“Stop giving our waiter a hard-on, Kat,” Allison laughed.

A natural redhead, her well-endowed, natural breasts spilling out from the sides of her thin tank top, Kat was mercilessly teasing Gerard, our usual waiter. Her tight leggings left even less to the imagination than her skimpy, see-through top. 

“Why?” Susan, a true California blond with an enviable, sexy body, countered. “He’s a guy. They like that.”

Susan was all big boobs, curvy hips, a stomach and ass worth killing over, and highly intelligent, despite her efforts to come off as a slut. Allison was there, of course, and her friends, all of them cam-girls, met us for lunch to discuss their potential future under my guidance. The fifth one in our group was named Kia. She was a little bit punk, hard and rough around the edges, looking like a raven-haired pixie with pert, little breasts, and a lithe figure. 

Gerard, our waiter, stood there laughing along with our banter. His glances were darting back and forth, taking in all the flesh on display. I worried that his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets. The girls, all of them extremely lust-charged, were torturing Gerard. The sexual timbre of their comments weighed down the atmosphere. He took it all in stride while I shook my head.

Kat, furthering the stereotype that redheads are slutty nymphos, reached out and patted his erection. “More drinks, garçon, please.”

We’d been at the restaurant for almost an hour and still hadn’t gotten down to business. The women had, however, gotten the attention of every single person in the place with their laughing, aggressive sexual attitudes, and displays of skin. I wasn’t shocked; I’m no prude. But, unlike the others, I was dressed properly in the same designer dress I’d worn the previous day.

That was my husband’s idea, and a good wife dresses to please her spouse. Mike told me, after our third round of sex that day, that he thought it was sexy for me to wear it out in public. 

“I will, tiger,” was my response. “And I’ll wear it on Friday night when you take me out someplace fancy for dinner. I’ll be nude under my dress, and I’ll tease all the men and make them so jealous of you for having a wife that’s so hot and horny.”

That led to a fourth round of sex. 

“So,” Susan began. “Ginger tells me that you can help us get those monster numbers, too?”

Conversation ceased while our food was delivered to our table. The women teased our waiter more, making me stifle more than a few laughs.

“Do you want my number?” Kia asked Gerard. “You can give me a booty call, cutie-pie.”

“I wanted him!” Kat interjected.

“Threesome?”

“Fuck, yeah!”

“You girls better give a good tip,” I scolded. “Harassing our waiter like that.”

“Just the tip!” two of them shouted out. I hung my head in shame, hiding from the plethora of onlookers.

“Well,” I began, taking a sip of my wine, “I’ve looked over your numbers, and I see a place or two that we could improve upon. But, let’s get to my pitch, first.”

As if a switch had been flipped, the surrounding women stopped chattering and listened. I told them all that handling their audience was very much like having a husband; it’s all branding and making them feel good about their decision—marrying in the case of a husband and choosing to masturbate over a particular cam-girl in their cases. The problem, as I saw it, was that they weren’t branding themselves in a profitable niche, no niche at all, for the most part. Then, I laid my brilliant idea on them.

“I take ten percent, off the top, after marketing expenses. However, I don’t see an upside to all of you effectively competing against each other. If I’m marketing, directing, and branding all four of you, the only winner in this game will be me. I think it would be better if all of you ganged up, an alliance of sorts, a team.”

I let it sink in for a few moments and enjoyed my salad.

“You mean, like we all do a show together? That could be fun,” Susan commented, her boobs bouncing enticingly as she bobbed her head back and forth while talking.

“Maybe,” I responded. “What I meant was that we work with each other, promote each other’s shows, and pool the money for advertising.” I waited until the revelation took root in their minds. “You know, a Princess network rather than just every cam-girl for herself. What do you think?”

The chattering back and forth took over an hour, but, in the end, the decision was unanimous. The Princess Scarlet Conclave, as they decided it should be called, was launched over lunch while we were served by our handsome, black, blushing waiter, Gerard. Then the questions began.

“How will you market us?” Kat asked me.

“Like designer clothes,” I responded.

“Huh?” Kia queried. “Nobody really likes designer clothes except those high-and-mighty snobs.”

“Yeah,” the others agreed.

“And then they insult you because you don’t know labels or something.”

