“Do you want to fuck me?”

The situation is reminiscent of how my little confession started. I’m lying on my back on the bed with my legs spread and the laptop pointing at me. Back then my secret admirer stood outside, peeping in through the window. Now Mark is of course my secret lover, but for the moment he’s back outside, looking in.

But this week is also different. It’s the first time in many months my husband’s work abroad takes him elsewhere in Europe – Copenhagen, if you’re wondering – and so I can perform for John in real time. I don’t want my secret lover in the room while I’m doing that. I have, however, already performed fellatio on him. His taste dances on my tongue as I lay there, legs spread, showing myself off.

There is one other thing I need to confess. The man on the screen in front of me is not John. His name is Lars. Everything about him is rugged and granite-like. A bullet head features a face that looks like it’s set in stone, with raspy stubble like vegetation running wild. He speaks good enough English, but with a strong accent. “Of course I want to fuck you,” he says.

He looks nowhere near his age, looking like he takes pride in keeping in good shape. I wouldn’t have known he was as old as he is if John hadn’t told me that Lars is about to retire. That’s how John persuaded me to go through with this. “I’ll probably never see Lars again,” he said, “so there’ll be no danger of you and he meeting.”

I liked the sound of that. “I don’t want him to know I’m your wife, though.”

“Fine,” John said.

I don’t know exactly who Lars thinks I am, but I trust John not to reveal my true identity. “Show me your pussy,” Lars says now. I doubt that he’d be so direct if he knew I was John’s wife, and in spite of Lars’ demanding tone, I feel comfortable, secure in some kind of anonymity.

This evening I’m dressed in white. I’m wearing a white lace bra along with matching knickers and white tights, which is why Lars can’t see what he wants to see. Not yet. In addition to the white, I’m wearing the thigh high black boots I was furnished with by Sandra at the sex shop in exchange for recording a promotional video.

I slide a hand inside tights and knickers, touching the part Lars wants to see. I smile at the camera. “First I want to see you naked,” I say. I want Lars to know that I too can make demands.

“A lady who knows what she wants,” Lars says. “I like that. You are like the Danish women.”

I’m not sure I’ve met any Danish women, so I wouldn’t know, but I like that Lars likes me. I watch, holding my fingers still against my labia as he unbuttons his shirt. Then he disappears from the screen for a moment. The image shudders as the laptop is moved further back, showing the whole of a hotel two-seater. I imagine it’s John moving the computer to give me a fuller view.

“Is this what you wanted to see?” Lars asks, resuming his seat. He doesn’t grin so much as grimace. His cock is nice and erect, though. John has told me that the man is a widower, but I don’t know if he has an active sex life or not. It doesn’t really matter.

“Yes,” I smile. “I love a nice big cock.” It feels strange saying such a thing to a stranger, knowing that my husband is watching and listening. But then I know that John wants this as much as I do. I may have pretended to be reluctant to indulge him, but deep inside this is what I’ve been craving, for a complete stranger to watch me – now that Mark is no longer a stranger.

“So you see I really do want to fuck you,” Lars says.

“Mmm,” I coo, moving my hand inside my knickers. Well, size excites me, and Lars really is nice and big.

“So show me your pussy.”

He’s not exactly the type to make small talk. Either that or John’s told him not to be too particular about what he says. I’ll have to ask my husband about that later. I move my hand in my knickers, sliding a finger into my tunnel. “I’m so wet,” I purr. This performing business has become second nature to me now. The old Catherine could never have said such things with such impunity, but I am a new woman now. Well, not quite, but getting there. This I can do without shame, possibly because John is there and wants it to happen.

“You want me to fuck you?” Lars asks. It’s more or less a rhetorical question.

I smile and lean forwards, staring intently into the camera. Since Lars, according to John, has never seen a photo of me, and will never see me again, I’ve decided not to cover my face. That gives an added thrill. It’s John’s computer the pair are using, so this little session will never find its way anywhere else. “Patience,” I smile. I crawl round so that I can stare into the camera, showing only my face. I reach out for my red dildo, my favourite, which I’ve placed in position, so that I’m prepared.

Smiling I stand it on end and lick the tip. “Don’t you want me to suck you first?” I kiss the tip. “I love sucking cock.” I giggle. “I’ve been told I’m very good at it.”

I have no idea where this is coming from. A few months ago I could never have said such a thing to a complete stranger, but now… With my secret lover I can call myself “kinky Catherine Cocksucker”, but that’s a step too far right now, especially with my husband there in the room with Lars. Nevertheless, the part of me that has performed so often for John has become something of an alter ego. I am my performing self, and my performing self says such things.

