Chapter Fifty

They say all good things must come to an end. That might be true, but sadly the same isn’t true of all bad.

Although in hindsight the outcome was predictable, its beginning came from an entirely unexpected direction and at a time when everything else in my life seemed to be running smoothly.

I should have known it was just the lull before the storm.

I should have guessed that when the storm arrived, it would all be my fault. Again.

***

The sun had risen early that August morning, so I was giving nine-month-old Leanne her first feed of the day. Warm sunshine washed over the high-backed chair in which I sat, knickerless as usual, rubbing myself slowly on the carefully prepared towel on which I routinely sat.

Although I had become more accustomed to the extraordinary level of arousal breastfeeding routinely generated in me, it had not in any way diminished so I was rocking slowly back and forth as I fed, the ridge deliberately folded into the towel beneath my bare vulva, rubbing very pleasantly along the dark, damp valley between my puffy outer lips.

For last couple of months, all had been quite uncharacteristically smooth and well in the Barker household.

Apart from being small, everything else about Leanne’s development was going to plan. The rumours about her parentage, though true, had been superseded by other, more recent scandals and it had been some weeks since anyone had done the double-take when seeing me and my mixed-race baby together.

Home from University and working at the same Garden Centre, Izzy and Jack had been together so much day and night that they had almost become joined at the hip and I had hardly seen them over the whole summer.

Whether they were avoiding both me and Jack’s father I could not tell, but neither her nor my affair with Tony had been mentioned again, even in secret.

Tim and Thomas were happy, though I suspect still felt unnecessarily awkward sharing the bed in my son’s room on the few occasions they had visited us.

Despite the trauma of the birth, Josh and Samantha were now openly discussing having a second child soon after the first ‘to get it all over with’ while they were still young.

Whether their comment was inspired by watching a fifty-two-year-old mother with a tiny baby in her arms was a question I was not feeling strong enough to ask, even of myself.

Even Tony’s attempts to get back into my knickers had moderated. Thanks to local gossip, I knew this was at least partly because his most recently seduced, married conquest was proving even more exciting and demanding in bed than he had hoped.

I looked down at the dozing form in my arms as her appetite became replete, her sleepy eyes closed and the vice-like lock of her lips on my nipple was released.

A shiver of pleasure rippled through me as cool air touched the damp flesh of my teat. The nipple erection brought about by her suckling was now hardened further by the steady glow of sexual arousal emanating from between my thighs and which could not be ignored.

Pete had worked late the night before and had been too tired to make love on his return. Despite all my efforts, his surprisingly red cock had remained stubbornly flaccid, so my sexual needs, heightened by another couple of hours exposed in chatrooms, had remained frustratingly unsatisfied.

It was too early on a Saturday to wake him and demand his immediate sexual attention so, settling my baby back in her cot, I padded downstairs to the kitchen where my laptop was waiting, fully charged. I put on the kettle for tea, placed my carefully folded towel on one of the high stools at the breakfast bar, then perched on it and booted up the machine.

The rough towel’s rough surface tickled and stimulated my vulva deliciously. If I could maintain this level of arousal, my writing would have the edge of verisimilitude I loved. I might even seek some relief with an unknown, remote partner in a chatroom if I got too aroused for anything but an orgasm to satisfy me.

Frustratingly, the laptop seemed to take an age to boot up but when it did, I logged into my secret author’s email account as usual and clicked on the Inbox.

There were three messages waiting. One was from one of my longest-term correspondents; a real-life cuckold of many years’ standing. Although his wife no longer met other men, his advice had been crucial in helping me with both my writing and in the early days of my own Hot Wife lifestyle.

I took his criticism of my stories very seriously, so read his comments on my latest publication carefully. To my relief, he had enjoyed it though he and his wife had managed her infidelities differently.

With a contented smile, I clicked on the second message. I expected it to be from an unfamiliar reader, either praising or hating my work, so I opened it with some trepidation and read the contents anxiously.

Then I sat back in my chair in horror.

‘Like the present in the garden?’ the message read. ‘Next time it’ll be a lot closer to home!’

That was all it said.

