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Robin's Rage - 2 - Marriage & Manipulation

Horrified by her childhood sweetheart's marriage, Tomboy plots to win him back by fair means or foul

Just over a year had passed since Johnny Preston, the boy I loved more than anything in the world had deflowered me on the beach then left me.

In a surge of unexpected and uncontrolled passion that had stunned us both, my closest childhood friend had passionately taken my virginity in the sandy grass then, less than an hour later, had left the village for two years’ training with a Corporate Finance Company in London.

It had been the first time since the age of four that Johnny and I had been apart and, even without the emptiness of losing my first lover, it would have hurt badly!

Robyn and Jonathan had been separated.

Robbie and Johnny were apart.

Robin had lost her Batman.

In truth, our copulation had been completely unplanned, unexpected and I suspect had been as much a shock for Johnny as it had for me, though the physical consequences of losing my virginity had been quite different. Afterwards, in true Tomboy Robbie style, I had pretended it hadn’t mattered; that it was just two good friends getting a bit carried away in the emotion of his departure and going a bit too far.

But that hadn’t been true. That hadn’t been true at all; I had been in love with Johnny most of our lives. He was the only boy for me; the only boy I could ever love; the only boy worthy of claiming my virginity.

And now he had taken it; wherever in the world he went, I was his and he was mine!

For this reason, the news of Johnny’s engagement to a woman I hadn’t even heard of hit me like bolt of lightning from a clear blue sky. The first inkling came from social media but it was soon confirmed by his parents. Johnny had met a girl called Jackie, had fallen in love with her, moved in with her and now they were going to get married.

I was horrified; my Johnny was marrying someone else; someone who wasn’t me?

This was impossible! Unbearable! I immediately set off to find out all I could about the new love in his life.

Using social media with an intensity I had never known before, I cyber-stalked his new fiancée Jackie, quickly learning that she was a freelance graphic designer who came from a rich family and who had been working in the office next to his. Though nearly ten years older than him, you would never have guessed it from her pictures; she was a tall, slender, very metropolitan girl in her thirties with long, wavy blonde hair and a fit, athletic figure.

I had to admit in her pictures she looked sophisticated and absolutely stunning. The two of them looked perfect together.

In my camouflage jeans and T shirt, I felt simply outclassed.

According to his parents who still lived next door to mine, the two love birds had met one lunch time through mutual friends and had fallen in love almost at first sight. The engagement had come after only three months with the intention of getting married a few months after that.

Johnny’s parents thought it was all a bit too rushed and that Jackie was perhaps a bit older than ideal but had to admit that she was ‘a lovely girl’ and that they both seemed very much in love.

Needless to say, I cried myself to sleep in for several nights; in secret of course – Tomboy Robbie didn’t cry, did she?

We were, of course, all invited to the wedding; a very smart affair in a London registry office with a superb dinner afterwards in a restaurant overlooking the Thames.

Despite our best efforts – even I was rather uncomfortably wearing a dress instead of my usual jeans and T-shirt - all of us from the village felt overawed and intimidated both by our surroundings, by the bride’s expensive, sophisticated appearance and by her equally intimidating friends.

I was disappointed to see that Johnny seemed very much at home in his new, urban environment.

You cannot imagine how painful it was for me to sit quietly in the Registry Office and watch the only man I had ever loved getting married to someone else. But of course, as Tomboy Robbie I couldn’t possibly show either emotion or weakness and when the time came, I greeted my victorious rival with all the warmth and sincerity I could pretend.

To my surprise, Jackie greeted me with genuine warmth in return saying how much Johnny had told her about me and how she hoped so badly that the two of us would be become good friends.

I thought that was unlikely but didn’t say so. Instead I waved enthusiastically as they headed off on honeymoon, trying not to imagine the two of them in bed together as newly-weds.

Unsurprisingly, Johnny and my correspondence dwindled yet further.


It was a year after the wedding when Johnny’s first big City Bonus came through and he and Jackie bought Fiddler’s Cottage in our village. On banking scales, the bonus was trivial compared with the millions earned by the Bank’s dealers but for such a young man it was a life-changing amount.