“Is this true, John?” Lars says. “Is Kate good at the blowjobs?” Kate is what I’m calling myself this evening. In real life I hate the abbreviated form of my name, but it's useful in this particular situation.

“The best,” John’s voice says off camera, and I glow with pride, even though this is no situation for a respectable wife to find herself in. I slide my lips over the big, red dildo. Where is John anyway? Is my husband content to stand by and watch as a stranger sits with his hand round his cock imagining that his wife is sucking on it?

My lips come off the dildo. “John!” I say. “Where are you? I want to see both of you.” I know I sound too much like a wife now, so I add, “I want to see both your hard cocks.”

As I slide my lips back over the dildo, Lars says, “So you are the kind of lady who likes two cocks at once?”

I’m not. At least I don’t think I am. It’s not really something I’ve ever contemplated. There are only two men I really want in the world, and I have them both, but never at the same time, and I’m quite content with that. But I’m not Catherine now. I’m Kate, I’m performing, and it’s part of the performance that there’s only one answer. I slide my lips off the dildo briefly to giggle and say, “Of course! I adore having two cocks at once!”

Lars looks pleased with my answer. His hand moves as my lips slide up and down the dildo. I’m a stranger’s wank object, the thing I’ve fantasized about being. That’s no way for a respectable woman to behave or feel, but I’m no longer anything resembling a respectable woman, at least not in private.

“Maybe I visit the UK,” Lars says. “And John and I make you into the spitroast, yes?”

I have no idea what spitroast is. It sounds faintly disgusting, but with my mouth full of dildo, I say, “I’d like that very much.” It’s what the performance demands.

John has finally joined Lars on the sofa. If Lars takes me seriously, it could make for a difficult situation, but then how is he ever going to find me unless John invites him? Why worry? Especially now that I have two men staring at me and wanking their stiff cocks, and my secret lover outside, looking in through the window and no doubt doing the same?

Three men watching as I perform. It’s as close to my fantasy as I can get. I grab another dildo, the replica John and I had made of his cock. I have two men in front of me, one of whom is my husband, and I use my mouth on both dildos. It’s so very dirty, and a huge turn on at one and the same time.

“I can well see that she is very good at the blowjobs,” Lars says as my tongue swirls round the tip of the red dildo. “Maybe when we make the spitroast of her I am content with having the mouth, and you can have her pussy, John?”

Not ‘if’ but ‘when’. Who or what has my husband led Lars to believe I am? I remember what he said to me more than a month ago now. “Those videos of yours, you could make a good living from doing that.” Has he led Lars to believe I’m some kind of… sex worker? I’m ashamed when the thought excites me, just as I’m amazed when John says, “Oh you don’t want to miss out on her pussy, Lars. Kate’s got the most amazingly fuckable pussy.”

How can my husband say such a thing of me to another man? And how come I like hearing him say it? But then, am I not saying things that no respectable woman should say? I smile into the camera. “How kind of you to say that, John.” I kiss one dildo and then the other. “So do you boys want to see my…” Can I bring myself to say it? “…my fuckable pussy?” Clearly I can.

Lars leers. “Oh yes,” he says. “Show us your pussy!” As if he owned me, or had at least paid for the performance.

So how come I feel so turned on, when this is all so wrong? Because the awful truth is that I do. I have two horny men in front of me on the computer screen, holding their stiff cocks, and outside looking in is my secret lover, and though it’s not long since he came in my mouth, I’m sure he has a raging erection once more. And I love it that these men are excited by me. I don’t care that Lars is coarse and vulgar and speaks to me as if he’d just bought me at market. This woman that I never knew co-inhabited my body doesn’t care about such things. All she cares about is her own pleasure.

I lay the dildos to one side before flipping myself over again, resuming the position on my back, facing the computer with my legs spread. I run a hand over my crotch, outside my tights, smiling at the two men watching. “Do you want to see my pussy?” I ask as seductively as I can.

“You know we do,” Lars says, sounding a little impatient.

“Show us, Kate,” John says, without the impatience.

I summon up the pluck to use that phrase again. “You want to see my fuckable pussy?” I think I blush a little, but I can’t be sure. I’m so shameless these days.

“You like to tease, yes?” Lars says. “Remember, when I visit UK, the more a woman teases, the harder it makes me fuck her tight pussy.”

Not ‘if’, but ‘when’. What has John said to him? Out loud I giggle, “Why do you think I’m teasing so?”

“You like it rough, yes, Kate?”