It took a few moments and several re-reads before it sank in. Then, leaving my laptop logged into my email, I jumped to my feet, ran bare bottomed out of the kitchen and across the hallway to the large picture window that overlooked the front of the house.

“Oh my God!” I squealed as I looked out at the driveway.

My husband came running out of the bedroom and onto the landing in his boxer shorts.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded anxiously.

“Look!”

I pointed through the large picture window and into the front garden. On the driveway were our two cars; my husband’s Porsche and my own SUV. Pete’s pride and joy was as pristine as is always was, but the same could not be said of the vehicle alongside.

I threw open the front door and ran out onto the driveway, barefoot and in my night dress, my husband only feet behind me.

“Christ!”

From its bonnet to its rear door, my beautiful shiny car had been covered with graffiti. Large, bright-red, spray-painted words adorned every panel.

And what words!

‘Slut!’ ‘Marriage breaker!’ Cheating cunt!’ were only a few of the choice phrases presented.

“Who the fuck would do this?” Pete demanded walking slowly around the ruined car. “I’m calling the Police now!”

He left me gawping at the painted obscenities while he stomped back into the house.

I circled the car slowly. Not one panel had escaped the paint and the words were hateful. Eventually Pete materialised at my shoulder. I turned to face him, expecting to see concern and support but instead was met with an angry frown.

He stared at me, his face one big scowl.

“This is personal Penny. You know what this is about and this time, you’re going to tell me the truth. All the truth.”

It wasn’t a question; it was an accusation. I froze, speechless.

The beginning of the end had started.

***

It was a long time before the Police arrived at the house. Having ascertained that with Pete present, there was no immediate risk to me, our problem had been prioritised down the list.

That left three long, terrible hours for my husband to grill me on the last remaining secret between us.

Pete took full advantage of the opportunity. During a tense, painful and tear-filled period punctuated by the need to attend to Leanne on a regular basis, I gradually confessed the truth about my life as an author of erotic stories.

For some reason, the confession of this secret was far harder to make, harder than when I had told him about my affair with Tony. Not surprisingly, Pete was badly hurt and very upset; not that I had written erotica, but that I had kept it secret from him for so long.

When the young constable arrived, the atmosphere between my husband and me was glacial. We put on as good a show as we could, but the body language must have spoken volumes.

A cursory inspection revealed that, although our drive was gated to vehicles, we had left the doorway for deliveries unlocked overnight, allowing easy access. A longer look at the car quickly established that this was much more than just mindless vandalism and was consequently out of the young man’s pay scale.

Mid-afternoon a short, unimpressed female Detective Sergeant arrived, and events began to gather a dreadful momentum of their own.

“You write what, Mrs. Barker?” the sneer in her voice was cruel. “Doctor Barker, I should have said.”

Given the emails I had received and the actual physical attack on my car, I had no choice but to confess what had happened right up front. Anything else would have been stupid; I might actually be under threat of physical violence.

“I write erotica,” I repeated.

“You mean pornography?” she asked, forcing me to repeat myself. “Dirty stories?”

“That’s what she said,” Pete jumped in, defending me. “She’s a very popular author with a large following.”

I stared at him. Was that an element of pride in his voice?

“And you publish anonymously, online, you say?”

The disbelief was intended to be cruel and was so.

“Yes,” I blushed.

“And no doubt you get trolled from time to time. As a female porn author you must get a lot of nasty messages like today’s.”

“Yes,” I confirmed, still trying to keep my composure. “I do.”

“But this was not an online attack, Doctor Barker,” she said slowly. “This was a very real attack in your front garden.”

There was no denying that fact.

“So, either this attack is nothing to do with your writing, or else someone has managed to find out where you live. Have you ever told anyone your address online?”

“Never,” I insisted.

“Have you ever given away clues in your conversations?”

“No. Well…”

“Penny?” Pete stepped in. “You think you might have?”

“I don’t know! I’m not sure,” I replied, getting upset. “I’ve had so many conversations with so many people over the years. Maybe I did give away too much by accident.”

The Policewoman sat back in her chair.

“Well, we’d better start there!”

The Detective Sergeant’s voice was as hard as her expression as she gave me a look of contempt I will never forget.

