you!”

With that, my handsome husband took my hand and almost dragged me upstairs, tearing at my clothes on the way. By the time we had reached the bed he had stripped me forcefully down to my stockings, heels and bra.

I backed towards the edge of the mattress, my body shaking. Pete pushed me powerfully backwards onto the bed, his hands on my knees, spreading my legs so wide my aching hips creaked as he dived between my thighs until his face was only inches from my weeping vulva.

“You’re still puffy,” he announced with obvious delight. “And pink. And gaping too. You really, really did it!”

I suspected the pink puffiness was mostly in his mind or from his fingers but I was pleased that the thought was bringing him so much pleasure. I knew from my affair with Tony that my vulva – my Pretty Pink Pussy as he had called it - did show signs of sex for a day or so afterwards but of course it was hard for me to see.

“Yes Pete; I really, really did it,” I repeated.

“You’re amazing!”

“It looks like you don’t mind too much,” I chuckled.

He didn’t reply.

“Are we safe now?” he asked.

Pete’s fingers were toying with my outer lips as he spoke, parting them to expose the inner core; looking for more physical signs of Wills presence in my body. I could feel myself being opened wide, being inspected. Perversely I loved the feeling; my body was lubricating wildly. It felt very pleasant indeed.

“Only for the moment,” I replied, sighing.

I leaned back on my elbows, watching the small thinning patch on top of my husband’s head as it was lowered closer to my vulva. I could feel his hot breath on my sensitive parts.

“How long it will last?” he asked, the tip of his tongue tracing a line down my left inner thigh.

“I don’t want to know if it makes you act like this,” I smiled encouragingly.

There was a small pause as Pete’s tongue mirrored the action on my right thigh, this time dipping into the crease at the top of my leg. I shivered with soft pleasure and anticipation.

“Did he fuck you hard?”

“Hard and fast Pete. He’s an athlete.”

“How did he fuck you?”

“Bent over the counter.”

“Standing up?”

“Yes. My face was on the counter top.”

“Your bottom sticking out?”

“And my pussy.”

“This puffy pink pussy?”

His tongue performed one long stroke from the very base of my slit across my weeping entrance to my hard clitoris above. My whole body jumped.

“YES!” I squealed. “Oh God YES!”

I moaned and writhed as he did it a second time, then a third.

“Did he stick his cock into your pussy?” Pete mumbled into my pubic hair.

“Y... Yes!” I gasped as his tongue continued its work.

“Was it big?”

“Mmmm!”

“Was it long?”

“Mmmmmm!”

“Was it thick?”

“Mmmmmmmm!”

Pete had lifted the hood of my clitoris with his thumbs and the rough flat of his tongue was rasping against its underside. The sensation was almost unbearable. I could feel myself pouring lubrication into his mouth as my body shook uncontrollably.

“Did he fuck the living daylights out of you Penny?”

“Jeeesssussss!” was all I could reply.

For a few minutes Pete buried his face in my groin, his tongue lithe and active, unwilling to deprive any part of my vulva of the attention it deserved… and it deserved so much. The first wave of climax rocked me violently as his tongue rasped along and under my clitoris over and over again.

I squealed with pleasure, my juices flowing freely onto my husband’s nose and chin.

“Did you cum like this for him?” Pete mumbled into my pubic mound once he had regained his breath.

“God yes!” I gasped.

“Did you cum on his cock?”

“And on his fingers.”

Pete’s tongue was tracing the outline of my outer lips again, up one side and down the other. My whole body was tingling with pleasure and anticipation.

“Did he cum too?”

“Yes.”

“In your pussy?”

“In my cunt.”

“Bareback?”

“Bareback! Ohhhh!”

Pete’s tongue had just abandoned my hard nub and insinuated itself deep into my slit, parting my pink outer labia and running lightly along the deep valley between them. I could feel myself lubricating with a vengeance now, the warm tingle accompanied by a slow release of fluid and a rapid increase in my arousal.

“How much did he cum?”

My husband’s voice was again muffled by my weeping vulva and sparse pubic hair.

“Mmmm! Loads; he’s young and fit.”

“Did he squirt it all into your cunt?”

“God! That feels good Pete.”

“Did he fill you Penny? Did you take every last drop of his cum?”

“Yes! Oh yes! Every last drop.”

“All in your cunt?”

“All in my pregnant cunt!”

My legs parted automatically as my husband’s shoulders pressed against my inner thighs and he began to mount me, looking down onto my flat-chested, skinny, stretch-marked body with an expression of lustful surprise.

“He’s marked you!” Pete exclaimed as he noticed the small fingertip bruises on both my hips.