His decision to buy and renovate the historic but nearly derelict Fiddler’s Cottage close to the seafront was met with almost universal praise by family and friends alike. Apart from improving a local eyesore, locals said openly that it proved the young lad hadn’t forgotten his roots though it was believed his rich, London-born wife was less keen on the idea.

Whatever her views were, they didn’t prevent the sale going through and within days the Cottage was theirs. A brief period of intensive renovation took place then the couple arrived for their first big visit, announcing their intention to spend most weekends there to get away from the stresses of the Big City.

As you can imagine again, it was unspeakably painful for me to see my beloved Johnny ‘playing houses’ with his pretty wife, the look on his face showing just how deeply in love he was. I tried hard not to be alone with him or even with them both but it wasn’t always possible, especially as I still worked in the village’s only pub.

They looked the perfect couple as they walked along the seafront hand in hand; the tall, athletic, handsome husband with his slender, blonde, beautifully-dressed wife. Although they looked somewhat out of place among the village’s ancient residents, they looked so right together that my heart ached and I had to work extra hours in the pub to keep my mind occupied.

But however out of place they might have looked, to my surprise and hers, metropolitan Jackie fell in love with Fiddler’s Cottage on that very first weekend.

“It’s the perfect place for me to do my creative work,” she told me in the pub one Sunday lunchtime before the two of them returned to their Docklands flat. “I’d like to spend a few days there every week. I could sell the studio in Putney and save a small fortune.”

And so the new phase in their lives began; Johnny worked in the City all week and returned to his wife in Fiddler’s Cottage on Friday evenings. Obviously both his parents and mine were delighted to see so much more of him and to think he valued the place he grew up in so much.

For me it was a mixed blessing; I loved seeing more of the boy I adored but to do that, I had to accept the pain of seeing him in love and living with the woman who was occupying the place in his life that was meant for me – his wife.

What made it even worse was Johnny’s eagerness that his new wife and his oldest friend should get on well, insisting the two of us saw a lot of each other whenever Jackie was in the cottage.

And what Johnny wanted, Johnny usually got from the women in his life so one morning I accepted her invitation to have coffee in one of the village’s three coffee shops.


Jackie smiled uncertainly as I approached her table, cup in hand. She looked out of place in the village cafe, her smart London clothes and expensive haircut attracting lots of attention from the regulars. Stunningly attractive, even close up, no-one would believe she was nearly ten years older than her husband. Once again I grudgingly admitted it wasn’t hard to understand what Johnny had seen in her. In my faded jeans and sleeveless camouflage T-shire I felt very shabby in comparison.

I sighed, gritted my teeth then took a bold step forward.

“Hi,” I smiled in what I hoped was a convincing way.

“Hi Robyn,” she smiled back, rather formally half rising to her feet.

We shook hands a little awkwardly, kissed an equally awkward hello then I sat myself down opposite the girl I considered my enemy and gave her my most endearing look.

“How are you settling in?” I asked. Jackie grimaced.

“It’s always hard moving house, and it’s hard to feel at home quickly in a new area – especially one like this where everyone knows each other so well.”

I could imagine; I wasn’t the only one who considered Jackie an interloper from London. Despite being married to a local boy, it would take a very long time for her to be accepted by the ‘old’ families in the village.

“And with Jonathan being away so much, it looks like I’ll be spending a lot of time on my own until I can make new friends.”

I winced as Jackie called my adored Johnny by his full name; it sounded so pompous. Quietly I thought the chances of this urban, sophisticated woman ever making close friends among the locals was very slim – and would be even slimmer if I had my way. But right now it was important to make a good impression and to become friends so I took a metaphorical deep breath and forced myself to be amiable.

For a while we talked in the rather safe, bland way that strangers adopt on a first meeting. To my surprise, annoyance and in the face of my natural hostility, I felt myself warming to this woman who, although outwardly cool and intimidating, was obviously just as vulnerable on the inside as the rest of us.

In a perverse way, I hated her even more for making me like her and tried hard to remember the injustice she had done in taking my beloved Johnny away from me. It only partially worked but luckily, after almost an hour of chat I had to excuse myself and go to my job in the pub.

Before I left I found myself making a genuine offer.