***

They took my laptop and the family desktop away, temporarily bringing my online life to a halt.

All my stories, both complete and in progress and of course, all my emails were taken for analysis. As the Police car drove away, I knew that within a very short time, the deepest secrets of the last eighteen months would be secret no longer. My status as a cheating slut and my husband’s as willing cuckold would soon be known to the police too.

God knows how many others would get to hear. It all depended on what the officers chose to do next.

it was all my fault. I felt sick.

That night, in a single all-night session, my husband read almost every word I had written and published online while I tossed and turned sleeplessly in bed upstairs. In the morning he looked awful; shocked, pale-faced and with dark rings under his eyes.

He did have the decency to compliment me on my imagination and style and was grudgingly impressed by the ratings and the number of followers I had gathered, but when we sat across the breakfast table from each other the next morning I could tell he was not a happy man.

“Some of these things are barely legal,” he said, stunned.

Over a rather stilted conversation it became obvious that some of the more unusual subjects I had chosen had shocked him. I was pleased I hadn't told him about all my more extreme pseudonyms.

But what had shocked him most was that he had instantly recognised some of the real people on whom I had based my characters. Some of them were close friends, including Tony who featured in most of my early works.

I had included in the stories, many of the things he and I had enjoyed in bed during our affair. Across the breakfast table, I could tell that my husband was torn between jealous outrage on the one hand, and extreme arousal on the other.

Although Pete had heard from my mouth a full description of what my lovers and I had done with and to each other, seeing it in writing and knowing that many thousands of other men and women had read it too was something else entirely.

For the second time in less than two years, I began to believe that I had just destroyed my marriage. But with a new baby in the house and the threat of extremely public exposure, this time it was far more serious.

“Did you really do all those things with him?” Pete asked at one point.

“Not all of them,” I replied quietly. “There’s quite a bit of fantasy there too.”

“I would hope so,” he snorted, apparently in disgust though his body language told a different tale. “What about the other stories? The ones about our friends?”

“Some of them are true, you just didn’t know it. Others I’ve just used the characters.”

“I had no idea you had this kind of imagination – or these kinds of fantasies in your head.”

I didn’t say that perhaps he would have known more if he hadn’t spent so much of the last few years obsessed with establishing a Hot Wife and Cuckold lifestyle, but the thought did cross my mind.

“They’re not all my fantasies,” I protested. “Some I write simply because I know lots of people like to read that type of story.”

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me,” he said, his voice more hurt than angry. “It’s like cheating on me again, even if you didn’t actually do anything.”

“I know. I’m sorry Pete. It’s just that I nearly lost you after you found out about Tony. I didn’t want anything else to put our marriage at risk.”

“You should have told me then,” he insisted.

“I know. I was wrong. I should have confessed straight away but once I’d let the moment pass, there never was another right time to tell you and it just became easier to keep it secret.”

“Are there any other secrets?” he demanded. “If we’re going to have any chance at all of getting through this, I need to know absolutely everything. I can’t go on with this marriage unless I’m completely sure there’s nothing nasty still to come out.”

His words stunned me into silence. Was the man I loved more than anything in the world really thinking about leaving me once again?

“There’s nothing else to tell, I swear,” I said clearly and firmly and for the first time, truthfully.

Well almost.

***

Within forty-eight hours, Pete had installed CCTV cameras in the front and back of the house.

My damaged car remained in the driveway for three days while the Police inspected it, dusted it for fingerprints and other mysterious things that seemed to take ages to finish. After that it was taken away to be repaired and resprayed and I was left with a tiny courtesy car.

The officers assured me that because of the perceived threat to me and my family, they were taking the attack very seriously, but of course were very busy so I shouldn’t expect to hear much from them for a while.

Two days later, the frowning Detective Sergeant reappeared at the house in the evening to ask further questions, saying they had completed a preliminary analysis of my laptop and needed help in pursuing several lines of enquiry.

“You’re something of a surprise, Doctor Barker,” she began, her sneering, suspicious tone very clear. “Writing porn and having multiple affairs at the same time; it’s not what we usually find in a nice, middle-class household.”

I blushed, feeling angry and ashamed at the same time.