It doesn’t matter whether I do or I don’t. I’m performing now, and there’s only one answer. “Yes, Lars, the harder you fuck me, the more I like it.”

I still don’t know where all this is coming from. It’s as if Kate (or performing Catherine, as I prefer to think of myself) has taken over completely, obliterating all of ordinary Catherine’s finer, more respectable instincts. Ordinary Catherine might be slightly worried about this ‘when’ not ‘if’, but she also knows that this Lars will never come near her. Kinky Catherine Cocksucker thinks of how she two weeks ago teased her secret lover and the effect it had on him.

“Good, because I want to fuck you very hard,” Lars says. I get the feeling that John is looking a little sheepish. “Now show us your pussy!”

His voice is demanding and makes me want to tease him a little longer, but when John whispers, “Show us, Kate,” I relent. I’ve been thinking about something. It seems a waste of a perfectly good pair of tights, but I’m performing now, and it’s not as if I can’t afford a new pair. I grab the fabric, using a nail to cause a minute tear that allows me to rip the things open at the crotch. I enjoy the look of surprise on the men’s faces, not bothering to tease anymore, but pulling the white lace panties to one side.

I am a shameless, performing hussy, and knowing that I am watched by three men has made me so very wet. I open up my labia so that my arousal cannot be anything but obvious. Lars licks his lips. My eyes are inevitably drawn to where both men’s hands are stroking their hard cocks. I am a shameless, performing hussy, and my words must match that fact. “Here’s what you wanted to see,” I breathe. “Now which of you two handsome fellows wants to fuck me first?”

I blush a little, but not much, as the two men glance at each other. “After you, Lars,” John says, as if he’s offering me, his wife, to this other man.

“With pleasure,” Lars leers. “Such a fuckable pussy is made to be fucked hard, yes?”

I realise that I’m more or less being reduced to ‘a fuckable pussy’. So how come that pussy is dripping wet? I grab the red dildo and place the tip against my opening. “I want you to fuck me, Lars. I’m so horny. I want you to fuck me as hard as you can with that big cock.”

“Yes,” Lars says. “I fuck you so hard I make you scream!”

Such presumption, but I don’t care. I drive the dildo into myself. “Fuck me, Lars,” I urge. “Do it! Fuck me!”

I can hear my pussy as I work the dildo inside myself, and no doubt the men can too. I watch them stroking their stiff cocks, enjoying the sight of them enjoying the sight of me. “Fuck me!” I breathe. “Oh yes, fuck me!” And then because I can’t think of anything else to say, I moan, “John! I want your cock in my mouth!”

I grab the dildo that’s a replica of my husband’s cock. By sucking on it while I ram the red dildo into myself, I don’t have to say anything. Lars draws his own conclusions. “Look!” he exclaims. “Look how eager the slut is to be made into spitroast. When I visit UK we have much fun with her, yes, John?”

To my husband’s credit he looks a little embarrassed, but he keeps on stroking his cock, while not answering Lars. Instead he groans, “Oh yes! You’re so good with your mouth, Kate!”

“Harder,” Lars says. “I fuck you harder than that, Kate!”

Why not? By fucking myself harder with the red dildo, I’ll reach a state where I don’t care who’s on the screen or what they say or think about me. I work my arm fast, driving the synthetic phallus into myself, moaning as I keep the other dildo in my mouth.

“Oh yes,” Lars says. “That there is one horny slut. I bet you like it in all the holes, yes, Kate?”

Performing Catherine should say yes to everything, but this is one implication I just can’t bring myself to lie about. Instead I groan, “Fuck me! Just fuck me! I’m so very horny!” with the replica of John’s cock still in my mouth. This is no lie. I’m very wet, the red dildo stretching me just enough. I love that there are three horny men watching me, even if one of them isn’t very nice.

The more worked up Lars becomes, the coarser and more vulgar his words. They’re so coarse and vulgar that I don’t want to repeat them. But the woman I used to be, the respectable Catherine who could never be such a shameless hussy, somehow feels that this new me deserves to be spoken of like that.

And whatever Lars says, I adore that there’s this stranger watching me and wanking. I adore that three men are watching me and wanking, eager to have their stiff cocks inside me – and that one, my secret lover, soon will. I let Lars utter his stream of filth as I moan loudly, writhing on the bed, taking up all kinds of positions, using both dildos in both my pussy and my mouth. I fuck myself with the two dildos so that my pussy drools and there’s saliva on my chin.