“Exactly!” I intoned. That drew their attention. “My dress, for example, is a designer dress. Note how it’s made to fit my contours, flatter my positive traits, and draw one’s perception away from my negative ones.”

“Oh, I heard that insult before,” said Susan. “It won’t fit you. It’s not designed for you.”

“Right,” I congratulated her. “Designers design for a particular body type. If you’re wearing the wrong label, you look foolish. That isn’t an insult. What they’re saying is that the particular cut they are wearing isn’t intended for your body type or personality. What we’re going to do, just like I did with Ginger, here, is to find your particular designer brand, your niche, and cater your image to that.”

“Ooohh!” they exclaimed.

Comprehension dawned, and the rest went swimmingly. The attitude change was obvious and immediate. My troop of human products concluded that they were no longer cam-whores, as they called themselves; they were now a designer brand. It was as if they’d found their happy places in their chosen profession.

The only snag was that I needed permission from Mike to do the work. Sure that I could get it, all of them hugged, giving each other lusty kisses on the mouth, much to the delight of the restaurant diners, and all of them but Susan left.

“You said that you didn’t have a car. Want a lift home?” I asked her.

“Would you?”

“It’d be my pleasure. We can talk about your niche.”

In the car, Susan had turned toward me, her back to the door. 

“So, what’s your usual routine?” I asked her.

“Well,” she began. Her face grew whimsical, then took on an impassioned mien. “Usually, I show off my big, natural breasts.”

The car swerved, dangerously, as I watched Susan pull up her shirt. Her tits were, indeed, quite salacious and worthy of seeing.

“Then, I just let my horniness come out, and I play with myself as I chat with my audience.”

I nearly careened into oncoming traffic when she lifted her short, frilly skirt and began violently flicking her clit.

“Then, as my tips start coming in, I plunge my fingers into my cunt and fuck myself.”

I had to pull over to avoid getting into an accident. The car ground to a halt in a parking lot as she continued fingering her cleanly-shaven pussy.

“I make myself cum.” Her voice was peppered with sighs and moans. “Like this!”

Watching this curvy-hipped, young, and buxom, blond beauty fuck herself in my passenger seat was surreal. Just a few hours ago, she had been a complete stranger. As I watched, that now-familiar aching between my legs began to throb and vibrate. I could feel my pussy overheat, wetness beginning to pour into my panties. I wanted her. There was nothing coursing through my mind other than raw, animal lust. 

“My ass,” she moaned. “I finger my asshole when I cum. Like this.”

The door locks clicked shut with my movement, hitting the locking lever. People had noticed. A group of young men were off a short distance, smiling and pointing.

”You’re being watched, Susan. Maybe you should stop.”

“Fuck, yes!” she sighed. “So hot. Let them watch. I get off on people wanting me.” 

The blond began thrashing about, screaming that she was going to cum. I watched, awestruck, as she writhed about, wailing her head off. When she’d calmed down, she looked outside her window, smiling at the few onlookers that had gathered around. The horny seductress then pulled her fingers out of her dripping snatch and drew a heart shape on the window with her cum-drenched fingers.

“I taste delicious,” she said, offering me her ooze-saturated hand. 

Mentally shrugging and overcome with desire, I sucked her fingers into my mouth and moaned as I sucked her nectar off the digits. Applause broke out, turning my cheeks red. With that, I started my car and sped away before we got into trouble or, worse yet, arrested.

“So, what character do you think I should play?” I was mesmerized by Susan. Her hand was still busy between her legs. She had her thighs spread, her juicy cunt still pointed toward me, and she continued to finger herself as she talked. Her tone was casual, interspersed with little sighs, moans, and some panting.

“Um,” I stuttered, “I’ll think about it over dinner and let you know.” Since Susan’s thing was other people wanting her, I knew that I’d base her persona on that, but I wanted the time to calm myself down. I’d been just seconds away from diving between her legs, and I didn’t want to make an idiot out of myself by going down on a client I’d just met.

“Oh, what’s for dinner, sweetie?”

“I’m cooking meatloaf and mashed potatoes, tonight.”

“Sounds yummy.” The buxom, blond shook her head from side to side, her luscious tits jiggling, and placed her juice-covered hand on my arm. I could smell the perfume of her arousal and feel the wetness on my forearm. That aroused me even further; I tried to fight down my carnal urges.