“Your email accounts were very revealing too. Especially your exchanges with Mister…. She gave Tony’s full name. Is his wife aware of your affair?”

“Yes,” I replied. “They were separated at the time.”

“And she was having an affair with a much younger man herself. Is that right?”

“Yes,” I reluctantly replied. “She and Tony are getting divorced now.”

“But you slept with her lover as well as her husband? Is it possible she resents that?”

“No. She and I have met several times since then. I would know.”

“You haven’t met her for some time. Are you sure there’s no animosity between you?”

“None at all. He’s a serial philanderer. Julie warned me about him before it all ended. We’re still friends.”

“So it seems from your messages,” she agreed. “Quite a little den of vice around here, isn’t it? Everyone sleeping with everyone else.”

There was no denying this, so I said nothing.

“Okay, we’ll focus on the threatening messages. There are lot to go through, aren’t there? You’re quite a controversial figure in the cuckold world.”

For the next half hour, we went over my writing and the reactions it provoked. The stream of vicious troll attacks I had recently received naturally featured front and centre of their investigation.

Had I replied to any messages from this person or that?

Not knowingly, but they could easily have set up multiple accounts. I had no way of knowing this.

Had I given away any personal information?

Not deliberately but there had been long-term email exchanges with several online friends going back years. It was possible I had said things that might have identified myself without meaning to.

The conversation went on and on, all the time with me on the back foot. As I showed her to the front door over an hour later, I felt like a schoolgirl who had had a particularly severe dressing down by the head teacher and had been told to stand in the corner with her hands on her head.

Just before leaving, the Detective Sergeant turned Columbo-style with one last question.

“Is it at all possible that the man you had an affair with did this? Is it possible he blames you for the final break-up of his marriage?”

“Tony?” I replied, surprised. “No. Of course not.”

The idea that he might feel this much hatred just because I wouldn’t fuck him again was absurd, but she didn’t know that. The Detective raised her eyebrows.

“Are you sure? How long did the affair last?” I told her. “And it was passionate,” she stated. “According to your emails, the sex was so good you nearly left your husband for him.”

Had she chosen her words deliberately to hurt me? I couldn’t be sure, but they hit home hard.

“But he doesn’t know about my writing either,” I insisted. “And his wife had left him long before he and I…”

“Started fucking?” she ended my sentence for me.

I nodded, shamefaced. This time there was no doubt; those words had certainly been deliberately chosen.

Though still doing her job, it was clear that the woman despised me.

***

Despite the high level of tension between us, Pete stood shoulder to shoulder with me throughout the whole of this difficult period. I felt really bad for him; having to answer Police questions about our sex life, how he felt about my many infidelities and what he got out of being a cuckold.

The sneering, almost schoolboy attitude that some of them adopted was almost unbearable for me. It must have been even more humiliating for my poor husband, but he was very strong.

It was hard enough for me to explain my own actions. Explaining to a young officer no older than my children that I wrote hardcore sex stories and had enjoyed multiple partners in real life was almost physically painful.

But what was far, far worse was the way my husband looked and behaved towards me. Pete began working even longer hours, starting early and finishing late, as if trying to spend as little time at home with me as possible.

We still ate some meals together, but our conversation was sparse and confined only to practical matters. In bed he was either cold and silent or alarmingly violent in his lovemaking, hate-fucking me several times in the first few days before withdrawing all but the most essential physical contact.

At least nothing had come out in public. Yet.

***

It was two weeks later that the same disapproving Detective Sergeant came to the house again to announce that with remarkable efficiency, they had managed to track down the attacker, who had immediately confessed.

Both Pete and I were genuinely impressed.

The attacker turned out to be female and to live in a town less than an hour’s drive from us. She worked in a hospital too and had been stalking several other authors for many months before making her move.

The week after she had damaged my car, she had attacked a vehicle belonging to another erotic author, this time a man, leaving similar spray-painted abuse. The man lived with his wife some three hours’ drive from me which fell in a different Police region, so it had taken a few days for the two attacks to be linked.

The big difference was that in undertaking the second attack, she and her own car had been caught on CCTV, both arriving and leaving. From there it was the work of a few minutes to identify the woman concerned and an arrest followed soon afterwards.