Then I’m on my stomach, no longer with the dildos inside me, just my arm beneath me and fingers rubbing my clit frantically. All the men on the screen can see of me is my face, as I smile and gasp, “I’m going to cum! Cum for me! Both of you! Cum for me!”

Lars leers at my face on the screen. “A slut like you likes facials, yes?”

There’s a flicker in John’s eyes. I know what he’s thinking. I’ve never been that keen, but recently it’s happened twice, once with John and once – unbeknown to John – with my lover, and let’s just say I don’t dislike it as much as I used to.

Right now it doesn’t matter. I am performing Catherine, and “yes” is the only answer. I rub my clit hard. “Please cum on my face, I breathe. I love it! Please, please give me your cum on my face!”

“Yes! Yes!” Lars gasps. “I cum all over your face, dirty cumslut. I fucking cum…”

And suddenly both men are cumming. The sight of their semen splashing up over their naked torsos sets me off too. The three of us form a chorus, announcing our respective climaxes very loudly indeed. I keep staring into the camera, just relaxing in the aftermath.

“That was excellent!” Lars announces. “I can’t wait to visit UK and use you like a dirty cumslut for real.”

“I can’t wait either,” I lie. Now that I’ve had my climax, there’s nothing more I want to say to or hear from Lars. “Goodnight, boys,” I coo, blowing the camera a kiss and disconnecting.

I remain where I am on the bed, but turn to the window and beckon Mark with my hand. It doesn’t take long for him to enter the house and find the bedroom. After all, he’s been here before. In spite of having climaxed very recently, the sight of my secret lover gets me in the mood instantly. How can it not? He has that cheeky grin on his face, and his sweatpants are like a tent.

I turn to face him, leaning back on one elbow, my legs parted shamelessly to show myself off to him. “Good evening, Mark,” I say. “I’m glad to see you enjoyed the show.”

“How could I not, kinky Catherine?” Mark says.

He comes up to the bed and sits down next to me. His hand goes straight to my thigh, stroking lightly. Early on in our relationship he was so reticent, but now he knows to be direct, and I love it. We have nothing in common besides our trysts, and so there is no reason to delay anything.

“You were sensational, Catherine,” Mark tells me. “You’re amazing.”

His tone is so different to that of Lars that I’m glad I kept the window closed while I performed. “I thought of you while I performed,” I tell him. “I could hardly wait for you…” I don’t know where I’m going with this. Mark doesn’t know John had a colleague there with him, and I’m not about to share this information. I stare at the spot where his cock is making his sweatpants bulge violently. “Did you cum, Mark? Or did you save it all up for me?”

“I saved it all up for you,” Mark says, his hand wandering very slightly upwards, not quite reaching the gaping hole in my tights.

I smile at him. “I’m glad,” I say. “I like it when your balls are nice and heavy and full of spunk.”

“Oh Catherine!” Mark says. “How did I ever get to become involved with a woman like you?”

“Enough with the soft soap,” I tell him. “Show me what you’ve got!”

Mark grins. He stands up and pulls his sweats off with the indecent haste that comes of wanting to do indecent things to a woman.

“Mmm,” I purr. “You’ve certainly got what a woman like me wants.”

“And what do you want this evening?” Mark asks. “You know I’ll do anything you want.”

Maybe part of the attraction between us is this constant tug of war, where we both want the other to call the shots. I’m about to return the question when the phone rings. Fortunately I have the thing there in the bedroom with me. I roll over to collect it, seeing as I roll back into position that it’s John calling. My legs part automatically for my lover’s gaze as I put a finger up to my lips, urging silence. I’m half expecting him to make himself scarce, but he has an impish grin on his face.

In the split second it takes me to press the button and put the phone up to my ear, Mark gets down on the floor on his knees and moves his face in between my thighs.

“Hello darling,” I say, as the first wave of Mark’s breath floats across my labia.

John must have caught something in my voice, because he says, “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, yes,” I say as airily as I can. “I’m just a bit… you know… after… you know.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” John says.

At that moment, Mark’s tongue works its way between my labia, finding my clit instantly.

It’s all I can do not to gasp out loud. I force my voice to become steady. “I enjoyed it though. Thank you, darling.”

There’s a little pause. As Mark’s tongue teases my clit I’m seized by the thrill of it all; it’s that familiar thrill of the illicit, because how much more illicit can things become than having my pussy tongued while I’m on the phone to my husband. “I wanted to say sorry,” John says. I wait, hardly able to contain the tight coil of wanton abandon I experience as my lover’s tongue moves between my folds. “About Lars, I mean. I had no idea he’d be so…”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, wanting to moan out loud, but once again forcing myself not to. “I enjoyed myself in spite of that.”

