Something is going on. I don’t know what it is, and it makes me nervous. I’ve had this feeling all week. Now it’s Friday evening and I’m all in the dark.

I mean this literally. Straight after work I went to the sex shop, where my videos now show on repeat, the ones where I demonstrate various products. The latest video shows me in bondage. A spreader bar holds my legs apart, and my wrists are attached to the metal too. I’m wearing the hood that renders me anonymous, but apart from that nothing but matching purple bra and knickers. My husband John stands with his back to the camera, using a wand on me until the climax strikes and I cry out with pleasure.

I didn’t go there to see the video, which I’ve seen before. But watching myself, and seeing other people watch me, even if most of them were women, made me very wet indeed. It always does. Since I started modelling these items of clothing and demonstrating these products, I’ve been having dreams. Last night I dreamt I was on a cushion-strewn floor with lots of couples seated round me on chairs. In my dreams, I’m not wearing a hood. Everyone can see who I am. The women masturbate their men as I play with myself, and when I climax, the men masturbate over me, showering me with their ejaculate.

I wish I could say that I’m embarrassed by this, but very little makes me feel like that these days. The only thing that would make me ashamed, and it would make me deeply ashamed, was if people I deal with in my everyday life got to know what I’m like beneath the surface.

I went to the shop to pick up some new products. Sandra gave me a selection of clothes. “I’d like you to model these,” she said. “If you want to combine that with any of the other products we’ve given you, feel free.”

I changed the moment I got home. Sandra had given me a pink bra and matching pink knickers, both transparent; pink hold-ups and red, plastic boots that go up just past my knees. Then there was the wholly transparent cape coming down to my thighs, which I instinctively thought of as rainwear. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a sex worker. I said as much to John.

“Then let’s take you out in the street so you can walk,” he said.

I knew John was joking, but I still felt that familiar mixture of dread and excitement. The neighbours must never see me acting the harlot like that, but what if…? I didn’t use the hood, letting John film me on the patio, where the neighbours can’t quite see, as long as he didn’t capture my face on film.

But that’s not what’s different about tonight. After filming me, John requested that I take off the boots and put on the new hood.

Yes, the new hood. Sandra decided it was time I graduate to something “meatier”, as she put it. She gave me a leather hood, one without eyeholes, but with an opening for my mouth and nostril holes, though at first I was still afraid I might not be able to breathe. John sat me down in the middle of our three-seater and pulled the hood over my head.

There’s the faintest slither of light, but really I’m all in the dark. Not least because John took advantage of my non-sighted condition to request that I place my hands behind my head, upon which he handcuffed me. Then he fixed the spreader bar to my ankles.

I’m not afraid, but I am all in the dark. All week I’ve sensed that something is happening of which I know absolutely nothing. “John, are you there?” I ask.

“Yes, dear,” my husband answers.

“What’s going on?”

“A big surprise.”

I’m not sure if this sounds promising or just unnerving. I’m all in the dark and I hear John fiddling with something. “Are you filming this?”

“Oh yes, my love. I want to document every single second of this.”

I experience a sense of foreboding, yet I do not protest. There’s something about John’s tone of voice. But by now I’ve experienced so much that I previously thought was beyond me, if I even contemplated such things, that it feels completely natural to take yet another step into the dark.

Besides, I think I know why Sandra gave me this hood, which keeps me in the dark. I think she does want to go further, somehow, I just don’t know how. She’s preparing me for something. But she too is keeping me in the dark, just as John is.

There’s darkness and silence. My legs are held apart, my arms handcuffed behind my head. Whatever happens now, I’m powerless to do anything about it. I trust John, but that does nothing to dispel the butterflies.

There’s a sound, a minute sound that I can’t quite place.

“John, are you there?” I ask.

“Of course, my love,” my darling husband says. He sounds as if he’s up close now. “You know I’ll never leave you.”

Why doesn’t this sound as comforting as it should? Why does it sound like an assertion with unfathomable depths?

There’s movement in the sofa as I feel John sit down to the right of me. I breathe heavily, expecting him to touch me. Instead I become aware that someone is sitting down to my left. My heart starts beating faster. What if it’s that man Lars from Copenhagen? The man that John led to believe I satisfied men for a living over the internet? I want to ask who it is, but my voice fails me. I can hear Lars in my head, “Maybe I visit the UK, and John and I make you into the spitroast, yes?” Soon I will hear his voice up close; it’s the only explanation I can think of.

I sense that John is turning. I feel his hands on mine. The key turns in the lock, freeing me from the handcuffs. Hands grip my wrists, pulling my arms to either side. My right hand touches John’s cock, my left hand touches a different erection. For the first time in ages I feel ashamed as my fingers instinctively clutch at the organs. “Who… who?” I stutter.

“Don’t you recognize it?” John asks, playfully this time.

But the only cock I might recognize other than John’s is my secret lover’s, and the point of that is that he’s secret. I don’t understand. No, it can’t be Mark. But it is, for now that I know, I recognize the feel of him, his shape, his girth. After all, I’ve held him in my hand so many times.

I don’t know what to say, but John doesn’t seem to mind. As I hold the two cocks, still in shock and not actually moving my hands, I feel John slide his hand across. His hand finds its way under the plastic cape and slides up my leg. The spreader bar holds my legs apart, but I wouldn’t close my legs, even if I could. My husband rubs my pussy through the pink panties. This brings me some way out of the shock. My body responds, even if my head still can’t function properly. I feel my pussy react even if I’m not sure that it’s appropriate. My hands react too. I sit there, stroking two erections, one on either side of me as my husband strokes my pussy.

