I downed my drink for courage but didn’t feel anything, so I sent another down my throat to see what happened to the last one. After I poured my third stiff drink, I decided that tea would be a better option. The half-full pitcher was still in the refrigerator, and it found a convenient place on the living room coffee table. According to the clock on Ginger's webcam page, I still had eighteen minutes before she logged on.

A few days ago, I thought I’d left Mary Jane buried in my past. I was Mary Anne, the faithful, loving wife. The fact that my husband got off on slutty talk, as pure fantasy, had no bearing on our daily lives. However, there was more to my college nickname than just the fact that I was a pothead. When I smoke weed, my social and sexual inhibitions disintegrate; I get so horny that I can’t control myself, and I think, say, and do extremely whorish things.

“Give Mary Anne some weed, and she becomes Mary Jane. She’ll fuck your brains out, in front of everybody, all night,” was the well-earned refrain. I didn’t mind it at all, because it was quite true. Those were my college years, and I partied it up just like everyone else. The thing was, Ginger reminded me a lot of myself back then, and that reminder, along with her yummy marijuana candy, revived that sleeping succubus in my core.

I couldn’t blame her; Allison didn’t pressure me at all. She was simply the way she was, openly sexual and open, and I used her attitude as a springboard to jump back into my older self. She still reveled in her sexual abandon, whereas mine had been reserved solely for my husband’s enjoyment.

My mind ran through some of my college escapades. I was certainly a wild child. In my professional, post-college life, before I’d met my husband, I learned to hide my sexuality from polite society. I had no intentions of suppressing my desires, but things just worked out that way. It wasn’t as if I was unhappy or dissatisfied with my sexual life. Mike was thoughtful, handsome, sexy, and romantic at times, and we loved each other, but the thrill of something completely different or somebody entirely new was so hot that I couldn’t resist. Even the taboo aspect of it being forbidden added to the heat.

An internal debate, a stream of consciousness, or perhaps a train wreck of thought followed. Every conceivable emotion ran through my body, making my mind a chaotic blur. I doubted myself, my life, and all my decisions, but then I was suddenly proud of them all. Part of me struggled with Ginger’s personality and her potentially negative influence. A quick, mental about-face and I was elated that she’d come into my life.

The clock had ticked down to the last minute, with an “Enter Room” button appearing. The timing was nearly perfect, as the copious amounts of intoxicants I’d consumed decided to peak all at once.

“Oh, shit,” I slurred to the empty house. “I’ve been daydreaming so long that the site logged me out.”

It was at that exact moment that I realized how stoned-stupid I’d been. My username didn’t conceal my identity one iota. “M_Anne_5309,” didn’t exactly obfuscate who I was. It was my name and house number! I told myself that she’d be too busy with her hundreds of viewers to notice.

I didn’t know what to expect, having never visited a website like that before. So, I was more than mildly surprised when the layout appeared on my screen. While it made perfect sense, a group chatroom was not what I’d expected. Even more odd, the occupants of the room were chatting away, merrily. These people knew each other.

The conversation among the chatroom denizens was free-flowing, with snippets of multiple conversations going on all at once. I quickly tried to figure out the various controls in the room. The right-hand side was a constantly scrolling text readout, with each member’s messages in a different color. By clicking on a camera icon beside a user’s name, I discovered that I could view their webcams. This made me check to ensure mine was off. The left-hand two-thirds of the screen was dominated by a video window and an old, television “stay tuned” graphic displayed.

I received a few welcome messages—nothing creepy or pushy. I was simply cheerily greeted. Furthermore, I got lost in the ins and outs of the website, finally remembering that I was here for marketing research. The fact that I was nude except for a short, satin robe, with an overheated cunt that was dripping nectar and soaking the couch cushions, and buzzing delightfully from edibles and whiskey didn’t change that. I was also incredibly horny, despite having had a little bit of sex in the morning, having teased Juan the plumber, and masturbating multiple times.

I steeled myself, swearing that this was strictly business. My brain even adopted my old, no-nonsense career mode. My eyes became probes, looking for details to capitalize on. Details that could be expounded upon were picked up by my senses. The constant, chaotic chatter of conversation on the screen was picked up by my bloodshot eyes, absorbing the mentality and personalities of her customers.

Then, the “Stay Tuned” image blinked and wavered, replaced by a dim, blue glow through a haze of smoke. The text chatter on the screen paused for a moment, and I heard theme music begin to play through my computer speakers. Immediately, I realized that Ginger was quite the drama queen. She knew how to set a mood. The music was the theme song to 2001, A Space Odyssey. Timed perfectly, a small fan ushered the fog away during the final “dun-dun” crescendo.

Then, I could see my sexy, redheaded friend slowly become visible. She wore a blond wig, with some of her red hair still peeking out, and was making a monster-sized smoke cloud with her bubbling water pipe. She hacked and coughed for a moment, smiling and waving to everybody.

Then I saw how she was dressed and what was written on the whiteboard behind her. That was the moment the thin veneer of detached professionalism evaporated. I just sat there, staring, stunned into immobility and silence.