The Victim Liaison Officer took over from then on, trying to help us cope with the emotional and psychological aspects of having had our privacy so badly invaded.

Though not allowed to know every detail, we were made privy to a great deal of the woman’s story. Needless to say, it was a complicated one.

The more I learned, the more I thought about Pete and me and our extraordinary year.

The more I thought about us, the more I felt sorry for the poor woman concerned.

From what we were told, she was about ten years younger than me, was married and had two teenage children. Like Pete, her husband of twenty years had been a would-be cuckold and had worked hard on her self-esteem and resilience over a prolonged period to try and persuade her to have sex with other men.

As part of his campaign, he had used dating sites and internet chatrooms, along with a large number of erotic stories based on cuckolding and wife sharing to try and convince her that having sex with other men was normal, enjoyable and healthy.

Because they had been written by a woman with personal experience, my stories in particular had featured strongly in this campaign.

She had resisted for years, but eventually his persistence had broken her down and reluctantly, she had agreed to give the idea a try and sleep with her first other man. Not wanting to miss his chance, her husband had immediately signed her up on a few dating apps and, striking while the iron was still hot, had quickly chosen her first date.

The woman had been very reluctant at first but had finally agreed to go through with the plan. A few days later when date night arrived, her husband had got her half drunk at home, then taken her to meet the man in a hotel bar.

After a few more drinks and at her husband’s continued urging, she had gone up to the man’s room where she had reluctantly let him kiss, fondle, strip and finally fuck her on the king size bed.

She had felt sick and dirty throughout her experience and had cried copiously afterwards, but her husband had been elated, insisting that feeling confused was entirely natural, that all was fine with him and that it would be okay with her too if she just kept on trying.

After all, she had enjoyed it physically, hadn’t she?

From then on, he had kept sustained pressure on his poor wife, making dates on her behalf and taking her to have sex with unfamiliar men in hotels, houses and apartments several times a month until eventually she had come to believe it was a normal way for married couples to live.

Once that deceit had been established as fact, she had started to relax into the lifestyle, get increasing pleasure from the new and varied sex that resulted, and to become more adventurous with her lovers.

This pleased her cuckolded husband even more, but soon even that wasn’t enough for him.

As she became more used to being shared, he persuaded her to be more and more daring too; in her dress, in her choice of men and in her bedroom activities. This soon involved wearing short, sexy clothes on a daily basis rather than just for her dates, and to wear either tiny panties or even nothing underneath.

Though not at all sure about this escalation, she had trusted her husband and gone along with his fantasies.

But inevitably, even this proved inadequate for his needs and he persuaded her to start having sex bareback, telling her truthfully that it had been his biggest fantasy to eat a creampie from her vagina afterwards and how much better the sex would be for her without a latex barrier in the way.

The woman was either not very bright or else her husband had persuasive powers far beyond Pete’s, because she agreed even to this extraordinary proposal and for a few crazy months had presented her husband with his number one fantasy of a semen filled vagina after every date.

The man was apparently on cloud nine but had to push for the last barrier; fucking without birth control assuring her that they would both get a massive thrill from knowing she was in real danger of conceiving.

Whether she was foolish or trusting enough to agree to this outrageous proposition, or whether her husband somehow interfered with her pills was not clear, but with a brutal predictability, nature took its course and she got both pregnant and a sexually transmitted disease.

Her periods had always been unreliable, so it took three months before they noticed they had stopped. By this time, her tummy was beginning to swell, and her vulva had become sore and itchy, as had her husband’s cock and mouth.

The reality of this was finally enough to jolt him out of the dream world he had been living in, but instead of seeing how his selfish demands had precipitated the terrible situation he was in, he put all the blame on her.

After long courses of antibiotics for them both, he persuaded her to have an abortion which even more reluctantly, she agreed to.

From then on, her husband could only see his wife as soiled, damaged goods and was quite unable to hide the fact.

The guilt and shame of this were more than she could cope with. The poor woman had a breakdown and turned to alcohol. She and her husband separated, the children took his side rather than that of their unfaithful slut of a mother and worst of all, let their friends and family know the distorted version of what had happened which was all their father presented.