Mark gently takes my hand and moves it away. I feel him move. He holds my wrist and I sense that he’s standing on the sofa. He moves my hand back to his cock, which is just in front of my face. Its familiar scent eases through the nostril holes in the hood. “Suck my cock, kinky Catherine Cocksucker.” It’s Mark’s voice, but I can’t believe that he’s saying this in front of my husband. My own words come back to me. “Let me be your horny cocksucker, Mark. Anytime, anywhere. I’ll suck your cock whenever you want me to.” But I didn’t mean in front of my husband. Now I do feel ashamed. I’m all in the dark, but at least no-one can see my face burning with shame as I bring my tongue out to lash at the bulb in front of me. What else is there to do?

John eases a finger inside my panties. The finger slides into my tunnel as Mark’s cock slides into my mouth. I hear my husband’s voice. “Are you enjoying yourself there, Mark?”

“Always,” Mark replies. “Catherine’s just amazing!”

“Isn’t she just!” John says, moving his finger lightly inside me. I blush as I move my hand against his rod. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this embarrassed. My husband and my lover have somehow come together to… Do what? Use me? I remember having Lars in front of me on the computer when he said, “So you are the kind of lady who likes two cocks at once?” It was not something I’d contemplated, but I’d said yes because it was expected of me. Now I have two men with me; my husband and my lover, and it’s all too much to comprehend.

John’s finger slides out of my pussy. He’s moving. I can feel him take up the same position to the right of me as Mark has on my left. I’m still sliding my lips along Mark’s shaft when John guides my hand back to his cock. “Kinky Catherine Cocksucker,” John murmurs. “Well, now you have two cocks to play with.”

Hearing my husband call me that makes me even more ashamed, but why, when this has obviously all been arranged? I hold Mark’s erection steady in my hand and turn my head. I take John’s cock in my mouth instantly, because if my mouth’s full then I don’t have to speak. I slide my lips as far down as I can, right to the point where I almost choke. Penance? I don’t know. I think of all those Sundays when I’ve had the taste of John in my mouth and haven’t been able to wait to invite Mark over so I can indulge with him. Now I have both cocks to taste at once, and I don’t know how to feel about anything as the taste of my lover and my husband mingle in my mouth.

But something else is happening. My body is taking over, as it so often has over the past months. I’m fascinated by the different sensations it offers that John is very long and Mark is very thick. I turn my head from one to the other, sucking on them, excited by length, then by girth, then by length again. The men grunt as my lips embrace them hotly, sliding back and forth. I’m pleasuring both my men, and though it doesn’t quite feel natural, nor does it feel quite so unnatural anymore.

 I have Mark’s thick cock stretching my mouth when John moves my hand away from his cock. I don’t understand, though really I should. When he gently brings my head round so that Mark’s cock slides out of my mouth, John is giving off a sound I recognize very easily indeed. My mouth is open to admit his cock, but what I’m given is a huge jet of sperm. I close my mouth to swallow, and more spunk follows, striking my lips. John wipes his cock against my lips as the last of his sperm billows out.

I’m amazed. I hadn’t expected either of them to cum so soon. It comes as a surprise to me to realise how disappointed I am that I only have Mark’s stiff cock to play with now. Is he going to cum in and on my mouth too? Leaving me wanting more. Because I do want more. If Mark cums in and on my mouth too and I’m just left wanting more, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. Is that what they want? To deface their kinky cocksucker and leave her in the lurch?

With John’s sperm on my lips, I turn my head to admit Mark back into my mouth. It feels even dirtier than sucking Mark when I’ve swallowed John’s sperm just an hour or two earlier. Mark stretches my mouth, but I still go deep. After all, I’ve had plenty of practice. I can feel John’s eyes on me and feel ashamed and exhilarated. I feel John move as I continue feasting on Mark’s cock. John’s fingers are back underneath the plastic cape, back inside my panties, back inside my pussy.

Not for long, though. Mark pulls away from me and I feel both men move. I don’t know what’s happening, but when they suddenly grab and lift me without a word, I realise they must have planned this in advance. I’m turned around, or bundled over rather, like a sack of potatoes. With difficulty I end up on my knees on the sofa, leaning over the back. Hands are lifting the transparent plastic, fingers pull my panties to one side and probe me.

I’m slightly embarrassed by how wet I am, even though I now realise I have no reason to be. My labia are pulled and held apart, and I know I’m gaping wide open. “Do you want to fuck her?” John asks. He’s offering me, offering my… my cunt (well, what else am I going to call it) to my not so secret lover.

“I always want to fuck her,” Mark replies.

My husband and my lover are talking about me like I’m just some woman, any woman, a willing… (I’m very red now, but at least no-one can see) A willing receptacle. But then, isn’t this partly what I’ve been turned on by; being just an object, a wank fantasy? And now I’m just a body to fuck, albeit for my not so secret lover to fuck while my husband watches.

It’s impossible for me to hold back when Mark’s thick cock penetrates me. I gasp out loud. I may not know much about what’s going on, but I do know that my husband wouldn’t have arranged this if he didn’t want it to happen. I allow myself to gasp out loud again as Mark thrusts harder. I can’t remember how many times I’ve been on hands and knees, begging my lover to fuck me harder, faster, to stretch my pussy with his deliciously thick cock.