“Perhaps I could help you find your feet?” I volunteered. “How about if I show you round a bit. I have to work most evenings in the pub but my daytimes are fairly free. I could maybe help you settle in faster?”

A look of delight crossed Jackie’s face, mixed with relief.

"That would be really lovely. I didn’t think you would ever forgive me for stealing Jonathan from you," she said smiling as if it was a joke. “I know you two have always been... close.”

There was ambiguity in her voice which left me wondering whether she knew just how close we had been and how close I still wanted us to be.

“Oh, we were never an item in that way,” I told her with sad honesty. “Johnny’s always gone for the glamour.”

Jackie wasn’t sure what to make of this so I continued.

“I’ve always been a bit of a tomboy; not good girlfriend material.” That I now know to be true but hadn’t understood it at the time. "I’ve mellowed now I’m older. It would be a real pity if you and I weren’t friends like Johnny and I used to be."

“Jonathan told me you were more like a sister than a friend.”

She meant it as a compliment but my heart ached; I didn’t want to be Johnny’s sister. I wanted to be what I always should have been; his lover and his wife.

“He’s very sweet to say that,” I forced myself to reply.

“Well you’re sweet too. Jonathan said he hoped we’d get on. I’d love to get to know you better Robyn,” she smiled. “And yes please, I’d love it if you showed me around.”

It was agreed we would meet and spend the following day together exploring.

Jackie had no suspicions but for me, the first step had been taken.


For several weeks, Jackie and I saw each other whenever she was in the village, sometimes spending whole mornings or afternoons together, sometimes just having a coffee and chatting. When she wasn’t working in her studio, I took her to all the local sights, the shops, some of the restaurants and pubs as well as introducing her to a few carefully-chosen acquaintances.

I made sure all were recently-arrived incomers like Jackie herself who did not know just how strongly I felt about her husband.

Johnny came home every weekend. If anything he looked even more unbearably attractive than before and when he turned those huge, penetrating eyes on me – the eyes that had looked into my soul as he had claimed my virginity - I completely melted inside.

Inside but under no circumstances must it show outside!

To my continued distress, my beloved Johnny was still completely besotted with his wife. I didn’t see anything like as much of him as I wanted, still less without Jackie present but it was enough to feed my unrequited love mercilessly and I cried myself to sleep several times.

Despite this, Jackie and I quickly grew close, or so she thought, to the extent that I was often invited to dinner at Fiddler’s Cottage.

With a trust that was as endearing as it was unwise, Jackie had given me a key to the cottage early on ‘for emergencies’ and so that I could keep an eye on the place when they were away. I had also volunteered to help them deal with a few maintenance jobs that needed doing, including the complete reconstruction of the ancient wall at the end of their garden.

As a local, popular barmaid and well-in with the local tradesman, Jackie rightly believed I was better placed to deal with them than she was. Moreover, her part-time job as a designer required her to go to Bristol for a day or so each week and stay overnight on Wednesdays so she would find it difficult to be in the right place at the right time.

This suited my plan very well so I agreed to help immediately.

One warm Friday night after she had been in the village for a few months, Jackie had cooked a rather overly-fancy dinner for the three of us – Johnny was home for the weekend - and we were sitting on their terrace drinking coffee and finishing our third bottle of wine.

The night was beautiful; all three of us were a little tipsy, especially Johnny and the talk had moved onto old times. Unsurprisingly, Jackie hated it when he and I talked about things with which she couldn’t join in but that night she was relaxed and mellow and indulged us for a while.

Helped by the wine, stories of the adventures of ‘Batman and Robin’ kept coming out of the corners of our memories; of bike rides; of nearly-missed accidents on the rocks; of holidays in hot places; of games played with our families.

“I can see why people thought you were Jonathan’s sister,” Jackie eventually said.

For a split second Johnny and I exchanged glances; our one afternoon in the dunes had clearly not been mentioned and he did not want it to be.

“Robbie’s lovely,” he said quickly before I could say anything dangerous.

“She is,” his wife agreed. I pretended to blush as Johnny continued:

“From what I can see, it looks like you two are almost as close as sisters already too.”

The English was awful and slightly slurred but we both knew what he meant. Jackie looked across at me, raised an eyebrow and lifted her glass.