But John seems to have a need to apologise. “Those things he said…”

This time I have to clamp my hand over my mouth to stop from crying out. I’m on the phone to my husband, and my secret lover is right there between my thighs, his warm breath on my pussy, his tongue teasing me. My transgression is so colossal I have no choice but to be forgiving. But I don’t want to say too much, words that will let Mark get a sense of context. I have to choose my words as well as any woman can whose pussy is being treated to a young lover’s tongue. “What did you say beforehand?” I ask, in one sense genuinely curious.

“I told Lars you do that kind of thing for a living,” John says. “I didn’t tell him you’re my wife, obviously. I told him I pay a monthly subscription.”

John sounds so apologetic I almost laugh out loud. Here I am with my secret lover’s tongue on my clit, talking with my husband on the phone. Who should be apologising to whom? “I thought it was something of the kind.”

“I just didn’t expect him to take that as license to call you…”

“I understand,” I say, placing my hand over my mouth to stifle another gasp. This really is too much. I signal to Mark to back off, lest I give myself away. “The other things that were said?”

“About him visiting the UK?”

“Yes.”

“I may have… He may have gotten the wrong end of the stick.”

John sounds embarrassed as I slide off the bed, turning. “That’s what I thought.” I kneel on the floor, bending over the bed. As scared as I am of giving myself away, I have never felt such an illicit thrill as now, with my secret lover attending to me while my husband’s on the other end of the phone. I know what you must be thinking of me, and I agree, but I can’t help myself.

I need to change the subject, to keep John on the line. “The Marigolds have put their house up for sale,” I say, reaching back with my free hand to open up for Mark, to indicate what I want.

“It was expected,” John says.

Behind me Mark has understood what I want, which is one of the amazing things about our affair, the almost telepathic chemistry. “I don’t think Monica’s too happy about it,” I continue, as Mark’s thick cock pushes up against me and in. I stifle a gasp as he stretches and fills me the way only he can.

It takes some effort, keeping my voice steady and talking about everyday things with my husband while my young lover slides his cock back and forth. Fortunately he understands the need to keep things nice and slow. “There are new roadworks on the ring road,” I tell John, as Mark’s thick cock continues to force ripples of pleasure to spread out through my body from my cunt.

“How long will they be there for?” John asks.

I tell him. I tell him about my day at work. All the while Mark’s cock stretches and fills me as it works back and forth. This is beyond a shadow of a doubt the wickedest, most illicit thing I’ve done, being fucked by my secret lover while I have my husband on the other end of the phone. It’s also the most arousing. I don’t want to stop, but there are only so many things I have to say.

In the end I pull myself up so that Mark slides out of me, turning to sit on the edge of the bed. “So how was your day?” I ask.

“Oh, you know,” John says. “Much as could be expected.”

But he goes on to elaborate, leaving me free to lick Mark’s swollen cock, which is right in front of my face. It tastes nice and salty, like it always does, but also of my own insatiable lust where it recently shifted thrillingly in my pussy. I don’t dare suck on it, in case there’s an indecent noise, but I can kiss and lick as I make affirmative noises in response to my husband and interject the odd question.

I’m a terrible wanton hussy, licking and kissing my lover’s cock while my husband tells me about a restaurant he found at lunchtime. I slide my tongue all over the shaft, desperate to touch myself while sucking on that thick meat. Fortunately John has almost reached the end of his narrative. I wait until I sense we’re close to hanging up. There is one thing I have left to tell him. I’ve been saving it till last, but I don’t want Mark to understand the context.

“Sandra’s been in touch,” I tell him. “She says she has some things for us.”

“I like the sound of that,” John says, I can tell by his voice that he does, even as I curl my tongue round my lover’s erection. “Did she say what they are?”

“No. But I’ll be picking them up tomorrow.”

There’s a little silence, and now I can’t help myself. I slide my lips down over Mark’s cock. “Didn’t she give any clue?”

I slide my lips off. “None.”

“I can hardly wait.”

“Neither can I.”

There’s another little pause. Once again I take the opportunity to take Mark’s cock in my mouth. I don’t want to suck as such, in case there’s a sound, but just the feel as I hear John’s breathing is enough to make me want to throw myself back on the bed, spread my legs and scream at my secret lover to take possession of my cunt. (Oh gosh! Is that really how I feel?)

“Will you be trying them out on your own?” John asks at length.

I free my mouth. “No,” I say. “I’ll wait until you’re home.”