Gosh, just listen to me. But what else do you expect? Mark fucks me hard and fast, just the way I adore him doing it, and I gasp and moan, arms outstretched on the back of the sofa. Then John is there, behind the sofa, taking my head between his hands. My lips, still adorned with his sperm, come up against his bulb. He’s hard again from watching Mark have his way with me, or perhaps he was too worked up to not even soften. I don’t care, I’m excited by his obvious excitement. My lips part eagerly. I want my husband’s cock back in my mouth.

I remember Lars saying, “Look how eager the slut is to be made into spitroast.” I’d never heard the word before, and looked it up on the internet later, even though I’d got the gist of it. I’d said ‘yes’, as I sat there in front of Lars and my husband, and even toyed with myself with two dildos, but I’d never seriously thought I’d want two cocks at once for real. But now… Oh yes!

Now my husband fills my mouth as my lover stretches my cunt. I still don’t understand how or why it can be that this is happening, but the sensation is amazing. How come I’ve never been able to envisage myself with two men like this? Because I didn’t think I was that kind of woman, that’s why.

But now I am another kind of woman, with insatiable appetites. My two men, my lover and my husband take pleasure in my holes, and I take pleasure in the way they use me, unable to do much but moan at the back of my throat, not ashamed or embarrassed to display my pleasure in this way.

John slides his cock out of my mouth. I feel his fingers in my hair. “Are you enjoying yourself, my love?”

From the tone of his voice I can tell it’s a rhetorical question. I still can’t quite get to grips with how he seems to be perfectly happy about my illicit trysts – because he must know all about them, mustn’t he? – but all questions must wait. I gasp out loud as Mark gives an especially hard thrust. “Oh yes!” I cry. “Fuck me, Mark! Put your cock back in my mouth, John.”

My husband gives a little chuckle. I’m there, caught between the two men. Their cocks move in me as they use me. I feel like their plaything, and it excites me as much as feeling like a wank object. “Take me!” I say, or try to say, as John feeds me so much of his considerable length. “Fuck me!”

John gives another little laugh. “Do you want to cum in her, Mark?”

Not ‘Catherine’ or ‘my wife’, just ‘her’. My husband offering my lover my cunt as a receptacle for his semen. Yes, Mark has cum inside me on many occasions, but this is something different, something that feels very dirty and utterly thrilling.

“Do you think Catherine wants to cum?” Mark asks. Well, he’s always had a considerate streak, but right now he just needs to let it all out. I try to say so, but my words are garbled by John’s cock plunging to perilous depths.

“Do you want to cum, my love?” John asks.

Do I? Of course I do. I’ve just been too preoccupied with getting to grips with all of this. After all, I am still in the dark. “Mmmm-hmmmmm!” I exclaim as John continues to take full advantage of my mouth.

I adjust my position, meaning to reach back and administer some self-pleasure, but as soon as my arm moves, I hear John’s stern but playful voice. “No you don’t, young lady. You’ll cum when we let you.”

What’s this? My husband and my lover pull out of me in unison. I remain, waiting, not knowing what to expect. There’s movement. My ankles are uncuffed and my arms are grabbed. “Come with us!” John orders.

I clamber down off the sofa, unsteady on my feet, still utterly in the dark. My two men lead me across the room. Then we stop. The plastic cape is pulled over my head. My hands are placed on a chair, which I divine to be a kitchen chair. “Sit!” John says, as if he’s commanding a dog. But then what am I but a horny bitch? (Oh gosh, did I just say that about myself?)

So I sit down, carefully, still seeing nothing. “Hands at sides,” John commands.

What am I to do? I do as I am told. My two men, my husband and my lover, set to work. They must be using the bondage tape Sandra once gave us. My arms are bound tightly to my torso, and my torso bound tightly to the back of the chair. At the same time, my legs are tied to the chair legs. I’m utterly helpless and completely in the dark. What does John have in mind? Am I about to be punished for my adultery? But if I am, surely Mark would not be there?

I remain silent, just waiting, trembling slightly. There are hands on my thighs (John’s, I’m sure of it) and hands groping my breasts from behind through the transparent bra (Mark’s, I recognize his touch). This doesn’t feel much like a punishment, unless you count how unbearable it is not to be able to move. My body strains against the tape. I gasp out loud and feel I have to ask. “What are you going to do with me?”

Fingers make sure my knickers won’t get in the way before teasing my labia. Fingers pinch my nipples through the bra, but nobody tells me what’s going to happen. The suspense is unbearable, but my body reacts, as always having a life of its own. There’s a trickle between my thighs where the finger keeps on teasing. A dribble of juice as the finger works its way between my petals, touching at my entrance. How can I not give little squeak of excitement? Hands squeeze my breasts hard and I gasp out loud as the finger down below eases up to my clit.

“Taking two cocks at once really agreed with her.” It’s John’s voice, my husband, talking of me like that. Has he been taking lessons from Lars?

“Well, she’s a very kinky lady. Aren’t you, Catherine?” Mark’s voice behind me. And Mark saying things to a married woman in front of her husband.

I don’t know how to respond, but John’s finger teasing my clit makes me moan softly. When Mark’s fingers circle my tense nipples, I moan a little louder.

“Sounds like she wants more cock,” Mark says. How can he speak of me like this with my husband present? How have the two of them got together? I don’t know, I’m all in the dark. My body strains, but can hardly move, tied to the chair as I am. My husband’s and my lover’s fingers continue to molest my aching protuberances. I’m caught between them, used by them, and there’s little else to do but give myself to the situation, and see what happens afterwards.

“Do you want more cock, my love?” John asks.

I moan. “Of course I do.”