“Sisters, Robyn?”

I swallowed hard; there was a huge lump in my throat.


I replied, forcing a grin. I raised my glass and joined in with the toast.


Johnny had his arm around Jackie when I kissed them both good night in the doorway half an hour later.

I cried all the way home and sobbed myself to a rather fitful sleep.

I couldn’t take this pain much longer. It was time to act!


The following Monday morning I talked to my Boss at the pub about my working hours, explaining that for a few months I needed to ‘help a friend with some problems’. I asked whether I could cut my lunchtime hours completely for a while and warned him I might be a bit unreliable on some evenings.

I had known my Boss for many years and he was only too happy to agree. I knew there would be a payback at other, busier times of the year but I was tough enough for that.

Next, I made a few phone calls to builders I had been carefully researching. Contrary to Johnny and Jackie’s expectations, I ignored the local firms and specifically chose only those from the nearest city some twenty miles away.

During each call, I introduced myself as ‘Mrs... Call me Jackie’. Strangely, I seemed to have lost my local accent too.

In the afternoon I drove into the city and made a few purchases from specialist stores. I paid in cash rather than by card and put my purchases carefully away in my bedroom afterwards.

Then I started watching a few video clips from the internet on my laptop in my room. They weren’t the kind of clips I’d want my mother to know I was watching but they were an essential part of my plan.

Knowing that plan had started I slept much better that night.


Tuesday passed as normal; I met Jackie for coffee mid morning and finished my hours at the pub both at lunchtime and in the evening. I was pleased to hear that she had seen more of the acquaintances I had introduced her to and even more pleased that she hadn’t made contact with anyone who knew me and Johnny well.

It was still painful hearing all about her and my beloved Johnny’s plans for the year and the rest of their lives but, knowing that my scheme had already started, I could handle the pain much better.

I spent the evening at work then afterwards in my room watching more video clips followed by a certain amount of ‘practice’ in front of the full length mirror on my wardrobe door.

I slept less well that night, my mind full of excitement and anxiety about the following day.


It was already dark when I let myself into Fiddler’s Cottage on Wednesday night with my back pack over my shoulders. My heart was thumping in my chest and my tummy full of butterflies but I was determined to see it through. I had ducked out of work that night pleading with my Boss the need to help my friend. He had been very understanding so the evening was my own.

With Jackie in Bristol, the cottage was in darkness but, just to be safe, I called out her name as I walked through the hallway. There was no reply; she was, as expected, away for the night. I took a deep breath, slipped my outdoor shoes off and padded upstairs to the bedroom where I went into the en-suite bathroom and put my bag down on the toilet seat.

It had started; it had really started!

I opened the bag carefully and pulled out my new purchases; three small remote digital video cameras. They had been expensive and the man in the shop couldn’t believe I wanted all three but I had told him they were presents for my nephews.

Moving quickly, I carefully placed one in the bedroom, one in the lounge and one in the kitchen then returned to the en-suite bathroom.

I took a deep breath, steeled myself then, almost shaking with nerves, I carefully undressed in the cramped room, taking care not to move any of my friend’s toiletries from their positions.

It felt strange being naked in someone else’s house but I told myself it was something I had to get used to. Once I had stripped, I opened my backpack again and pulled out a pair of extremely brief, thong panties. They were dark purple and black, purchased in an anonymous department store fifty miles away. As I drew them up my legs and manoeuvred them into place with the rear thong between my cheeks I was amazed how some women could find such an article of clothing comfortable.

I turned left and right in front of the mirror – I had to admit, however uncomfortable they felt, they looked sexy even on me.

Turning back to the bag, I took out a long blonde wig, curled to look just like Jackie’s hairstyle. I flattened down my own short, dark hair, took a deep breath and pulled the wig onto my head as I had practiced many times at home. The world disappeared for a moment in a riot of curls but when it had settled down, I parted the blonde curtain in front of my face and looked in the wide over-sink mirror.

Wow! What a difference.

A few moments with a hairbrush and ‘hey presto’ - gone was the dowdy dark-haired girl that had silently entered the house. In her place was a slim, blonde, sophisticated, nearly-naked woman. I turned from left to right and back; apart from my face and much smaller boobs, no-one who didn’t know her intimately would guess that it wasn’t Jackie standing there.

