Chapter Twenty

Amanda was still fast asleep when I left the house very early the next morning after a sleepless night. She was still clearly exhausted, and the room’s faint smell of recent sex had turned stale. Even in the low light I could see that her chest and face were still flushed pink from the previous night; whoever she had been with had delivered orgasms at least as comprehensive as those she had been receiving from Andy for so many months.

With the huge expectations of the day ahead – no less than the actual signing of the deal with the Turkish Government - I knew Andy would be at his desk well before seven o’clock and I wanted to catch him before there was anyone else in the building.

My painful, swollen ankle was not making my temper any better and provided a constant reminder of the evening’s dreadful discoveries. I was as angry and spoiling for a fight as I had been the previous night but this time, I was sober and had serious justification.

Andy had cheated on our deal!

My lovely wife had been set up. Andy had put her in a position where she couldn’t refuse being fucked by a client. This was not what our agreement had been. My previously innocent wife had now enjoyed two other men’s cocks and felt two other men’s semen inside her, both of whom had apparently brought her to heights of orgasm I had never even come close to.

The first was Andy. We had reluctantly agreed to him, but the second? No way!

As I drove too quickly to the office, I heard my mobile phone beep and saw that a text message from Yvonne had arrived. I threw the phone onto the passenger seat without reading it, and two minutes later parked my car in its reserved space in the underground car park.

A minute after that I limped straight past the guard on reception and took the elevator directly to the Partner’s floor, my blood boiling.

Andy’s coat was on the stand behind his PA’s empty desk so I knew he would be in his office. I threw my jacket on the chair and stomped up to his door, throwing it open angrily and bursting into the room.

“We need to talk now!” I shouted as I strode towards him.

Andy was sitting behind his desk – the desk on which he had first fucked my wife – with papers strewn all around him and two video screens glowing.

“I know we do. Try and calm down!” he replied, rising to his feet and coming around the desk to meet me face to face. “I expected you to be upset. Take a seat; we’ll talk it all through.”

“I don’t want to sit,” I fumed. “I want to break your fucking nose! What did you make Amanda do last night? She’s obviously been fucked by someone, and I know it wasn’t you!”

“Calm down!” he tried again. “I’ll tell you everything, but not if I’m going to get attacked. Don’t make me call security!”

His hand was on the desk phone. I breathed deeply and tried to regain control, dimly aware of my fists opening and my chest loosening. But I still didn’t sit down.

“Did you make my wife fuck someone last night?” I asked directly, my voice hard and low.

“Pamuk? No, I didn’t!” he replied immediately.

“He didn’t fuck her?” I asked, suddenly puzzled. “She was definitely fucked by someone. I can smell it all over her!”

“Oh, Pamuk fucked her all right,” Andy continued.

“Bastard! You just said…” I began to protest.

“He fucked her, okay? That happened. It’s just that I didn’t make her do it.”

“Then who fucking did?”

Andy took a deep breath.

“She did!”

“What?”

“She decided all by herself!”

This unexpected revelation took a lot of the wind out of my sails, but not all. Sensing my continued fury, Andy chose his next words carefully.

“Mandy deliberately put herself in a position where Pamuk would try and seduce her. It seems he was unexpectedly successful.”

“That was NOT our agreement, Andy!” I snarled. “She’s not a whore; fucking clients was NOT part of our deal!”

“Maybe not, but things change,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “Talk to Mandy, she’ll tell you.”

“I’m talking to you!” I growled aggressively, the worm now turned. “It’s hard enough knowing you’ve been fucking her all this time, but this? She’s not a whore, Andy! I’m not going to let you pimp her out to anyone you fancy! The deal’s off!”

Andy’s eyes flashed with anger.

“You’re in no position to negotiate! You want to go to jail; just go ahead, back out and see what happens!”

I was too angry and disgusted with myself to reply as Andy went on: “Get real! Your lovely wife’s been whoring herself for you for months. She’s been fucking me just to save your thieving ass. Why shouldn’t she whore herself for me too if she wants to? Or for the Company? Or for herself? She’s a free woman. It’s her body after all.”

“Bastard!” I yelled, but knew better than to try and hit him.

“She’s damned good at it too,” he went on. “Mandy is one of the best fucks I’ve ever had, and believe me, I’ve fucked beautiful women all over the world! Your wife is as amazing in bed as she is out; you should appreciate her more!”

The last thing I needed at that moment was another man telling me how good my wife was in bed, even if he did mean it as some kind of perverted compliment. I stared him straight in the face.

“The deal is over, Andy! I’ll take my chances with the police and the lawyers. Leave my wife alone. You’ve fucked her for the last time.”

There was a silence in the room. Andy took a deep breath then seemed to come to a decision.