The whiteboard behind her, decorated with pink, twinkling lights, read, “Mary Jane, Housewife.” Allison was wearing a cute Betty dress, similar in style to my first thought of what sort of dress to buy for the previous evening. Hers was an off-the-shoulder affair with a flared, ruffled hem. In that dark purple dress with lavender flowers, she looked every bit the traditional housewife. The sexy, white lace apron she wore over the dress did little to hide her physical charms.

Ginger shifted on the cushions she was sitting on, swinging her legs up and around, giving a spectacular view up the skirt of her short dress. Rather than go straight into the sex stuff, she began greeting the others in the chatroom. 

”Hi, Big Bob! How’s your dog doing?” and, “Jenny_Big_Butt, did you actually tie up your husband and make him watch, yet?” and so on.

An unusual thing happened to me as I watched her perform. My mind split into two parts: one concentrating on the business of turning Ginger into a marketable product, the other sexually blown away by her brazen sexiness and lusty presence.

"Oh, this?” she teased. One of the chatroom residents had asked her about the dress. Ginger pointed over her shoulder toward the bulletin board. “Well,” she continued, “I thought I’d tell you all about Mary Jane, the slutty housewife.”

My jaw dropped.

“Me and my husband went over to Mary Jane’s house for dinner last night. And, do you know what she was wearing under her short, housewife dress?”

She paused, an impish look on her face, her hand idly toying with the hem of her dress. She’d flip it up, exposing a scandalous amount of thigh, then smooth it back down.

“Good guesses, all,” she told her viewers. “Tell you what. If I get two hundred tokens, I’ll show you.”

I watched in awe. While encouraging the others to tip her, she launched into what I felt was a highly-exaggerated version of our dinner. Ginger was either highly aroused from retelling the hyperbolic story, or she was a fantastic actress. Finally, she’d received her one-hundred tokens.

“Thank you, Biggus Dickus.” Without ceremony, she lifted the skirt of her dress, showing off her glistening, bare pussy. It was shaven clean and looked wet. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Allison masterfully worked the small crowd; maybe fifty or so people were in the room at any given time, most of them leaving and popping back in after a few minutes. Over the next thirty or so minutes, Ginger coaxed enough tips out of her viewers to have both her perfectly-formed tits and wet pussy on display. According to her, Mary Jane was a wild woman, all lust and innuendo. I knew she was referring to me, but it was a deviant, slutty version of me.

Clicking on some of the other viewers’ cams was a crash course in online debauchery. Some were nude, others clothed. A few were masturbating, and their webcams focused on their erections. There was even a woman sitting there with toys arrayed around her, her breasts on display.

“And Mary Jane is such a fucking tease,” she told her watchers. “Appearing all conservative but being a perverted slut underneath.”

When I realized that one of my hands was idly playing in my wetness as I watched, I decided to leave her room and check out what the other models were doing. I already had an inkling about what to do; checking with the website owners would be a must, of course, but, I think she just needed to change her focus a bit, be a bit more plotted out, and she definitely needed to hype up the excitement over her shows.

As far as the cam models’ audiences went, Ginger’s room was fairly small. The top-tier models had several hundred guests, a couple of them approaching a thousand. Looking in on their shows, I didn’t see much difference, at least on the surface. I watched one model fuck herself with a huge dildo, another one playing poker with her audience, and another one dressed as a sexy Darth Vader, running the business end of a toy lightsaber against her clit.

After about twenty minutes of researching the market, I returned to Allison’s room. Her viewer number had almost doubled—just about a hundred viewers. The scrolling text had gone dirty and perverted; most of the members were respectful, but all of them were dirty talking to her, encouraging her to do more and to become more perverted.

She was furiously masturbating, her self-love so intense that the sounds of her fingers plunging into her sopping cunt could be heard. “Then she spread her legs, a look of horny lust on her face, and let my husband finger her pussy as she sat across from me. So hot.”

She squinted at the camera, reading the messages, I assumed. “No, Rod-the-wad, my husband doesn’t know I cam. I like him not knowing; it makes what we do here so fucking horny.”

Then, she mentioned that she’d caressed my husband’s hard-on. I didn’t know if she was making that up or if it had happened. I didn’t care; that sent me over the edge. As she described all this hot, sexual action loosely based on what really happened, I became lost in her narrative, fingering myself hard and deep.

Then, just as I began to feel the beginnings of an orgasm well up inside my core, I saw lights shining through the drawn curtains as if somebody was pulling into the driveway. I couldn’t imagine anyone coming to visit this late; it was after ten at night. I muted the computer speakers and heard the distinct sound of Mike’s car pulling up, being turned off, and his trademark slamming of the car door. I panicked; he wasn’t due home, at all.

In a mad rush, I exited the cam site and closed my browser, reopening it and doing a “fashion influencer marketing” internet search. The mostly-drained pitcher of tea was snatched off the coffee table, along with the bag of edibles. I had just enough time to quaff most of my drink and munch down another weed candy before my husband came inside.