“Do you want to cum?”

“Yes, of course.”

The two men chuckle. There’s something about their laughs, a foreboding. Their hands leave me, and I sit, tied to the chair, not knowing what’s about to happen. Then I feel something between my thighs. I identify it as the wand, even before it starts to vibrate. It’s pushed up hard against my needy, hot, wet sex.

Again I moan out loud. Again the men chuckle. The vibrations send surges of delight through me. I don’t know how long they go on for. Long enough that I can sense the earliest onset of an impending climax.

“Do you want to cum?” John asks.

“Yes, of course.”

The vibrations stop, leaving me to beg, “Please!” I sound so very needy, and I am. The plastic is still pushed up between my thighs.

“I’ll let you cum,” John says. “Once you’ve made Mark cum.”

My husband is making my climax conditional on me making my not so secret lover cum. I can hardly believe it, but when I feel Mark’s hands on my head, turning it, there’s only one thing to do. I part my lips, welcoming him into my open mouth. He has one hand on the back of my head, urging me down his pole, while his other hand toys with my nipples through gauzy fabric.

Then the vibrations resume. As soon as they do, I realise how desperate I am for release. I don’t need any guidance to suck as fast and as deep as I can. Mark’s hand is on the back of my head, but I take as much of him in my mouth as I can without him needing to do anything. I’m whining at the back of my throat. When the vibrations cease, I keep on bobbing my head on Mark’s thick meat. The sooner I make my lover cum, the sooner my husband will let me cum. It sounds mad. It is mad. I don’t understand how any of this can be.

“Make Mark cum and I’ll let you cum,” John reminds me, as if I needed any reminding. I can feel the plastic against my pussy, and I’m almost willing it to start vibrating again. It does, briefly, as Mark pulls my breasts from my bra. My lips clench round his cock. I move my head. Mark pinches my aching nipples. I try to move my body, to move against the wand, but to no avail.

But now I can tell, from the feel and the sound of Mark that he isn’t far away. His voice is sounds deep and feral. “Are you ready for cum, kinky Catherine Cocksucker?”

“Mmm-hmmm.” I prepare for his seed to come gushing out into my mouth.

But suddenly his cock isn’t in my mouth. Instead I feel splashes on my skin, on my big, ripe knockers. Habit and instinct makes me urge, “Yes! Cum for me, Mark! Cum for me! Cum all over me!” Then there are vibrations, making me squeal. My mouth is still sticky from my husband’s sperm, my breasts gooey from my lover’s.

The vibrations don’t last for long. Thick cream is sliding over my full breasts. “Do you want to cum?” my husband asks.

“Yes!” I gasp. “Please, oh please! Please let me… Please make me cum!”

I’m a married woman with my lover’s semen on my breasts, begging my husband to give me release. I’m past wondering if I can believe it or not as the vibrations start up again.

My whole body strains. I moan out loud. I can feel Mark’s sperm adhere to my swollen nipples. The vibrations are intense, making me moan even louder. I can feel something building. Then the vibrations stop.

“Please!” I moan. “Please!” I’m reduced to begging. “Please don’t keep me in suspense any more! Please let me cum!”

The vibrations start up again, but cease when John deems my excitement to have reached a certain pitch. “Please!” I beg. “Please! Please! Please!”

I don’t know how many times this cycle of arousal, denial and begging takes place. All I know is that eventually, my husband takes pity on me. Held in bondage like this, unable to move, makes the orgasm that much more intense. I’m screaming and screaming, exploding within until I collapse into a twilight where I’m only just aware of what’s going on around me, beyond the dark within the hood.

In a daze I hear Mark ask, “Should I put the kettle on?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” John says. “Before we go another round.”

John explains over tea. It’s all faintly ridiculous, me sitting there in my get-up, liberated from the hood and my husband and my lover stark naked. I’m not really in any fit state to understand anything, but I get the gist of it. Apparently John has known about my affair for a while now. Perhaps it shouldn’t come as any surprise to me that he’s as understanding as he is, given how eager he’s been to encourage my exhibitionistic leanings, but then showing myself off with my husband’s knowledge and full-blown adultery aren’t exactly one and the same, are they? I still can’t quite believe it.

It’s perhaps a greater surprise to find out that it was the God Botherer, Charlotte, his personal assistant, who blew the whistle on myself and Mark. That first day I met Mark after work… I knew it. I had a funny feeling as soon as Mark told me he worked in Market Square. I should have trusted my intuition, except I just couldn’t imagine he worked for the same company as my husband, far less that he would be followed from there to the station. Rather foolishly I think to myself that now Charlotte’s no longer my husband’s personal assistant, I’m unlikely to receive her tips on what to do with potted plants. I doubt that his new assistant, my no longer secret lover, knows much about plants.

I sleep late on the Saturday, the debauchery – there’s no other word for it – having continued; my two men so indefatigable I wondered once or twice if they’d swallowed any pills.

But why complain? I don’t want to suggest for a moment that I didn’t adore every single minute of it.

John has been up for a while, editing the footage taken yesterday. He has two clips ready, one of me posing in the clothes Sandra provided me with, the other of me tied to the chair, being subjected to stop-start vibrations with my lover’s cum on my breasts and John’s cum on my lips. I’m not sure Sandra will approve, but after we’ve sent the clips I soon receive an effusive e-mail. I will shortly be seen in the shop on the advertising screen in this deliciously disgraceful state.