“I think you should see this first,” he said calmly, turning one of the desktop screens towards me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s a piece of video. It’s not finished being edited yet, but I think you’ll recognise the main characters.”

“What’s it got to do with this?” I demanded.

“Just watch,” he said meaningfully, clicking the mouse on ‘play’.

I was about to tell him where to stick his video when the action on the screen silenced me instantly.

The footage appeared to have been taken from a ceiling mounted camera, because the first thing I saw was a door opening and a man and a woman entering a room. The picture quality was excellent; this was no standard security set-up, and there was good quality sound too. I could clearly hear their voices and make out most of the conversation.

The room was Andy’s office, the room in which I was standing now. The man was the overweight Turk, Pamuk, the woman was my lovely wife Amanda in the dress she had worn for the first time last night. With her blonde hair down and in her highest heels, she looked as stunning as I had ever seen her.

As I watched, they crossed the floor to Andy’s leather-topped desk where several small piles of paper were lying.

I felt Andy pat me almost paternally on the shoulder.

“If it gets too painful, just stop the video. You don’t need to watch it all if you don’t want to.”

I silently sank into his large leather chair and began to watch the two characters on the screen poring over the piles of paper in turn, talking animatedly. There were plenty of smiles, especially from Pamuk who I noticed kept touching Amanda on the arm and back rather more frequently than he had done during the more public receptions I had attended too.

For about a quarter of an hour there was little else to see; but as the camera angles changed and conversation continued, I noticed Pamuk’s hands straying more and more frequently onto my wife’s body, at one point actually sliding from her lower back onto her buttocks.

I smiled as the remarkably clear image showed my wife taking him by his chubby wrist and moving his hand away; though I noticed she only moved it higher up her back, not off her body altogether.

As the conversation on screen continued, I quickly turned my head, scouring the room for signs of the hidden cameras that I had completely missed before. I could see nothing, not even using the on-screen angles as a guide. Whoever had installed this set up had been a real expert. From the multiple camera angles I had seen so far, there must be at least half a dozen lenses scanning this office, maybe more, most of them showing the large desk in great detail from every conceivable direction.

Back on the screen, Pamuk’s hands had once again strayed to my wife’s bottom and had once again been moved away, but even through the camera I could see the half-hearted way in which she had reacted; almost as if her objections were a formality.

This puzzled me; why on earth should Amanda put up with this fat, ugly man groping her at all, let alone allow him to think his attentions might not be entirely unwelcome?

The conversation moved on to a set of documents towards the back of the desk. Common sense would have led anyone to walk around the side to get closer to them but instead my wife leaned right over the desktop appeared to be straining to reach the small pile of papers. As she reached out, her already short dress rode up higher.

I gasped, sitting back in my chair in surprise as her stocking tops and panties came clearly into view. Black stockings, hold-ups as usual, and microscopic black thong panties barely discernible in the cleft between her smooth, firm cheeks.

This was no accidental exposure; she was deliberately taunting the man!

No one who had risen to Pamuk’s level in any political establishment would fail to take advantage of an opportunity, and Pamuk rose to my wife’s apparent invitation like a shot. Moving quickly behind her bending body, he placed both hands on her freshly bared buttocks cupping them boldly then paused, his palms flat against her smooth skin as if waiting for her to remonstrate with him or worse, slap him in the face.

She did neither. To my astonishment, my sweet, formerly innocent wife stayed exactly where she was, bending over the desk, taking her weight on her arms an allowing the fat man’s hands to remain on the bare flesh of her bottom.

I gulped as adrenalin surged through me. Part of me wanted to rush to my wife’s defence and punch the ugly man in the face. Another part of me desperately wanted to see what would happen next, knowing full well that there was only one possible outcome; the one I had smelled on her body only hours ago!

Pamuk’s hands massaged Mandy’s unresisting buttocks slowly and tentatively. Then, encountering no resistance, his fingers began to run up and down her cleft, over the thong of her panties. Still, she stood motionless, taking no positive steps herself, but allowing her body to be explored.

The camera cut to her face. It was almost expressionless, her deep blue eyes opening and closing slowly.

The camera cut back to Pamuk, whose hands had now begun to reach around her slender waist to her groin. Slowly, Amanda pushed herself to her feet so that he stood at her back. Several inches shorter than her, the chubbiness of his body was accentuated by my wife’s slimness.

I watched as his hands began to explore her body, reaching round to cup her breasts through her dress while he showered the back of her neck with kisses. My wife made a half-hearted attempt at removing his probing fingers from her upper body but each time she slid them downwards, they returned within seconds and eventually she abandoned all resistance, allowing him to knead and massage her breasts freely.

Through the thin fabric I could see her nipples standing hard and proud.