This time I don’t wait for there to be a pause, I just slide my lips over Mark while John says, “I feel like I want to catch the next plane home.” Now he does pause, and as he does so I realise that I’ve been inattentive. As Mark’s hand flies up to cover his mouth, I feel it, the first dribble of sperm as John says, “Fancy another session?”

I can’t keep my lips on Mark now. “Naughty boy,” I say, feeling hot liquid splashing on to my skin. “One session an evening’s enough, don’t you think?”

How much spunk does Mark actually produce in those balls? Spurt after spurt hits my face. “You’re a wicked wife for denying me,” John says, and I’m not entirely sure he’s joking. “Just for that I might try and find someone else who’s willing to watch tomorrow evening.” You’d think after Lars I’d be turned off the idea, but I’m not.

“That’s up to you,” I say.

I hear John catch his breath as Mark finally runs out of semen. “Do you mean that?”

“Would I say it otherwise?”

There’s another pause. “You are the most amazing wife,” John says, as I feel the mass of Mark’s spunk slide down my cheeks and chin.

“And you’re a wonderful husband,” I reply, as sperm drips from my chin onto my boobs and thighs. “I love you very much.”

I’m not lying, but as soon as the conversation is over, I’m on my back, legs spread, my secret lover’s tongue in my hole and my own fingers on my clit. It’s so very wrong. I really do love my husband, but every new step I take initiates me into new pleasures, and I can’t stop. This evening I’ve spread my legs for a total stranger, but the biggest thrill was feeling my lover’s thick cock in my pussy while talking to my husband on the phone. How can I explain the thrill I felt when I told my husband I loved him, as my lover’s semen splashed onto my face? I can’t even explain it to myself.

A few months ago I wasn’t the kind of woman who would contemplate cheating on my husband, far less enjoying the feel of sperm on my face like icing on a cake. Now I’m lying on my back like a creature from adult entertainment, crying out, “Yes! Yes! Oh, Mark! Oh, Mark I’m cumming!” My soused face contorts as my vagina throbs. I’m in paradise with my lover’s tongue in my hole and my own fingers working me over the edge.

And how do I explain that in spite of the coarse, vulgar way Lars regarded me, all next day part of me is hoping that John will invite another man up to his hotel room to watch me perform? Not only do I now have a virtually unquenchable thirst for sexual excess, I also feel an urgent need to show myself off, to be seen by others. I love the look in my secret lover’s eye when he watches me perform; the look in my husband’s eye too. But I am now beginning to crave the look in the eyes of others, even though I know it’s risky and don’t quite know how to go about getting what I so badly want.

After work I drive to the sex shop. Sandra’s busy with customers, so I stand watching the advertising screen, eventually seeing myself pose in the sexy outfit, then tied as vibrators work on me. A couple appear next to me, and eventually the woman nudges her partner in the side and says, “Now that’s the kind of fun I’m after!” She’s obviously blissfully unaware that the masked woman on the screen is standing right next to her. Sandra was right. In the mask and the outfit, I look nothing like the woman standing here in her work clothes. This calms me, but also feeds into my decision-making. I’m not recognizable. What seems so dangerous becomes less so.

Finally Sandra comes across. “Catherine!” she exclaims. “Good to see you. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Today there’s a different woman behind the counter, maybe 35 or 40. Her name tag says “Gabby”. Hearing Sandra’s effusive welcome, she looks across and smiles as if she knows me. I smile back. My reputation precedes me, and for some reason this sends a warm glow through my body.

Sandra takes me through to the office. She tells me that my videos are a great success as a marketing tool. “Women really respond to them,” she says. “Their partners too.” She winks at me.

The warm glow running through my body becomes a heatwave. I think I blush. There’s something I’ve been thinking of, but I hardly dare raise the topic. Inevitably I do. “Those things you said last time…”

“I hope you weren’t offended,” Sandra says, now all concern.

“No,” I smile. This might be easier than I thought. “Was there any… substance to them?”

“How do you mean?”

I begin to stutter, perhaps it is difficult, after all. “I mean ab-b-b-b-ab-ab… about demonstrating products in p-p-p-person.”

Sandra looks amused and intrigued. “It’s something to think about, certainly,” she says, tilting her head lightly. “What would you be willing to consider?”

“I’m open to suggestions,” I say, hardly able to believe I’m saying this. “As long as I remain anonymous.” Sandra opens her mouth, but I break in. “Oh, and please don’t mention this to my husband when he comes in with me.”

Once again there’s amusement and inquisitiveness. Sandra’s intrigued. “We’re all discretion here,” she says. She doesn’t ask why I want this to be kept a secret, which is a relief, since I don’t want to have to explain out loud. “However, I do have some things which it’s imperative that John tries with you.”