New questions present themselves, but I don’t voice them. I will ask Mark later – when John has departed for El Paso, where he’ll be next week – how much he’s obliged to tell my husband about what goes on, now that he’s his personal assistant. How much has he already told John? Does my husband know that I took Mark to the dogging spot on the look-out the Sunday before last? Might we go again (because as unbelievable as it all was, I think I’d quite like to)? Might the three of us go together? I need time to digest things, to become accustomed to this new arrangement.

There will be changes, of course. The videos I send John need not feature just me, which is something of a relief since it frees me to indulge with Mark, with my husband’s consent and, dare I say it, encouragement. Other changes? I just don’t know, not yet.

The first real change comes on the Sunday. John’s about to leave, but before he hops in the shower, I perform fellatio on him. It’s our ritual.

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, his taste in my mouth where he’s just ejaculated, when he gives me a special look and says, “While I’m in the shower, why don’t you pull off those tights and knickers and pull on a pair of stockings instead?”

It’s a suggestion that isn’t a suggestion. I can’t be sure exactly what’s going on, but I have some idea when John pulls a set of four cuffs from a drawer. “And put these on your wrists and ankles,” he says.

Do I comply because of some sense of misplaced guilt? Of course not. I comply because it’s what I want to do. Whatever John has in mind, I want to experience it.

I watch, cuffed and with black stockings under my dark blue dress, as John dresses. He’s already packed his suitcase and is all ready to go. Except first he brings out the spreader bar. “On all fours on the bed,” he says.

I comply. It’s obvious to me that John won’t be getting the benefit of this himself, but clearly he’s turned on by this anyway. The bar is fixed between my ankles, forcing my legs apart. “Arms underneath!” John commands.

This is a bit difficult and awkward, but I understand what he wants. I manage somehow to feed my arms through so that he can cuff my wrists to the little hooks in the middle of the spreader bar.

There I am, curled up in a ball on the bed, vulnerable to assault, as John says, “Right, I’m off to the airport. I love you.”

“I love you too,” I say. There’s no fear. Obviously my husband isn’t going to leave me here like this for an entire week, even though he picks up his suitcase and leaves the room.

It takes a matter of seconds before I hear his voice again, out in the hall. “Hello, Mark,” he says. “Glad to see you’re punctual.”

“Always,” Mark says.

“You’ll find Catherine in the bedroom,” my husband says. “I don’t imagine you’ll encounter any resistance.”

He never does, my not so secret lover. It used to take no time at all after my husband had left before I was on the phone to my secret lover, letting him know I was ready for him. Now, my husband is simply handing me over to him. Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine this happening.

Mark enters the room holding the tripod and camcorder. He stands the tripod so that the camera points diagonally at the bed. “Good evening, kinky Catherine,” he says.

I decide to dispense with the formalities. “Are you recording?”

“Of course,” Mark says. “I have to make sure the boss gets a good show.”

‘The boss.’ Yes, now that my husband is my lover’s boss, does this mean that he will be obeying John’s orders when we have our little trysts? Things are definitely different, and it’s not easy to know how things will work out now.

I have my cheek against the blanket, eyeing Mark as he strips naked. The video will be finding its way to John, thus it is a performance in some sense. I need to slip out of ordinary Catherine and become performing Catherine, which isn’t easy given that I can’t move. But I can speak. “I love it that you’re always so big and hard for me, Mark,” I say.

He is too, as he strips out of his sweats, standing there naked, his full erection seeming to stare at me. But is this what John wants me to say? How should I behave? I don’t know.

“How could I be anything but, kinky lady?” Mark says.

He’s behaving like normal, but this isn’t as it normally is, and I don’t know how to respond. On the other hand, restrained like this, there’s not a lot I can do as Mark climbs onto the bed behind me. My dress is lifted. With my limbs tied to the spreader bar as they are, my behind is up in the air and my pubes are there for Mark’s eyes to feast on. Feeling him looking makes things easier, since I love being watched. Hearing him say it would be even better. “Do you like what you see, Mark?”

“Oh yes,” Mark says instantly. “You know I can never get enough of you, kinky lady.” This is better, words to make me tingle. Not just words either, but hands now, sliding across my buttocks, roaming my thighs. That’s definitely better. Sufficiently aroused, I won’t care about all these questions that still fill my head. For now, though, I stare at the camera, knowing that John will be looking at me. Does he want me to say anything, and if so what? Or does he just want to read my state of mind from my eyes as Mark’s hands explore me.

Fingers are touching my labia, pulling them apart. Fingers are probing me, two of them, I think, shifting and twisting in my pussy. How can I not let out a long, contended sigh? I think back to when I blindfolded myself, hoping that Mark would just do as he pleased. With me restrained like this, he will do exactly as he pleases, and I will be unable to stop him. Is this not something I’ve wanted all along?

With that realisation in mind, my excitement increases. I give a little moan, staring into the camera, but not knowing what to say. Mark digs his fingers into me, using his other hand to grab hold of a buttock and squeeze. “Do you know, Catherine?” he says. “It just occurred to me that I can do anything I like.”

It’s as if he can read my mind, which is one of the reasons our little “relationship” has worked so well. Said by another man, 'anything I like' might be construed as sinister, but I’ve always trusted Mark. His words increase my craving and I give another moan as his fingers twist and turn inside me. The situation is different, but my arousal levels are the same as always.

“Anything I like,” Mark muses. “Maybe I should just fuck you and cum in you. Is that what you want from your bit of rough, kinky Catherine?”