I turned to my backpack again and pulled out my brand new black five-inch heels. They were awkward to stand, let alone walk in and I hated them but for that night’s activities they would be perfect. I slipped my feet in, tottered as I always did then gradually recovered my balance enough to walk from one end of the bathroom to the other.

Then, taking another deep breath, I stood tall and left the bathroom.

For the next half hour I walked slowly, dressed only in thong and heels, from room to room of my friends’ house, taking care that enough of the curtains and blinds were open and enough lights were on for me to be visible from outside, but always making sure that my long hair obscured most of my face.

As I passed through each room, I pressed the remote button on each camera to make sure my journey was recorded from every practical angle. My tummy was alive with nerves but I steeled myself and carried on, keeping my eyes on the prize and telling myself over and over again that no-one would ever know it was me.

After a while I got used to being nearly-naked and on view. I turned from left to right in front of the windows displaying my rather under-sized boobs; I bent over to open drawers, my bare bottom available for any onlookers to see. I went to the kitchen and paraded in front of the open fridge door, its light casting shadows on my boobs and highlighting the dark cloth triangle between my thighs and the line of the thong between my cheeks.

Anyone looking from any of the surrounding houses could not have failed to see me – or at least see a woman with long blonde hair – strutting near-naked in high heels flagrantly displaying her body.

No-one would guess that the woman flaunting herself so outrageously was not the lady of the house but a malevolent imposter.

Once satisfied that the show had gone on long enough to attract the right amount of attention, I returned to the bedroom and became myself again. I re-packed the thong, wig and high heels in my backpack, pulled on my faded jeans, T shirt, trainers and cap then checked once again to make sure there were no signs of my presence in the room.

Finally content, I went downstairs, collected the video cameras and let myself out through the back door before melting away through the garden.

Once I was back home I poured myself a large glass of wine and sipped it as my pulse slowly returned to normal.

Mum and Dad were already in bed so I went quietly up to my room and booted up my laptop, intending to study a few more of those ‘special’ videos with the sound turned low.

But my mind was buzzing; I don’t think I had ever felt so alive and aroused in my life. There was something about having not being me; something about the freedom being another person had given me; something about flaunting my sexuality that made me feel so, so different.

There was also something about my plan to win back Johnny having started that was very arousing!

I opened my bedroom door and listened hard; Dad was snoring softly and Mum was breathing heavily.

It was safe.

I nipped across the landing to the bathroom and pulled a clean sports towel from the airing cupboard then returned to my room. I lay the towel mid-way across the bed, plumped up the pillows against the wall, slipped off my jeans then leaned back against the headboard with my bottom in the centre of the towel.

Positioning my laptop on one side and my wine glass on the other, I began to watch the action on the screen, my eyes wide in astonishment. I was in luck; the clip I had chosen was good – very good. The girl on the screen was about my age, as were the two strong well-endowed men she was about to ‘entertain.’

After a few minutes, my thighs had parted a little way and my fingers had strayed to my knickers where they toyed absent-mindedly with my cotton-covered triangle.

The on-screen action grew more intense; the girl was stripping slowly in front of the two men who were watching her every move intently. Her body was full and rounded; her boobs huge and as her panties were discarded, I could see her vulva was completely hairless.

I slipped a hand inside my knickers; my toying became a little firmer and a little faster.

The girl was presenting herself to the two men who had now stripped naked too. Their cocks were still flaccid but, like their bodies, were intimidatingly large and jet black. Five minutes later my panties had been lowered a few inches to give my hand more room to work as I carefully studied the three performers on screen changing positions.

Watch and learn, Robbie. Watch and learn!

The men were touching the girl’s body, her boobs, her hair, her face and then her bottom. She was responding eagerly with what seemed to be genuine excitement. As the action on the screen grew more intense still, my eyes grew wider and my fingers slipped deeper between my thighs, slowly exploring the dark crevasse between my rather skinny legs. A warm glow began to make its presence felt in my lower belly.