I didn’t reply, I just looked up into my husband’s handsome face and waited to see how he reacted.

“He’s actually marked you as his! Fucking Hell!”

Pete forced my legs even wider apart with his knees, his eyes wide in lustful excitement.

“Those marks will be there for days too,” he gasped.

Clearly this was far from distressing for my husband whose body slipped into place high between my thighs.

“What if he’s knocked you up?” he hissed as his chest rose above mine.

“I’m already knocked up.” I slurred.

“Whose baby is in your belly?”

“Darren's,” I hissed again.

“Whose cum was in your cunt?”

“Will’s”

“Whose wife are you, slut?”

“Yours!”

“Say it again.”

“I’m your wife, Pete. Your slut wife!”

“Too fucking right you are!”

“Owwww!”

With those last words, my husband rammed his erect cock brutally into my vagina, penetrating my body as hard and as deeply in a single stroke as I had ever felt.

Readers will remember that Pete’s cock is slim and my vagina loose after having had three children. The mismatch was partly responsible for my original affair with Tony, a close family friend whose ugly, misshapen, stumpy cock was thick enough to stretch me tight and provide the orgasms my husband could not.

But Pete’s erect cock is long, reaching deep into me and that is what it did that night. When Pete thrust himself violently into my open and dripping vagina, he plunged his entire length into my body at a single stroke, halting only when his hips collided with my spread thighs.

By then of course the smooth head of his long cock had crushed my cervix in a way Tony’s never could, pressing it high into my belly despite the pressure of Darren’s baby growing behind its sealed entrance.

I gasped, my hands on my husband’s shoulders, my eyes fixed on his handsome face as he began to thrust in and out of my body. Although I knew from the start that there would be no orgasm, still I clamped down on his shaft as hard as my ageing pelvic floor would allow, tilting my pelvis forwards in the hope of stimulating my clitoris on the upper surface of his shaft.

It was a forlorn hope; the sensations for me barely changed but for Pete they brought about a transformation.

“Yes! Squeeze me, slut! Act like a whore! Is that what your boyfriend taught you?” he growled as my efforts took effect.

“That’s right,” I hissed back. “He didn’t need it! His cock was big enough on its own. He could make me cum any time he wanted.”

It sounded cruel but it was what my husband wanted to hear. And we both knew it

Pete hammered into me over and over again. My slippery vagina barely felt the friction but the slapping of his hips against my thighs, his balls against my buttocks and the pummelling of my cervix were beginning to take their toll.

The room filled with wet slapping sounds which seemed to drive Pete on to greater efforts. His pace quickened and, if it were possible, the depth of his penetration increased too. I clamped down hard again, feeling his head swelling within me as his climax rapidly approached.

“Cum in me Pete!” I growled again. “Cum in your slut wife!”

He looked as if he was going to say something and that something would not be pleasant but before the words could emerge his climax hit him like a brick wall, sending his body into spasm and starting another of the explosive ejaculations that our new lifestyle had created.

Pete began to cum inside me with an intensity I had rarely seen in him. His face contorted grotesquely, his back arched and his neck twisted wildly as his body emptied itself into mine. With open mouth and staring eyes, rope after rope of semen cascaded from the tip of his cock into the depths of my vagina where they met with the baby-sealed barrier of my cervix.

His climax seemed to last for a long time, his body flexing and groaning but even the most intense of orgasms must come to an end, and eventually this one did too.

Pete’s body fell onto mine, crushing me against the rumpled sheet as the throbbing of his cock slowed to a halt. A minute later I felt it beginning to soften and the strange emptiness inside me that always accompanied the death of a man’s erection.

“That was intense, Penn,” he smiled as his flaccid cock slipped messily from my body.

I smiled up at him.

“Sorry you didn’t make it... again,” he said looking genuinely unhappy.

“It’s okay. I have other outlets now, don’t I?” I said matter-of-factly.

He rolled alongside me on the bed.

“That’s right. And you will have more soon too.”

He kissed me on the cheek. I held his hand. We lay peacefully side by side for a long time.

“Was he better than Darren?” my husband eventually asked.

“Will? It’s hard to say. He’s not really had a chance to show off his skills.”

“Is it better with a younger man?”

I pondered, despite our history I was still amazed that this conversation was happening at all.

“It’s different. All men are different,” I eventually said.

“But only some can make you cum,” Pete frowned.

“That’s partly my fault,” I said. “Down there...” I didn't need to finish the sentence.

“And I’m not big enough? Thanks a bunch,” he said sulkily.

I didn’t think he was serious in his apparent upset but I wasn’t quite sure.