I’m fine with that, of course, as John will be. But when Sandra takes me to the stock room and shows me what she has in mind, I realise that this is a new step into uncharted territory. Well, perhaps not uncharted since we’ve just experimented with bondage tape and handcuffs, but still…

“What’s that?” I ask, eyeing the item Sandra is holding with suspicion.

“It’s a spreader bar,” Sandra tells me. “We had a nice upswing in interest in our bondage range with the whole 50 Shades craze, but we want to keep it up.”

I feel obliged to explain, “I’ve neither read the book nor seen the film.”

Sandra smiles, “More Man Booker?” she says.

“Something like that.” For some reason I feel embarrassed about my reading habits when Sandra puts it that way. On the other hand I haven’t done much reading at all lately. There are a lot of things I haven’t done much of lately.

“Would you like me to show you how it works?” Sandra asks.

The item looks simple enough, just a metal bar with cuffs attached at each end, though I don’t understand why there are metal loops in the centre of the bar. “Yes, thank you,” I say.

“Take a seat,” Sandra says. I do. Sandra fixes the cuffs round my ankles, and when the bar is in place, forcing my legs apart, she smiles up at me. “You see these rings here,” she says, indicating the metal parts I find so curious. I nod. “I’ll be giving you cuffs for your wrists to be hooked to them.”

As if I didn’t feel vulnerable enough sitting here fully dressed letting Sandra apply this thing to me. My mouth opens wide. “Gosh,” I say. “I don’t know… I mean, I’ll do it, of course. But… isn’t that… rather uncomfortable?”

Sandra doesn’t answer, but just smiles at me with an air of wickedness. A thought occurs to me, and I feel confident enough to voice it. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I’m as happy to give as to receive,” Sandra says enigmatically. Then she’s dipping her hand into the carrier bag she’s obviously prepared for me.

Now she brings out an item I do recognize. “This is a wand,” she says.

“I’ve wondered about those,” I say.

Sandra smiles. “Well, wonder no longer,” she says. “What I’d like is for John to use this on you when you’re nice and helpless.”

Having already been brought to orgasm by remote control vibrators when I’m ‘nice and helpless’ this doesn’t seem quite as frightening as it might have done. “I don’t see that being a problem,” I say, as calmly as I can.

“Good. I’ve also thrown in matching bra and knickers in purple in your size. I’d like you to wear them and nothing more, and to keep the knickers on.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Sandra says. “The footage on the sybian where you’re wearing crotchless undies is just about OK, but some people are a bit sniffy about anything they regard as too pornographic. Some people, eh? What do they expect to see in an erotica emporium?” She laughs.

In a previous life I might have been ‘some people’.

Sandra’s brandishing the wand. “Don’t worry,” she says, winking at me. “This bad boy has the power to bring you to orgasm through protective clothing.”

I smile. “I’ll do my best,” I say. “And so will John.”

“Oh, you’re a natural,” Sandra says. “I know you’ll be just sensational.”

Her words make me glow with shame and pleasure in equal measure as she releases me from the spreader bar and repacks the carrier bag. “John won’t be home until late tomorrow evening,” I tell Sandra. “But I’ll get something to you as soon as I can after that.”

“I look forward to it,” Sandra says, and once again I get the funny feeling there’s more behind her words than she’s letting on. For now, though, it’s time to be getting home, to pleasures I haven’t yet planned, but know I will enjoy.

At home in the bedroom I decide to wear the ensemble Sandra gave me last time; the knee-high black boots, black stockings, red PVC skirt and black, transparent top. This time I add crotchless panties under the skirt. After all, John was over the moon about the outfit and won’t mind seeing me in it again, and I want to look my best for Mark.

As I dress, I think of all the possible ways I have of showing myself off. I burn with shame at this forbidden desire, but it won’t go away. Does Sandra really mean that she would consider letting me demonstrate sex toys in front of complete strangers? No respectable woman would consider that, would they? But as long as nobody recognizes me, so that I can retain my respectable front to the world, this new, unchaste Catherine wants what she wants.

Will John have found a new man to join him in his hotel room this evening? It’s a little more than an hour before we will link up online. Will there be another complete stranger, sitting, wanking his cock as I ask, “Do you want to fuck me?”

What kind of woman am I to show myself off like that, to ask that question? The same woman who stands in front of the mirror and snaps a photo of the reflection, which she then sends to her secret lover along with the message, “Come and take me!”