A moment later he had turned her round to face him, his hands on her waist. I could see the blue flash of her eyes again, sparkling in the low light and telling me clearly that, despite her supposed resistance, she was getting significantly aroused.

A pulse of anger surged through me accompanied by an equally strong surge of my own arousal. I tried to suppress it, but my erect cock betrayed me.

Pamuk leaned forward to kiss her; she turned her head slightly at the last minute, so his lips met her cheek. He tried again with the same result then to my amazement, he abandoned this line of attack, placed his hands on her shoulders and gently but firmly pressed downwards as if trying to make her kneel before him.

“No! I growled aloud, immediately understanding his intentions.

To my relief, Mandy resisted. Pamuk pressed gain, this time harder. She still resisted, shaking her head and mumbling something I couldn’t make out. Then he leaned forward and whispered into her ear.

Amanda’s legs immediately gave way and before I could even guess what had happened, my lovely wife was on her knees in front of this fat man, her pretty face merely inches from the bulge I could see tenting his trousers.

“No, please! Amanda!” I whimpered, knowing my words were useless; what was going to happen had already happened. It was far too late for any protest from me.

I felt almost physical pain as I watched my wife’s slim dainty fingers fumbling with the fat man’s belt, then with the clasps on his straining waistband. Pamuk’s trousers sprang open as his huge belly escaped. Mandy jumped away in surprise then, recovering her composure, she slid first his trousers then his ridiculous yellow boxer shorts down to his ankles.

“Wow!” I gasped, astonished.

The man’s reputation wasn’t just a fairy tale. From beneath and between his front shirt tails, a long, thick, coffee-coloured erection stood horizontally. It was brutally ugly, curved sharply upwards and had veins prominent all around its long, twisted shaft. The head was almost purple in colour and surprisingly small given the huge shaft on which it sat.

My wife was obviously taken aback too. Her mouth fell open and I could see a look of fear in her blue eyes.

Was this monstrous appendage really going to penetrate her? I already knew the answer and I suspect at this stage my wife did too because a strange, glazed look came over her face, her eyes went a little cloudy and her body shook a little.

Was this Mandy appearing? Was I actually watching her alter-ego taking over?

Chapter Twenty-One

It could well have been the case because the next thing I knew, her dainty hand was wrapped around that thick shaft, sliding up and down slowly. The camera kept switching angles to try and get the best view but when her mouth opened, and her lips closed around Pamuk’s smooth, dark head my imagination needed little prompting.

With an expertise I never imagined she possessed, my sweet wife delivered a world class exhibition in oral sex, her hand, lips and tongue working in harmony on that man’s horribly ugly erection. One moment her lips were sucking his tip, the next her tongue was in the groove below its head, her hands all the time either caressing and fondling his large, full sack or encircling the thick base of his shaft.

Pamuk’s moans of pleasure came low and clearly through the monitor’s sound system and I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Amanda and I had been adventurous in our sex life but when had she learned to give head like this? My own erection had never received treatment this passionate and professional in all our marriage.

Eventually he must have decided that, however good it undeniably was, a blow job was not going to satisfy him because he gently took Mandy’s face in both hands and brought her incredible oral ministrations to an end.

She looked up at him, his cock still in her mouth. I could see those big blue eyes almost pleading – but for what I could only guess.

Pamuk took her hands in his and raised her to her feet, making another unsuccessful attempt to kiss her lips as her face drew level with his. Not pleased by this failure he tried a second, then a third time but in every case was presented only with a cheek.

Annoyed by this apparent lack of success, Pamuk had clearly decided it was time to claim the ultimate prize because, after a very brief exchange of words I strained unsuccessfully to hear, my wife was once again turned to face the desk. She tried briefly to resist but the man was apparently too strong for her because a moment later she was bent over, face down, her bottom pressed against the monstrous erection sticking ridiculously out from under his shirt.

I stared at the large computer monitor as if frozen. On the screen in front of me, Pamuk had roughly pushed my wife’s head down onto the desk and was holding her neck with his left hand while his right fumbled with the hem of her dress, trying to raise it onto her back. Mandy was putting up a little resistance, but it seemed only for effect because he was making headway fast.

After a couple of failed efforts, her dress was raised, revealing the firm, toned flesh of her buttocks and the tiny thong panties that concealed next to nothing. I heard a chuckle followed by a low mumble of protest then the panties were simply torn away in a single proficient movement.

Pamuk paused for a moment as if inspecting the treasure he had uncovered. From the camera angle I could see most of what he could see and for a moment felt perversely proud that my wife could look so good; so incredibly sexy with her bottom and hairless vulva so obscenely displayed. Shame followed immediately, made worse by the terrible tangled swelling in my trousers.

My mind suddenly flashed back to the night six months ago when in that very office, on that very desk and with his...