She ended up riddled with self-disgust, abandoned by her husband, children and friends, and with a pathological hatred of those she held responsible, including the authors of those stories that had been so instrumental in persuading her.

High up on that list was me.

When the Liaison Officer left for the last time, Pete and I were left alone in the kitchen. We had hardly spoken for the last two weeks; I was desperately hoping that with something like closure on this event, he and I might be able to re-establish at least some of the trust that had been so comprehensively shattered.

I was to be very disappointed.

Within minutes of the front door closing and the officer’s car departing, I could tell that something both big and unpleasant was about to descend on me. In a desperate attempt to deny it, I tried to make light of the situation.

“Thank God that’s all over,” I sighed, smiling ruefully at my husband. “Perhaps now we can get back to normal.”

Pete sighed as well, his body language telegraphing emotions I had seldom seen before.

“It’s not all over, Penny. And things haven’t been normal for a long time.”

“I know, but now we have a chance to put it all behind us and…”

“I can’t put it all behind me,” he interrupted, the emotion in his voice building. “You’ve lied to me constantly for years. You were lying about all this…” He waved his hand in the general direction of my laptop. “All this… stuff long before you first cheated on me. How can I ever trust you again?”

“I’m so sorry,” I pleaded. “I know it was wrong. I just…”

My words dried up.

“I accept I played a part in what happened. I told you I wanted you to sleep with other men, so when it actually happened, I accepted it - despite you having done it without talking to me first and with one of our closest friends.”

I looked at him shame faced.

“I accepted you being fucked by two boys young enough to be our sons too. I accepted you being knocked up by one of them. I even accepted having to bring up another man’s child though it’s blindingly obvious to everyone Leanne isn’t mine.”

I looked helplessly at the man I loved as a terrible realisation sank into me.

“But all that was private. All that was within the walls of this house. Now everything is different. Now too many people know the truth; truths that even I didn’t know until now.”

He paused for breath.

“Sticking with you throughout the investigation has been one of the hardest, most humiliating things in my whole life. Having to pretend that I knew all about your secret life and was okay with it was really hard, especially when it was as much a shock to me as it was to them.

“Reading all those stories and messages you’ve been exchanging with all those men all over the world; knowing the sort of thing you’ve been saying to them and the detailed, intimate things you’ve enjoyed them saying to you and about you and about us…”

“There were women too…” I began but knew it was hopeless. Pete was on a roll and needed to finish.

“It’s like finding out you’ve been cheating on me again, Penny. It’s like it felt when you told me about fucking Tony, but this time with many more men and for much, much longer.

“You put us all at risk too. If it all gets out, I don’t know how we’ll be able to keep living in this town, let alone together. And God alone knows what the kids will think.”

I felt so ashamed. But Pete still hadn’t finished.

“It shocked me what you wrote too. I had no idea you were into some of those things.”

“Some of it was just written for a particular market…” I began to explain.

“But a lot of it wasn’t, Penny. A lot of it came from inside you. No-one could put that much feeling into those stories if she wasn’t into that kind of scene herself. I’m not even going to ask how you got into some of those things and who with.”

I thanked God; I would not have enjoyed that time if it had come.

“And what about our friends? You changed the names but there’s no mistaking some of the characters. How much is true? Has all this sex been going on around me for years without my even guessing? I thought we were the only couple round here having issues. It seems I was wrong.”

I couldn’t think of anything more to say, and just waited for the axe to fall.

“I’m sorry Penny, truly I am but this is more than I can cope with right now.”

“Pete please…”

“I don’t think I can stay here,” he said slowly and with great emotion.

I looked at him stunned.

“You’ve gone too far this time. I need some time and space to think things through.”

“Pete…”

“I need some space to try and put a bit of perspective on this. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Please don’t try and call me.”

He turned in the doorway.

“It feels like I’ve been living with a stranger for a long time. Sometimes it’s as if I never really knew you at all.”

And with that he went upstairs. A few minutes later he came back down with a suitcase and, for the second time in our marriage, walked out of the door.

But this time I knew it was different.

***

“Fuck you! Fuck you!”