“Mary Anne,” he called. “I got home early. You wouldn’t believe what happened…”

His voice trailed off when I emerged from the kitchen. I had my tea in one hand, a double whiskey in the other, and my robe was still completely open. Despite my masturbation being cut short by his arrival, my nipples were still so hard that they throbbed and tingled, and my pussy was so wet that my liquid heat trickled down my thighs.

Thinking fast, I adopted my impish, horny smile and held out his drink for him. “Take this, tiger, and sit on the couch. I’m just so happy you’re home that I want to reward my sexy, hard-working husband.”

“I don’t know, Mary Anne. I’m tired, and work was so stressful.”

However, he didn’t object when I maneuvered him to the couch and pushed him down to a seated position. Mike sat and sipped, staring at my nude flesh as I worked the laptop. He gasped when I opened a porn video site.

“Watch this,” I told him as I typed, “wife fucks friend,” into the search bar and randomly picked one that looked sexy.

“Honey, what are you doing?”

“Rewarding you. Now shut up and enjoy.”

I let him watch the video for about thirty seconds, then began undoing the fly of his pants. “Pull your hard cock out for me, so I can suck it while you watch porn.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Your cock, if you play your cards right. Now, be a good boy and fuck my mouth.”

I dropped to my knees and plunged my mouth over his hardness. Thrusting down until his pubes tickled my nose, I swirled my tongue over his flesh, slowly withdrawing until only the tip was between my lips. Up and down, I lunged with my greedy mouth, taking his manhood all the way down my throat. I was so horny that I began fingering myself as I sucked him off, my moans making my lips vibrate on his slick lance.

When the video ended, I popped my mouth off my husband’s cock, ignoring his protests. I turned around, making sure my body was bent forward enough to show off my ass, and sought another video. I chose a long one about some dirty-mouthed wife giving her husband cuckold talk as he fucked her.

I stroked my moaning husband until the action was hot and heavy. When she started dirty-talking about how she got fucked, I spun around and mounted my stunned spouse.

“Fuck me, you stud. Drive that cock deep inside me. I need to feel your cum shooting in me.”

As soon as my pussy descended over his turgid cock, things got torrid. Mike placed his drained drink on the table and grabbed me by the hips. His arms raised me, then slammed me back down on his cock, hard and fast. While it took a few moments for me to find my balance, I was soon moving to his rhythm, one hand fondling my tingling nipples, the other smashing into my clit.

“I’m going to cum. Cum with me; shoot it in me.”

As the actress on the screen was screaming her head off about how she wanted multiple cocks, I felt my husband shoot his hot, sticky cum inside my velvety canal. His explosive release triggered my orgasm, and I convulsed and moaned as we came together.

My exhausted husband kissed me deeply, then announced that he needed some sleep. I told him that I had some tidying up to do and that I’d join him as soon as I was finished. He wearily trudged down the hall, and I heard the appropriate bedtime preparatory sounds emanating from the bedroom. Soon thereafter, the door closed.

Without hesitation, I poured myself another glass of tea and went back to the webcam site. Ginger was still on. The occupants of the room had dwindled to almost nothing; there were ten people left, counting me. This time, as soon as I entered her room, she noticed.

“Mary Anne?” popped up on my screen in a private window.

“Yep,” I typed back. “I caught part of your show, earlier, but Mike came home early, so I wanted to send him to bed satisfied.”

“Did you like my show?” There was no mention that she’d dressed herself up like me and painted me as a fucking whore.

“You’re so sexy,” was all I could think of in reply.

“So,” she typed back, never once missing a beat with her audience, “can you help me hit the big time?”

“I have some ideas. Chat tomorrow?”

“Let’s do lunch. My treat.”

I actually did some cleaning after that. The main key to a successful marriage is to never lie to your husband, and a good wife must always keep his dick hard for her. If I’m always telling the truth, then he can’t use my words against me later. So, I washed out the glasses, swept the kitchen, and put Sunday’s dinner in the refrigerator to thaw.

Since I was still horny, I didn’t bother wearing anything to bed. I figured I’d get one more round of my husband’s cock. Regretfully, he was deep in slumber by the time I made it to bed. While I shook him, clapped my hands in front of his sleeping face, and even tried sucking his manhood back to life, the taste of my pussy still on his cock, my efforts netted nothing but snores.

Naked, with my fingers buried in my dripping cunt, I mused over my friend’s slutty, online antics, and my mind replayed scenes I’d seen in the other cam rooms. Soon, I was pumping two fingers in and out of my pussy while my other hand tugged and flicked my clit. Two orgasms later, I was finally ready for sleep.

All my thoughts, worries, and trepidation came back to haunt me as I drifted off. Was I about to plunge off the deep end? Did I have any excuse for my scandalous behavior? Was I putting my marriage at risk? Then, the blessed blackness of sleep overcame me, and I drifted off, somehow dreaming of marketing campaigns.

To be continued...