My fingers moved faster and the glow grew stronger as the girl on screen fell to her knees before the two men. Keeping my eyes fixed on the on-screen lovers, I pulled my panties quickly down over my knees then kicked them away. The air in the room felt cool against my dampening vulva. I leaned back against the padded headboard again, spread my legs wide then plunged my fingers into my slit and over my clitoris.


My body responded quickly as I knew it would. No stranger to masturbation, I could tell that this session was going to be a good one. I watched spellbound, stroking myself gently as the girl on screen took one of the men’s cocks deep into her mouth while her free hand pumped the shaft of her other lover.


My fingers moved faster between my spread thighs as the girl on screen licked and sucked the monster cock, taking it deeper into her throat that I would have thought possible. Surely she must choke! But no! She looked as full of passion as I felt; perhaps it wasn’t the terrible ordeal I had imagined!

My fingers moved faster still, in small fast circles over and around my hardening nub.


The first tremors of a minor climax came barely a minute later. A second flush followed soon afterwards. I bit my lips to stifle the sound. It felt good but that night I needed more.

On the screen, the girl had started to ‘deep throat’ first one cock, then the other. The men were moaning with pleasure, whispering encouraging things but apart from their cocks, the director clearly thought they were irrelevant; the camera stayed permanently on the girl’s face as she took first one, then the other shaft deep into her throat, her free hand active between her thighs, playing with her vulva.

From the heaving of her chest and the flush on her face, she was clearly massively aroused. This wasn’t one of the corny, staged videos I had seen before; this was a real girl having a really good time with two very real, very large, very black men.


I tried again to suppress my moan as the next wave of climax rippled through me.

On the screen, the girl had abandoned the men’s cocks and was now on her back on a sofa, her legs spread obscenely wide. One of her lovers was between her thighs, his huge cock beginning to thrust in and out of her hairless vagina. Her eyes were half closed in a pleasure which looked genuine. She was trying hard to keep sucking the other man’s cock as she was fucked but the growing intensity of the big man’s thrusts made this impossible.

Within a few minutes, her eyes were bulging, her mouth open wide and what looked like a real, powerful orgasm racked her body.

Desperate for some of the release she was enjoying, I rolled over onto my front and thrust my bunched fist into my groin. Crushed between my hips and the mattress, my fingers curled up and into my body, first on my clit, then inside my vagina, then back to my clit again, feeling the sensations building and building very quickly indeed as I humped my own hand.


The wave of climax that immediately surged outwards from my groin shook me bodily, making me growl and groan uncontrollably, my face buried in the pillow. On the screen, the two men had changed position. Now the girl was on her hands and knees, one cock thrusting into her vagina from behind, another being forced in and out of her throat.

In response, I thrust my own fingers hard into my weeping vagina once again then dragged them roughly across the underside of my clitoris. My hands shook as I came noisily and messily, desperately trying to stiffly the moaning to prevent my sleeping parents from hearing.


I half-howled my pleasure into the pillows as I came hard, my whole body shaking, bucking against my hand as girl on my laptop screen, now kneeling again between the two men’s groins, received two huge ejaculations of semen straight across her face and in her mouth from the cocks she had been sucking and fucking.


As the image of cascading semen burned into my mind, a final, massive orgasm rolled over me, wave after wave, each pulse stronger than the last. My hips bucked against my fist, my mouth opened wide in silent scream, my face burned with the intensity of my climax until I finally let my fingers fall loose, my body crushed them beneath my groin and I lay trembling face downwards on the bed.

Oh God! I’d never masturbated like that before!

Just imagine what it would be like to have a real man’s cock inside me... again!

Johnny’s cock... like last time... my only time... but better... much, much better...

Oh Johnny Preston; how I needed you; how my body needed yours; how you belonged to me!

And what wouldn’t I do to make you mine?


The following evening I downloaded all the video material from the cameras onto my laptop. Then, with new video editing software and hours of self-tuition late into the night, over the next week I managed to create several clips.

Each clip was a few minutes long and showed a slim blonde nearly-naked young woman walking sexily around a smartly renovated house. There were a few high quality still photographs too.

The woman’s face was always obscured by her long blonde hair or by her hand, but the furniture and decorations in the house were clearly visible.