Pete’s cock slammed into my gaping anus as violently as any cock had ever slammed into a woman’s body, forcing me bodily up the bed on my knees until my face was rammed against the headboard and I could go no further.

“Take it! Take it like the cheating cunt you are!”

Pete’s assault continued, his strong hands on my hips, his fingers digging deep into my flesh as he pulled me back onto his driving shaft over and over again.

‘Slup! Slup! Slup Slup!’

My vulva red raw from our first excessively passionate copulation, he had wisely chosen to relieve his considerable anger and frustration in my rectum. By now well used to rear penetration, my sphincter had put up only token resistance before yielding completely to the invading phallus, opening wide both to aid my husband’s passage and in sheer self-defence.

‘Slup! Slup! Slup Slup!’

The room, already reeking of our combined juices, now took on the deeper, earthier aroma that the violent plundering of my bowels always produced.

“Oh God! Oh God! Fuck me! Hurt me! Hurt me Pete!”

My words along with the new, potent smell in his nostrils seemed to drive Pete to still greater efforts. He slammed himself even harder into me over and over again until I could feel friction burns forming on my face from the headboard’s coarse padding, and a familiar numbness began to spread down my inner thighs.

I was being fucked. No, not just fucked, I was being hatefucked.

There was no love in it; no thought given to my pleasure.

But I expected none. I wanted none.

After the massive damage I had inflicted on our relationship, I deserved none. I had earned every cruel word, every fingertip bruise on my hips, every tiny, stinging tear in my anus that, after an assault as violent as this, the following morning would unquestionable reveal.

But even that might not be enough to repair the damage to my marriage.

‘Slup! Slup! Slup Slup!’

‘Fuck me Pete! Just fuck me! Hurt me!”

‘Slup-Slup-Slup-Slup!’

‘SLAP!’

Pete brought his right hand down hard on my right buttock. I was not expecting it; a bolt of pain shot through my body.

‘SLAP!’

He did it again hard, then repeated it on the left hand side, even harder.

‘Slup-Slup-Slup-Slup-SLAPPP!’

‘Owwww!’ I wailed

‘Slup-Slup-Slup-Slup- SLAP-SLAP-SLAPPP!’

The shock of these blows was less but the pain much greater.

Then for a moment Pete’s thrusts came to a halt. His cock was still buried deep inside me as he leaned over my back, and grabbed first my right arm, then my left, pulling them both behind me and holding them firmly by the wrists.

Suddenly unsupported and completely helpless, my face immediately fell to the pillow leaving my bottom sticking obscenely up, still impaled on my husband’s cock.

Then his assault recommenced in earnest, Pete’s body slamming into mine without mercy. My shoulders ached as he dragged my arms backwards, pulling my body firmly onto his cock with every powerful thrust.

SLUP! SLUP! SLUP! SLUP!

“Oh Jeeesssuuussss!” I wailed into the mattress.

The pain was mild compared with the humiliation, but I needed to feel both.

SLUP! SLUP! SLUP! SLUP!

“Cheating cunt! Cheating fucking CUNT!”

SLUP! SLUP! SLUP! SLUP!

My poor sphincter was already numb, but I knew it could not take much more of Pete’s anger without suffering permanent damage. I could feel his pace increasing and silently prayed he would reach orgasm soon.

SLUP-SLUP-SLUP-SLUP!

“Fuck you Penny! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!”

SLUP-SLUP-SLUP-SLUP-SLUP-SLUP-SLUP-SLUP!

“Please Pete. Please cum now!”

Tears were running down my cheeks as my husband lifted and tugged on my pinioned arms one last time.

“OoowwwwwWWWW!” I wailed again.

“Fuck you Penny I’m cummminnggg!”

And with that, relief finally came. Releasing my wrists, Pete grabbed my hips with both hands and in a final series of, violent thrusts began to ejaculate in my rectum.

Despite the numbness his fucking had produced in my sphincter, I could still feel the throbbing and pulsing of his erect cock inside me as it delivered its moist recent load of sperm-free semen into the place in my body that for many months had received it most.