Susan continued, her solemn, blue eyes growing introspective. “I guess I’ll just have some Ramen and maybe a TV dinner.”

My mouth engaged itself before my brain, surrendering to my lust. “I know. Why don’t you join me and my husband for dinner? Just don’t tell him that you’re a cam girl. As far as my husband is concerned, you are all fashion influencers.”

“Really? I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in forever. What if your husband doesn't like me?”

“He will. Besides, his secretary is also a blond knockout like you.”

“You think I’m hot? That makes me so horny.”

Three hours later, with Susan and I blitzed on edibles and enjoying ourselves in the hot tub, my husband arrived.

“Back here,” I yelled as soon as I heard the click-thunk of his car door closing.

Susan was nude in the tub, and I followed suit. While I thought about offering her one of my swimsuits, there was no way she’d be able to fit into it. Not only was she a statuesque beauty, a blond Amazon with curves that went on for miles, but she was quite a bit taller than me. So, nude we were.

“This is my new friend, Susan,” I said as soon as he entered through the gate. “I hope you don’t mind, but I asked her to join us for dinner.”

My friend stood up, exposing her nude flesh to my husband’s eyes. “Pleased to meet you,” she smiled, extending her hand as if to shake. 

Mike’s jaw dropped, and I could see his eyes scan her figure. Those lust-filled orbs of his roamed over her golden tresses, clumped into stringy strands from the water, then took a long pause, lingering on her magnificent tits before slowly wandering downward and stopping at her smoothly-shaven pussy.

“You need to forgive my friend,” I said, sarcastically, “she’s shy.” Not to be outdone, I stood up as well. My body was no match for her heavenly figure, but my husband at least had the decency to drool over me, as well. 

“Are you going to stand there and eye-fuck me, or are you going to join us?” she asked.

“Um, aah, well,” Mike stammered.

“Come on, tiger,” I urged. “Get those clothes off and join us. We have half an hour before dinner is ready.”

“Are you sure? I can go put on trunks.”

“Take it off; take it off,” Susan began chanting.

Mike shrugged, dropped his briefcase, and stripped while the two of us whooped and hollered. He climbed in, his cock swelling. Being a good wife, I threw my arms around him and gave him a big, wet, welcome-home kiss. When we broke our embrace, I sidled up beside him, my hand dropping to his thigh.

“The last time I was in here, I masturbated using the Jacuzzi jets while watching Bobby,” I whispered into his ear.

Just to keep his attention focused on me, I grabbed his growing manhood and began stroking his cock. The churning water hid my activity.

“Mary Anne is helping me with my influencing,” she told him. “Do you think I have the body to be a model?”

“Susan!” She glowered at me, then laughed. 

“Um, aaah… who, ah, who are your clients?” Mike was at least trying to maintain the conversation.

Susan leaned back against the wall of the tub, the buoyancy of her boobs making them float half submerged, half exposed. She was totally at ease, not at all self-conscious. “A lot of men buy my wares for their wives or girlfriends, but I also have a lot of female customers. I’m mainly into women, so that’s part of my appeal.”

I increased the pace of my underwater stroking, feeling his cock swell in my hand. Mike tried to say something, but the hand job I was giving him put him at a loss for words.

“So, you’re a lesbian, then?” My question was irrelevant and silly, but it covered my husband’s panting moans.

“Oh, no,” the blond woman exclaimed. “I love a nice, hard cock, and the man it’s attached to… usually. I just prefer women. Nobody knows our bodies like ourselves.”

“Except you, tiger,” I added to boost my husband’s ego. Then I whispered into his ear, “You always make me cum hard, and I want more of that cock I’m stroking tonight.”

Having discovered that my husband is a sucker for me acting like a slutty whore, I felt his cock pulse and throb. Then his hips bucked ever so slightly, multiple times, as he shot his wad into the hot water.

“With Ginger and Mary Anne’s help, I’ll be one of the next big things,” Susan was saying. “Hey, did you realize that your two names are just like the chicks on Gilligan’s Island?”

“No, not at all,” I laughed. 

“Even better,” Mike chimed in. “Her husband’s a professor!”

“Time to get dinner ready. Susie-Q, come with me; that way, Mike can drool over our asses.”

“I’d never!”

”You’d better.”