“You didn’t have any problem making Julie cum did you?” I told him reassuringly, surprised how much it hurt even to refer to my husband’s single act of infidelity.

Pete sat up straight.

“Who told you that?”

“She did. In fact she was very complimentary about your bedroom skills.”

Pete tried to hide the broad beam of pleasure that crossed his face but I spotted it. I suspect he wanted me to tell him more about the rest of his performance with my best friend but unlike him, I wasn’t interested.

If Julie had chosen to let my husband stick his cock into her rectum, that was their business.

It still upset me to think that the two of them had successfully enjoyed anal sex when Pete and I had failed in the many attempt throughout our lives together. Why he found it so arousing to hear about my infidelities was still something of a mystery for me; but I was unquestionably glad that he did.

“Were you dripping with his cum when you left the club?” Pete asked, turning towards me and running his fingers over my tummy.

The game had started again. I played my part as a good Hotwife should.

“Mmmmm. All the way home. The car seat was all slippery.”

“What about your panties?”

“In my bag. They were too soaked and too torn to wear.”

His fingers had descended to my groin now and were toying with my tightly curled and matted pubic hair.

“Where are they now?” he asked.

“In the bin in the bathroom,” I replied.

“Are they still dirty?”

“There’s no cum on them; he ripped them off before fucking me. Why?”

Pete left me in the bed, went quickly through to the en suite and returned with the tiny, torn garment in his hands. He sat on the edge of the mattress and held it out in his fingers as if inspecting it. As I watched he raised the fabric to his nose and inhaled deeply.

“They smell of you.”

He sniffed again them looked a little disappointed. I frowned; I have never understood the attraction the smell of a woman’s dirty knickers had for my husband or the way he seemed to love the rancid, fishy smell and taste of my vulva after sex. Maybe you had to be a man to understand.

“Didn’t you put them on afterwards?” he asked, apparently disappointed.

“He broke the elastic.”

“But you had them on when he was fingering you, right?”

I didn’t ask how he could tell; after over twenty years of marriage, my husband was far more familiar with my vaginal secretions than I was myself. He took another long sniff then placed the ruined garment carefully in the top drawer of his bedside table.

“Another souvenir?” I asked.

Pete just shrugged, a little ashamed asking “Is that so bad?”

“Of course not,” I smiled, though I did still think it a bit weird and more than a bit yucky.

“But it’s not all over yet?” he asked. “With Will?”

From the tone of his voice it was hard to tell whether he thought an end to my encounters with the boy would be a good thing or a bad one. Perhaps he didn’t know himself.

“I’m not sure,” I told him truthfully. “He’s still got a hold over us.”

“Will he want to see you again?”

“Probably. How do you feel about that?” I asked.

“Angry! But proud at the same time! And massively turned on too if I’m honest; It’s not simple Penn.”

You could say that again, I thought to myself but Pete hadn’t finished.

“Sometimes when you’re with another man I just want it all to stop and for us go back to being a normal couple. Other times – most times to be honest - I get so turned on all I want in the world is to be there too and watch him fuck the life out of you.”

My husband’s long-standing desire to see me in bed with another man was still something I could barely understand but was apparently getting stronger by the month. The fact that this had not yet happened despite my now having had three lovers was a constant and growing problem in our new lifestyle.

“Have you thought about... what I said?” I asked.

“About prostitutes?”

“Escorts!” I corrected him.

He sighed.

“I suppose objectively it’s the solution to all our problems,” he conceded. “I’m just having trouble with the whole idea of...”

“Of paying for sex?” I volunteered.

“I suppose so. It seems so sordid. On the other hand...” he mused.

Without giving away the secret of my writing, I couldn’t tell him that my online friends and readers had assured me it was quite the opposite to sordid; that done properly, using an escort could bring all the physical pleasure we had both been seeking without any of the risks of being discovered or of falling in love as I had done so badly with my first lover Tony.

It seemed the only way I could give my amazing husband his dream fantasy in safety was to use a professional. And after all I had inflicted on him over the past months I badly wanted to make Pete happy.

“But we need to deal with this little problem first, right?”

At first I thought he meant the problem of Will and the threat he represented to our family. Then I felt my husband’s lips on my boobs, then on my tummy where Darren’s baby was still inexorably growing and thought he meant the problem of my pregnancy.

Finally I felt the touch of his tongue on my mound and realised that he meant a problem much easier to solve – the problem of my lack of orgasm.

I opened my legs instinctively and felt my husband’s mouth close in on my open, messy vulva.

Ten minutes later I was floating on a sea of orgasms.

Ten minutes after that I was asleep, naked, splayed out on the bed, my cuckolded husband lying alongside me.