What do I say now? What does John want to hear? I look at the camera, wondering what I look like. But does it matter what I say? My husband’s arranged this, so whatever happens is with his contrivance. “How can I stop you?” I breathe. “You can do anything you like, Mark. I can’t stop you.” Not that I want to.

Mark pulls his fingers out of me. There I am, curled up, my bum in the air, my pussy juicy and gaping. I can feel his eyes on me. I’m expecting him to tease a little longer, but feel him shift, and suddenly he really is penetrating me with his thick cock.

“Oh!” I exclaim. I really hadn’t expected this, though now I don’t know why. I’m still looking at the camera, and now the words spill out automatically. “Oh yes! Oh fuck me, Mark! Fuck me!” His thrusts are hard and assertive, using my body which is barely able to move. I feel fingers on my clitoris, rubbing as he stretches me more with every thrust. “Are you going to cum in me?” I gasp.

“Is that what you want from your bit of rough?” Mark asks.

It doesn’t matter what I want, since I’m powerless to do anything about it anyway. So I don’t answer, other than by moaning and looking at the camera, at John as will be when he receives the video. “Take me! Fuck me!” I moan as Mark’s thick shaft plunges into me, his fingers pushed up against my clit.

That’s it. That’s all there is for a while, Mark grunting and me moaning. My bit of rough taking his pleasure in my gaping, leaking hole. I’m quite, quite sure he’s going to keep on fucking me until he cums, so much so that when I sense he’s coming close, I breathe, “Do it Mark! Cum in me! Cum inside me!” I’m still staring at the camera, at my husband as will be, begging my lover to cum inside me.

But Mark doesn’t. He pulls out, his fingers still rubbing against my clit. “Are you sure you want me to cum already?” Mark asks.

Whatever else this is, the camera is there. This is a performance, and there’s only one answer when I perform, though I’d probably give the same answer if I wasn’t performing. “Yes, Mark! Please cum! Please fuck me and cum deep inside me!”

But Mark’s not playing that game. He climbs down off the bed to go across to the nightstand and open the drawer. I think that John must have told him where to look until it occurs to me that he’s watched me often enough to know where to find my toys.

He scans the collection as my heart thumps. I start when he pulls out the massive black dildo he once saw me use. If he’s going to use that, I’m going to need lube. But then he plumps for the rabbit instead, brandishing it at me on his way back to the bed. My pussy throbs with joy, but I say nothing, remaining in my awkward position, powerless to resist, but not wanting to resist. Mark gets up behind me and inserts the dildo part, pushing the little vibrating ears up against my clit. He holds it in place as he twists the controls.

He’s obviously not concerned with starting slowly, but then why would he be? The vibrations are intense, the rotations ravage my tunnel of lust. Mark grabs a buttock, squeezing as the toy works its magic on me. I stare into the camera, where John will be watching, knowing that he’ll be able to see just how much I’m enjoying this. But I don’t say anything, I just moan softly, then more intensely. Mark’s nails dig into me as the toy forces my arousal levels higher. I gasp and moan, staring at the camera.

Mark waits. By now he knows the signs, I know he does. I try not to show that I’m close, but to no avail. My lover removes the rabbit from me. I lay there, curled up in a ball, powerless to do anything about my desperation. I fight the instinct to beg for release, just staring into the camera. I feel Mark move behind me. Then, I feel his tongue.

He licks me right where my juices have leaked. I whine and moan as his tongue whirls against me, eventually moving to my clit. Yes! Yes! I gasp and moan, staring at the camera. I don’t care how Mark makes me cum, as long as I cum. “Oh Mark!” I breathe, staring straight into the camera, straight at my husband, “That’s so good!”

“You taste so good, kinky lady,” Mark says.

I want his tongue back on me. I want him to lick me, to drive me onwards, to tongue me to a climax. Instead he’s moving, and then his cock is back inside me. He’s fucking me, his bound and helpless pleasure toy, placed in bondage by her husband and given to her lover. Somehow I’ve gone from wank fantasy to sex object to plaything. It’s not right, is it? But I love it.

I can’t help myself. I stare into the camera as my lover fucks me hard from behind. “Is this what you wanted all along, John?” I breathe. “Do you like seeing your wife used like this?”

Is that it? I’m still not utterly convinced that my no longer secret lover appearing out of the blue was a coincidence. I’m not convinced that he and my husband working for the same company is a coincidence. Not that it matters. Not now. All that matters is that Mark fucks this shameless hussy, this scarlet woman, and that her husband enjoys seeing it. “Fuck me, Mark!” I gasp, staring at the camera, at John. “Fuck me!”

No sooner have I urged him on then he withdraws. But after some movement, he’s back there with his tongue, probing the hole he’s just stretched and ploughed, scooping up the juices that his young, virile cock has caused to flow.

When his tongue returns to my clit, I feel with absolute delight that there’s no return. I don’t bother to announce my climax, I just let myself moan with abandon, staring into the camera so that John can see what he calls my ‘orgasm face’, as he likes to do. Bound and held so tightly, the explosion is that much greater. I cum so hard I’m screaming, knowing that the camera is capturing everything, for my husband’s delight.

I’m in a daze, but aware that Mark is off the bed, grabbing the tripod. I’m aware that he moves it closer to the bed. Then he’s back up behind me, stuffing his swollen cock back in my tight pussy. It’s almost unbearable so soon after the recent violent combustion, but I wouldn’t deny him even if I could.

In the event it doesn’t take many good hard strokes before Mark grunts, “Oh yeah! I’m gonna empty my big heavy balls in you, kinky lady.”