We remained in that position for a long time, me face down, bottom raised, Pete’s hands still on my hips as he softened within me. Both of us were panting for breath, both sweating, me at least stunned by the ferocity of what had just taken place.

Once his flaccid cock had slipped messily from my rectum, Pete rose to his feet then without a single word, went into the en suite bathroom. A moment later I heard the toilet flush and the shower begin to run.

I rolled onto my back and began to cry.

***

Pete had come home the following evening after only one night away. I didn’t ask where he had been, and he didn’t volunteer any explanation. There were long, meaningful talks well into the night, along with floods of tears, especially from me before he fucked me harder and more cruelly than he had ever done before.

There was still plenty of lust between us; the climax he reached was powerful and genuine. To my surprise, my own faked orgasm was rapidly overtaken by a real one too, making me shake wildly as the depths of my body were plumbed as hard and as deep as I could remember.

Pete hatefucked me brutally several more times in the next few days, leaving blemishes, bruises and bitemarks in many places.

I bore them all willingly; needing to feel pain, believing it to be nothing but my just desserts. But we both knew even then that no amount of sex, even of the highest passion and quality, was going to be enough to save our relationship.

For a few weeks we tried to make it work, but it was very soon obvious that we were wasting our time. The trust was gone, taking with it enough love to make our continued marriage impossible.

Pete soon began to work long hours again, and to come home too tired and too uninterested for much conversation, let alone the sex that, apart from Leanne, was all that seemed to be holding us together.

Sex as hard and physically demanding as this could never have lasted long anyway.

The decision to separate was mutual. Well, I didn’t argue too much.

I stood in the window and watched Pete’s car as it passed along the driveway that last time, two large suitcases on the back seat. The automatic gates opened, he drove through and they closed behind him, leaving me as alone as I could remember feeling.

My self-respect as low as it had ever been, I padded barefoot into the kitchen where an open wine bottle waited in the fridge. Despite the early hour, I poured myself a glass of the cold liquid, downed it in two gulps then refilled it to the top and wandered through to the lounge.

The place where less than two years ago it had all started.

Less than two years ago, Penny Barker PhD had been an outwardly normal, respectable middle-class wife. A mother and career scientist who had a secret but harmless side-line writing relatively innocuous erotic stories and a husband with a Hot Wife fantasy.

Then, unplanned, in that very room and on that very sofa, she had been seduced for the first time. A man who was not her husband had tempted her to cast fidelity aside, then fucked her senseless and set her on the path which had now led to her destruction.

I slumped on the sofa’s arm and turned over the cushion.

It was still there; the small dark stain where my vow of fidelity had been so easily broken; the slight discolouration of the fabric which marked the spot where Tony’s semen and my own copious juices had merged then oozed from my soiled body for the first time.

How often had I cheated on my husband since then, with or without his knowledge? There had been so many such occasions with my four lovers that counting them was impossible.

When Penny Barker did something, she did it thoroughly; infidelity included.

So, if this was the place the madness had started; was it to be where it all ended too?

Sitting there waiting for the infant cry which would inevitably come, demanding my immediate presence and the provision of sustenance from my tiny, inflamed breasts, the fun and excitement of being a Hot Wife had gone.

Deep down I knew that Pete would never return to the woman who had treated him so badly and brought him so much humiliation. There was a limit even to his forbearance.

I had to face facts, and most likely, face a future without him.

It would not be easy. With a feeling of dread, I saw myself as the world would soon see me:

As an unfaithful wife who had cheated many times with many men until her husband had left her.

A divorced, single mother of an illegitimate child whose father remained unknown.

A woman whose adult children were so disgusted that they no longer wanted to see or talk to her.

A soiled slut whose handsome ex-husband would soon find another, better woman to fill his bed.

I looked around the room and took another long draught of wine. Small sounds began to come from upstairs; Leanne would be awake soon, demanding her late afternoon feed. Of all the many individuals involved in the last year’s sorry string of events, she was perhaps the only innocent.

Whatever else I did; however badly I felt about myself; whatever happened in the rest of my life, I must not allow her to become a victim. I must make sure I looked after her to the very best of my ability.

Was Penny’s Promiscuity now finally over?

Or did fate have one last trick up her sleeve?