In the small hours of Saturday morning I uploaded several clips and pics onto a carefully selected website; one which had provided much of the video material I had been studying so carefully.


Over the following week, I obtained quotes for the wall repairs from three different builders, showing each representative around the cottage while Jackie was either out or in London. Each time the builders’ men came, I made sure to show them round the property dressed in my blonde, curly wig, one of Jackie’s tightest, shortest dresses and in high heels.

My natural tomboy nature made it hard for me to flirt with them but I did the best I could and obtained at least a little favourable response. As subtly as I could, I made sure to find out the ages and backgrounds of the men who would actually be doing the work.

By Friday I had selected and confirmed with one firm. They were to start work the following week.

My selection was not based solely on the cost of their quote.

When I checked the website, the number of views of my video clips had grown pleasingly large.

On Sunday morning I opened an account on a well-known website used by married men and women seeking affairs.

The account was in the name of Fiddler’s Fancy.

The pixelated image was of a woman with long blonde hair. I paid in advance using a credit card I had found in a desk drawer in the cottage.


It was Saturday when I took the call from Jackie telling me that unusually, her Bristol client needed her to be available for most of the following week rather than just her normal Wednesday overnight. This meant I would have to take care of the builders for the entire job rather than just the set-up she had intended.

“I’m so sorry, Robbie,” my friend had apologised sincerely. “It’s a real imposition I know. Are you sure you can manage it?”

“No problem, honestly,” I assured her.

Indeed it wasn’t a problem; it fitted in perfectly with my plans.

“I’ll make it up to you when I get back,” she promised.

“Okay. I’ll hold you to that,” I grinned.

It’s funny how things sometimes work out so well, isn’t it?


By the following Wednesday, Jackie was away and work on the wall repairs was taking longer than expected.

As I had planned, the workmen were in their mid twenties, tall, muscular, strong, exceptionally good looking and, as I had made extra-sure through my researches, they were both West Indian and black.

In my blonde wig and short, tight-fitting dress I had been obliged to go and talk to the men doing the work many times over the past two days. I was delighted to find that they were very polite, helpful and understanding about my worries and seemed pleased to see me no matter how often I interrupted them.

They also seemed a bit baffled but by no means unhappy about the amount of attention the flirty, rich, sophisticated blonde woman was giving them and the multitude of drinks she provided. They had been surprised at the shortness and tightness of her clothes too but had made no complaints.

They made even fewer complaints when she insisted on calling them by their first names, Gary and Carl.

Tantalisingly, she didn’t tell them her name at all.

After a few days they were openly admiring her legs and bottom as she flirted a little more heavily.

When not paying the two men rather too much attention, I spent quite a lot of time online on Jackie’s desktop computer, visiting various websites that a married woman might not be expected to visit. One or two of these I saved as favourites under false names.

I didn’t bother to delete her browsing history afterwards.

Jackie herself had telephoned that morning full of even more apologies to say that she really needed to be away all week and could I possibly – ‘pretty please possibly’ – look after the completion of the job too.

Of course this fitted in even better with my plans so I agreed without hesitation and received promises of generous paybacks on her return.

This meant that the whole responsibility for the job would fall on me; the two workmen wouldn’t even set eyes on Jackie. It couldn’t have been more perfect, I mused as I took another evening stroll through Jackie and Johnny’s house that evening wearing only my thong, with the lights on, the curtains open and the cameras humming.


By Friday morning, the repairs on the wall had reached the final stages. There was a relaxed atmosphere between the two good-looking workmen and their flirty client in her extremely short red sun dress as she inspected the detail of the work.

Each time they pointed out an area of particular concern, it had been necessary for her to bend low to inspect, giving them tantalising views of the rather skimpy panties she swore beneath.

In the afternoon, as they showed her round the nearly-finished job, the two drop-dead-gorgeous workmen were half-jokingly asking whether the nice, pretty blonde lady would like to have a drink with them after work one day.

While she hadn’t accepted, she hadn’t turned them down either.


Back in the kitchen I breathed a sigh of relief, flicked the long blonde hair of the wig away from my face and tried unsuccessfully to pull the short hem of my dress down over my panties.