I walk through to the living room to wait for Mark, who I know will enter through the French windows. I sit in an armchair with my legs spread, one hand beneath the skirt, toying idly with my labia, feeling myself grow progressively wetter as I imagine myself the focus of a crowd’s attention, men and women watching me try out sex toys, masked and moaning and impossible for anyone to take their eyes off.

Would I dare? I honestly don’t know, except I do know. I know that if Sandra comes up with a suggestion, I’ll play along, because one step always leads to another.

There’s another thing I’m not sure if I dare do, or rather a place I’m not sure if I dare go. I could suggest it to John; I’m sure he’d be keen. But then suddenly my secret lover, Mark, is standing just inside the French windows and I know then that this is something to do with him. If I crave the illicit thrill of this secret affair, of being licked by him, of having his cock in my pussy and my mouth while I talk to my husband on the phone, how much greater will it be if I take him back to the place I once recorded an outdoor video in his presence? Always assuming the rumours we’ve both heard are true. Besides, I need to keep his interest up, and that surely will. It will have to wait for a week or more, though. Late tomorrow evening John will be home, and there’ll be other pleasures to enjoy.

For the time being I delight in watching my secret lover undress without a word. He keeps his eyes on me, as I shamelessly run my fingers over my labia underneath my skirt. Finally he speaks. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any kinkier, Catherine.”

“So you like what you see?”

“How could I not?”

In an hour’s time I have an online rendezvous with my husband and possibly, but just possibly, another man. But first I will have the pleasure of my secret lover, and after the rendezvous I will have the pleasure of him again. Am I a sex addict, a nymphomaniac, or just a disreputable hussy? I don’t care.

“I’ve been making plans for us a week on Sunday,” I say.

“Oh yes?” Mark says with a raised eyebrow. “Do tell!”

“No,” I say. “Let me surprise you when the time comes.”

Mark acquiesces, as he always does.

I point to the camcorder on the table. “Will you do the honours?”

“Of course. Do you want me to…?”

“I want you to hold it,” I say. “I want you to film me being your kinky cocksucker. I want you to film my mouth up close while it’s full of your delicious cock.”

I no longer feel the slightest shame at saying such things. Perhaps that’s the most shameful thing of all.

“How kinky are you?” Mark says, grabbing hold of the camera and aiming it at me.

“Tell me, Mark,” I say. “Am I the kinkiest woman you’ve ever met?”

I know he wasn’t very experienced when he met me, so the question is almost rhetorical. Nevertheless, I want to hear him say it, and at least I’ll know he’s being honest.

“I didn’t think there were women as kinky as you,” Mark says.

I smile, a wave of lust washes over me, dousing me in my own lewd desires. I grab hold of his erection. “Then let me be kinky Catherine Cocksucker,” I say, once again feeling only the shame of feeling no shame; the intense pleasure that comes from sliding my lips over his eager meat.

Mark does as I asked, bringing the camera in close to my mouth. If only I dared, I could post the film on the internet later, so that the world could see kinky Catherine Cocksucker sucking her secret lover’s cock. But though one step always leads to another, that really is a step too far.

For the moment I suck and suck, a greedy hussy, saliva coating the thick rod that excites me because I’m excited by size. I’m drowning in my own libidinous desires. I can’t believe that I’m almost as excited about servicing Mark as I get from his licking me. I adore the sensation of his thick man-organ in my mouth and hardly want to stop. I only stop when Mark gently pushes my forehead back. “You don’t want me to cum already, surely?” he says.

The truth is that I wouldn’t care if he did, but I let him pull away. I manage to raise my buttocks enough to get the skirt out of the way and spread my legs. Mark is there, between my thighs in an instant. I’m already wet and I get progressively wetter as I feel his tongue all over me. All the while I find myself counting down the minutes until I’m due to rendezvous with my husband (and possibly one other man).

Mark gets on top of me and fucks me. Mark gets behind me and fucks me. I hear my cunt (oh, why be precious about words?) express its depraved joy. I could cum very easily if I wanted to, but I don’t. Worked up like this, with the right stimulation, I think I’ve got a squirt coming, which I’m eager to show John (and possibly one other man) and Mark, who will of course be watching through the window.

When at last I enter the bedroom to perform in front the laptop, it’s with the illicit thrill of knowing I have my secret lover’s taste in my mouth where I just swallowed the very palpable evidence of my adultery. Soon I will cum very, very hard indeed in front of my husband (and possibly another man), with my pussy oozing secretion formed in the white heat of fornication with my secret lover.

I am a shameful, wicked hussy, but I feel no shame.