Susan borrowed some of my clothes rather than put her mini skirt and sheer top back on. On her, my knee-length dress looked more like a mini-dress, and her impressive tits threatened to burst out the front. Mike tried not to stare at her enviable figure but failed.

My sexy, blond friend attacked my food with all the gusto of the starved entering a buffet. Lacking decent table manners, she was amusing to watch as she shoveled almost three plates full of food into her mouth.

“I might move in, just to get food like this,” she commented.

She almost cried when I brought out my famous brandy-soaked cobbler.

“I guess I should be heading home,” Susan said as I cleared the table. “Can I get a ride home? No car.”

“Sure!” Mike volunteered. “Let me go get my wallet.” He disappeared down the hall, whistling.

“Um, you don’t mind, do you? I was asking you, not him.”

“It’s fine. Besides, I think he’s smitten with you. He has a thing for blondes, hence my dye job.” I was also in no condition to drive.

“Should I put on a show for him?” Susan winked at me.

At first, I was going to scream, “NO!” but I then had a better, naughtier idea.

“Tell you what,” I began. “I’ve been wondering if he’s fucking around with Stacy—his secretary—and if anyone could tell me, it would be you.”

“What do you mean?”

”If he cheats on me with you, then I’ll know. Or, if he spills it to you or hints at it.” When the thought sprang into my deeply-stoned brain, it sounded like a good idea. Verbalized, it wasn’t, perhaps, the best plan of action I’ve ever had.

“Well, if he fucks me, I’m making him turn around and come straight back here because I think you're super-fucking-sexy. We could maybe do a threesome?”

“Oh, wow,” was all I could say. More words, deviant, horny, and dirty ones, fought to be released, but I choked them down.

“Are you coming along with us?” Mike asked as he emerged from the hallway.

“No, tiger. I’ll stay here and clean up. Just remember what I told you, earlier. I’ll be waiting.”

I kissed my husband goodbye, making him promise to hurry back, then gave Susan a friendly hug and a more-than-friendly kiss. Busying myself with my domestic chores, I tried to keep my suspicions out of my mind. Still, though, they haunted me. It took two tall glasses of whiskey and another edible before my nerves had calmed down enough for me to not be constantly fretting.

As Susan lived on the far edge of the city, I didn’t expect my husband back any time soon. Rather than pace back and forth, wearing a worried groove into my carpet, I grabbed my phone and a half-empty bottle of wine and retired to the hot tub. A little less than half an hour after they’d left, I got a text message from Susan.

’I did just like you asked. He watched and touched, that’s all. He wouldn’t fuck me,’ her text message read.

‘That’s a relief,’ I texted back with a big smiley face. ‘I was so worried he was cheating.’

I could see the “Susan is typing a message” prompt in her text balloon. It began, then stopped, several times.

‘He is. With his secretary. Just not me.’

I was furious; then I felt guilty because I’d fucked Bobby. But Mike wanted me to. Instead of looking up divorce lawyers, I texted her back. ‘How do you know?’

‘He didn’t blurt it out, but his comments about her body compared to mine told me everything. He also started to mention how wet she gets, then stopped and said it was you.’

‘The rat bastard!’

‘You’re not mad at me, are you?’

‘Not at all. Thank you. Well, work on your persona, tomorrow, okay?’

Time both stood still and passed quickly. My mind was a chaotic jumble of emotions and thoughts. Woven through all of that was the fact that I was bothered by the fact that I wasn’t emotionally devastated. I was angry, felt betrayed, and wondered where I’d failed, but my heart was no heavier than if the grocery store had been out of my favorite snack foods. I debated what to do.

I could divorce him, but I didn’t want that. It would be easy enough to pick up a high-paying job, in marketing, and rebuild my life. My body was still sexy and youthful, and it wasn’t as if I’d ever had any problems finding somebody to date.

The thought of pretending that I was ignorant crossed my encumbered mind. Likewise, that held no appeal for me. If I ignored the problem, it would fester and cause even more issues.

While I ruminated, the Jacuzzi jets had been doing their magic on my naked body. Despite my brain jumping back and forth, seemingly at random, my body was relaxed and locked in the heat of passion. No matter what my heart might feel, or my mind may think, my body needed sex. Then, I saw the headlight beams sweep across the privacy fence. Mike had returned home.