Carl, the older and taller of the bricklayers was watching me through the window. I caught his eye. At first he looked away awkwardly then surreptitiously looked back. I was still watching him and our eyes met.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be such an ordeal after all!


It was Saturday morning, one week after work on repairing the wall had begun and the day after it had finally ended. The sexy, blonde lady had been very pleased with the final result, very grateful and had given the two workmen a large tip before they left.

She had insisted on having both their mobile phone numbers ‘in case I find something that needs dealing with’ in the future. Both young men had happily provided their details.

She had also given them her number in return - or at least the number of a newly purchased mobile registered in the home owner’s name – before they packed up their tools and left.

Jackie had returned home from Bristol late that evening. It had been too dark for her to inspect the completed work so I had gone round the following morning. My lunchtime session behind the bar was looming but for the moment she and I were in her smart, modern kitchen with large mugs of strong coffee in our hands.

It still hurt for me to see the man I loved in apparent domestic harmony with another woman but I steeled myself not to let it show. After all, I couldn’t let a slip-up ruin my plans now they had started. Fortunately I didn’t have to see them together that morning; Johnny was out buying DIY stuff in the nearby city so it was just the two of us having a private girly chat.

The quality of the repairs to the wall and the ease with which they had been done had raised me even higher in her list of favourite people. Jackie’s business trip the previous week had gone very well too so that morning she was feeling mellow and well-disposed towards humanity in general and me in particular. For that reason she went a little further in her revelations as we chatted than she might previously have gone.

“Wow! How long have you been trying?” I asked astonished.

To my amazement, my friend had just confessed that she and my beloved Johnny were ‘trying for a baby’. It was a phrase that the tomboy in me had always loathed and which I had been dreading to hear ever since their wedding.

“I came off the pill best part of a year ago,” she replied. “I’m getting really worried nothing has happened yet.”

“But that’s no time at all...” I began but Jackie interrupted.

“Oh I know it’s not a long time but I’m worried about my age.”

“Loads of women get pregnant in their thirties, even in their forties these days; at least that’s what I’ve read,” I told her reassuringly.

“I know, but I’ve got special reasons to be anxious. My mother’s menopause came in her thirties, so did my grandmother’s so my body clock’s probably ticking faster than yours.”

“And you’ve had no luck?”

“Not even a late period. That’s why I’m starting the treatment.”

Jackie told me that her Doctor had given her a course of medication that would dramatically increase her fertility for a short period in the hope that she and Johnny could conceive naturally without the need for IVF.

“How long does it take to work?”

“A couple of weeks. I should be at peak fertility around next weekend. That’s why...”

She blushed and stopped.

“What is it Jackie?”

“That’s why I can’t come out with you on Friday or Saturday at all. Johnny and I will be... you know!”

It took a moment but the penny eventually dropped and my eyes opened wide.

“You’ll be... doing it all weekend? The whole weekend?”

Jackie burst out laughing.

“Look at you, Robyn! Don’t be so shocked! Yes, all weekend! We have to do it all weekend - as often as Johnny can manage it – if I’m going to have the very best chance of getting pregnant.”

“Won’t you get tired? And sore?” I asked naively.

“Not if we take precautions!”

She told me about the different kinds of lubrication she had bought and the energy drinks, the zinc supplements she had made Johnny take and the folic acid she had been taking herself.

I was amazed; I had always thought you simply put a penis in a vagina and nature did the rest. How wrong I apparently was.

“And Johnny knows all about this?” I asked when she had finished.

“I think he sees it as a sort of early birthday present,” she chuckled. “We’ve been… trying a lot since I came off the pill but not intensively like this. If it works we can get back to a more normal sex life straight afterwards.”

“So you mean...”

“I mean that, if things go according to plan, in ten days’ time I’ll be pregnant! Nine months after that you’ll be an Auntie!”

“An Auntie?”

“If we’re Sisters,” she explained with a twinkle.

“We’re Sisters!” I agreed.


Half an hour later as I walked back to the pub for my bar work, my mind was spinning.

I hadn’t expected things to move quite this quickly but now my hand had been forced.

If Jackie and Johnny had a baby together, I might never get the love of my life back.

It was time to put the rest of my plan into effect as a matter of urgency.


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