“Yes, Mark!” I gasp. “I want that!”

His cock swells and twitches. I hear what sounds like that little sob he so often gives when he cums. I feel his semen spurting out inside me. Then he pulls out. There’s silence, but I can feel his spunk moving and know what’s happening before I hear his voice again. “Oh, Catherine! Look at all that spunk dripping out of you.”

I’m as sure as I can be that John has requested this. My husband wants to see my lover’s sperm dripping from my freshly fucked pussy. It feels so dirty, and yet so right.

Mark liberates me. “Shall I put the kettle on?” he asks.

“Yes, Mark. That would be lovely,” I say.

With my lover out of the room, I have time to reflect. As wonderful as this experience was, it was also different. And as strange as it may seem, something is missing from Mark’s and my liaison.

I know exactly what it is too. It’s the thrill of the illicit that’s missing; the thrill I felt when I used to phone up my then secret lover with the taste of my husband still on my tongue. I’m sure this new situation will have pleasures that compensate for the loss of the thrill of the illicit, but that doesn’t stop me missing it.

Things are more complicated now, too. Before it was easy. Mark was my partner in adultery and secrecy. Now my husband is his boss. How much is Mark obliged to tell John? This needs to be discovered slowly and without occasioning suspicion. In the meantime Mark and I drink tea before its playtime again. Afterwards we drink more tea, then we fuck some more, every sordid detail captured for John, my husband, Mark’s boss to see. (Oh, the advantages of a young lover! Every woman should have one!)

Nevertheless, I can’t get over this feeling that something has been lost now that everything is out in the open. I think about it before I go to bed and as I shower for work on the Monday. I think about it at idle moments, and during lunch I visit the ladies. I remove my knickers before taking out my mobile, still using the secret one I’ve used solely to communicate with Mark, and I take a picture of myself, or more accurately my sex, holding myself open.

This is what I did once before, when John’s personal assistant caught Mark bringing up the picture, setting in motion the strange train of events that led to my illicit adventure being discovered. This time I send the picture with a much more direct message. “I can’t wait for you to fuck me again.”

Lunch is just about over when I emerge from the ladies, on an impulse not bothering to replace my underwear, to make my way back to my desk. As I’m doing so, the phone rings. I take it out of my bag, hoping no-one notices it’s not my usual one.

“Hello,” I say, not wanting anyone to hear me say Mark’s name. This is better, this need for secrecy in the midst of all these people.

“Hello, kinky Catherine,” Mark says. “I can’t wait to fuck you either.”

“Where are you?” I say, thinking that he must be somewhere by himself to be able to speak like this.

“In the boss’s office,” Mark says, I can hear the cheeky grin in his voice. “Wishing you were here.”

I brush against a colleague and smile. “I can’t really talk right now,” I say, keeping my voice low. “But tell me more.”

“Oh,” Mark says airily. “I’m just wishing there was a kinky lady here who was willing to bend over the desk and be soundly taken from behind. Or perhaps get on the desk on her back, so that I could stick my head up her skirt and lick her till she cums.”

I smile at more colleagues as I pass. Yes, this is much better, my lover on the end of the phone saying dirty things while the people around me know nothing about it. “Any candidates?” I’m almost whispering into the phone.

“Oh, if only you were here, Catherine,” Mark says.

“Go on,” I say. I’ve almost reached my desk. I want to tell him to make it really dirty, to tell him that I’m not wearing anything under my skirt, but there are too many people within earshot.

“I’m looking at your pussy right now,” Mark says. I’ve reached my desk and sit down, crossing my legs instinctively as if everyone could see what Mark sees. There’s a delicious light throb between my thighs.

“I’ve got such a hard-on,” Mark says. “I want to finger you and lick you and fuck you so hard. Right here, in the boss’s office.”

I scan the room. No-one’s looking at me, but they would if they could see what Mark sees. I suddenly imagine myself, placing my feet up on the desk, pulling my skirt up. Would they want to finger me and lick me and fuck me so hard? What if they knew what was being said to me.

There’s a trickle as I see the department head heading in my direction. “I’ve got to go,” I tell Mark.

“I understand,” he says. There’s a little pause. “Fuck you later, kinky Catherine.”

Indeed he will, and I look forward to it. This was much better, this being among people and having my lover say dirty things to me. I already know this is something I want him to do every day from now on.

But as the working day draws to a close, I realise that I still need something more. Not really knowing where to go to find what I’m looking for, I find myself doing the inevitable, driving to the sex shop. Today Jez is back on duty along with Sandra.

The way I’m greeted makes me feel almost like royalty. My legs automatically take me to the TV screen, where I watch myself posing and performing and bound and climaxing. Sandra watches with me for a short while, then says, “You’re getting something of a fan club, you know.”

“What do you mean?” I say, looking around to make sure no-one’s close enough to put two and two together. I really don’t want to be recognized, even though it thrills me to know I’m seen.

Sandra, perhaps catching my nervousness, says, “Shall we go through to the office?”

We go through to the office. Sandra closes the door behind us. We sit on opposite sides of her desk.

“Are you still happy to demonstrate products?” she asks.

Need she ask? “Oh yes,” I say. “Very happy.” I pause. “As long as I remain anonymous.”

Sandra smiles. “Oh, I understand all about discretion, believe me.”

I do believe her. More than that, she seems someone I can trust with more personal observations. “I wouldn’t want to stop. Not now. It’s like a voyage of discovery.”

“Yes,” Sandra agrees. “I know what you mean, and I’d like to help you with that voyage. It’s of benefit to us too.”