“In the hot tub,” I cried out. As soon as he’d arrived, all the anger I hadn’t felt erupted inside my head. I was fuming and furious to the point of calmness.

“Hiya, Mary Anne.” He was totally oblivious. “Your friend is quite the character, isn’t she?”

“Take your clothes off and come here, tiger,” I purred. My predatory smile was a mix of physical desire and sadistic malice. 

I stood and exited the hot tub. My body was dripping, and I’m sure I looked seductive and sexy walking nude across the lawn, holding the wine bottle. Taking a seat by the patio table, my legs spread wide open, and I gestured to my now-nude husband to get between them. He took position between my thighs, kneeling.

“Make me cum on your tongue. That’s it; lick it nice and good.” I took a swig of the bottle, then poured some over my cunt, watching the red liquid ooze my pussy while he lapped it up.

“Eat my hot cunt, you stud. I’m going to cum. Don’t stop!”

My legs wrapped around his head, pulling his face hard against my humping slit. The tumult of emotions that had been running through my mind enhanced my physical pleasure, and I exploded in an intense orgasm. I came long and hard, my legs keeping his head firmly wedged against my gyrating hips.

“Now fuck me with that hard cock. Fuck your slut, Mike. Own me!”

“I love you,” was all he moaned.

As soon as the head of his manhood pressed against my sodden lips, my legs ensnared him, pulling him all the way inside me. Panting and moaning, I set the pace, my quivering thighs rocking in and out as I pulled him into me, then released.

“Do you like my wet, hot cunt?”

“Fuck, Mary. Yes.”

“Does it turn you on that your housewife is such a fucking whore?”

“Oh, fuck.”

I crossed my bent and splayed legs at the ankles; he was now without escape. Holding him in, I ground my pubic mound against his body, rocking my hips back and forth to scrape my clit against his flesh.

“Am I wet enough for you? I’m so fucking horny.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is my cunt nicer and tight?”

“Yes!”

“Tell me how tight I am.” I was nearing orgasm.

“You’re so tight. You’re like a vise.”

“Is my cunt tighter than Stacy’s when you fuck her, you cheating, lying bastard?”

“Uh…”

My husband’s face paled, drained of all color. His guilt-ridden expression let me know that it was true. He was shocked. I’d still hoped that I was simply paranoid and Susan had read too much into things, but now I knew. Still, I kept grinding my filled cunt against him, moaning.

“Answer me, you fucking bastard.” I reached down and fingered my swollen clit, pontificating every spoken syllable by thrusting my dripping sex against his still-hard cock.

“No! Mary Anne, I don’t know where you got the bright idea that…”

“Stop lying!” 

I continued fingering my sensitive pleasure nub and fucking him.

“Is she better?” 

I continued getting off on my shocked husband’s meat.

“Do you want a divorce?”

“I love you,” he screamed. “No!”

I just stared daggers into his eyes, hate-fucking him.

“Fuck me hard, you piece of shit! Fucking fuck me.”

Mike obeyed, driving his cock deep into me. I continued assaulting my clit, quickly reaching an orgasm that was tempered with anger. It made it all the hotter. I wasn’t having sex with my husband; I was using a cock to get off.

“You fucking bastard. Fucking, cheating asshole,” I screamed as I came all over his cock.

Then I pulled off his cock, leaving it bobbing, dripping, and unsatisfied. My sexy husband just stared at me, his face forlorn. 

“I’m so sorry,” he began. I held up my hand, stopping him.

In those few, brief moments, everything had crystallized in my mind. I knew why he’d strayed and what I was going to do about it. I also had an epiphany about what sort of persona Susan should adopt. I was sure she’d love it.

“Don’t... even… start, Mike. Grab your clothes and leave. You’re not welcome here until I’ve had some time to mull this all over.” Technically, it wasn’t a lie.

He stooped to pick up his discarded clothes. “I have nowhere else to go.”

“Hotels exist; trust me. You could always go crawl into your slut of a secretary’s bed.”

“But I love you, and it isn’t like you haven’t fooled around.”

“I did what you asked me to, nothing more. You fucking betrayed me, you sack of shit.”

“Get out!”

Mike left, actual tears pouring down his cheeks. My rage fled along with my errant husband, and I eyed up the long, smooth, phallic neck of the wine bottle. I was still horny.

To be continued…