This all sounds very businesslike, but I feel a familiar tingle. Something’s afoot; something dirty, something risky, something no respectable woman would get involved in. “What kind of help?” I say, trying not to sound as eager as I feel.

Sandra gives a little smile, as if she can see right through me. “Jez and Gabby and I have talked about the possibility of you demonstrating products in person,” she says.

My body leaps into arousal mode right there. I can’t help myself.

Sandra continues. “We love the idea, we’re not just agreed on the details.”

“But it’s a foregone conclusion?” I say. Not bothering to pretend anymore.

Sandra puts her arms on the desk and leans across, staring straight into my eyes. “Catherine, before we make any further plans, I need to be absolutely certain that you can go through with some kind of public display.”

Reading her voice, I say, “What do you want me to do?”

Sandra slides open a drawer and brings out an item that looks very strange to me. There’s a dildo, but why is it attached to some kind of rubber fabric. Seeing my incomprehension, Sandra smiles. “These are dildo panties,” she says. “I’d like you to try them on right now.”

I just stare. “All right,” I say. “But I’m not sure… I’ve never come across…”

“Let me help you,” Sandra says. “But I’m going to need you to stand up, lift your skirt and take your knickers off for me.”

Is she challenging me? Making sure I’m made of the right stuff? “I can’t do that I say.” Then, when Sandra looks nonplussed, I giggle. “Because I’m not wearing any knickers.” I get up, enjoying the look on Sandra’s face. I’m shameless now, and I have a point to prove if I want to experience more of my fantasy. I hitch up my skirt, revealing stocking tops and my immaculately shaven, naked pussy.

Now Sandra smiles. She gets up from her chair, and to my surprise lifts her own skirt, revealing the same black stocking tops, and a bald mound. “Like peas in a pod,” she says.

I realise suddenly that Sandra and I have already formed a bond, which is about to grow stronger. She rounds the desk and I adjust my feet to enable her to pull the garment up my legs. She’s on her haunches, and her face is staring straight at my naked mound. I’ve never really considered being with another woman, but now I can’t help but imagine her leaning forwards and kissing me. I don’t know why, but the thought makes me tingle even more.

“As you can see,” she says, “the dildo is on the inside. These are considered fetish wear, but we think they should have a bigger market. What do you think? Say you’re out for the day with your husband, wearing these. Wouldn’t that be a turn on?”

“I’ll let you know when I’ve tried them properly,” I say. The tip of the dildo is almost touching my labia now.

“Do you need lubrication?” Sandra asks.

“No,” I say, reaching down to splay my pussy lips, still just about capable of marvelling at how shameless I am. “I think I’m all right.”

Sandra says nothing, pushing the head of the dildo against my entrance, then slowly sliding it upwards. “Let’s be careful though,” she says.

She inserts the dildo incrementally; half an inch in, a quarter of an inch back. There’s no need to go so slow, but I let her do what she’s doing, enjoying the way my arousal increases gradually. How can I help but give a soft moan.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Sandra says, smiling.

“As much as you are,” I reply, because she is enjoying it, I can tell.

Eventually the dildo is positioned where it needs to be. Sandra snaps the fabric into place. The feel of rubber clinging to my buttocks and hips and mound is a new sensation, and not for the first time I wonder why I’ve never felt inclined to experience it before.

“How does it feel?” Sandra asks.

“It feels… good.”

“Excellent.” She rises to her feet. Her face is inches from mine. I feel a sudden urge to kiss her, but I resist. “Now what I want you to do is let your skirt down and walk around the shop for a bit. See how it feels. No-one can see you’re wearing these, so we don’t need to bother with a mask, do we?”

We don’t. Sandra’s right, no-one can see what I’m wearing underneath my work clothes, but I feel sure I reek of sexual excess. I visit every area of the shop, which seems to be doing a brisk custom. Most of the customers are women, but some are there with their partners. Some watching hooded, performing me on the TV.

With every step I feel the dildo embedded in me. It’s naughty and risky. I imagine that at least some of the customers can tell that there’s something going on under my skirt and it excites me, just as it excited me at the office to walk around with no knickers under my skirt, with my lover on the other end of the phone.

It strikes me that the thrill would be that much greater if I was actually wearing these dildo pants under my dress at the office. Yes, if Mark were to phone me and talk dirty to me while I’m wearing these, that would provide me with the illicit thrill I crave. Yes, that is what I want.

“Can I keep these?” I ask, back in the office.

“I don’t see why not,” Sandra says. “As long as you model them for us.”

“I think I can manage that,” I say, even managing a little joke. “Did I pass the audition?”

Sandra just smiles enigmatically. “So far, so good,” she says. “I’m sure everything will work out fine, but it would be good to make extra sure.”

I don’t know exactly what she means by this, and she doesn’t elaborate. I’m not going to ask, because now I have what I want back; the absurd thrill of not knowing exactly what’s going to happen, just knowing that it will happen, because each step leads to another, and because…

“All this,” I say, “All of what’s… public demonstrations and the like. I don’t want my husband to know.”

Sandra raises an eyebrow. “He seems pretty easy with most things,” she says.

“Yes, but all the same.”

“May I ask why?”

I know exactly why, and now I feel confident enough to say it out loud, giving Sandra a conspiratorial wink. “Sometimes a woman needs dirty little secrets all of her own, don’t you think?”

And there we must leave Catherine (and Mark, and John). Maybe she (and/or Mark and/or John) will return, but if so as the occasional one off.