I stared at the over-sized computer monitor as if transfixed.
On the screen in front of me, a strikingly pretty blonde dressed only in sheer black hold-up stockings and high heels was bent over a large, expensive hardwood desk in a large, expensive wood panelled office. Her feet were parted wide, her hips were flexed and her naked bottom with its dark, damp cleft was presented brazenly.
Behind her, between her long, spread legs stood an older, unattractive, overweight but expensively tanned man, fully naked from the waist down. His left hand rested proprietarily on the woman’s bare left buttock, while in his right hand, he held the shaft of a long and impressively thick erection, the tip of which he was rubbing up and down her slit as if searching for her entrance.
I watched in horror and amazement as he found his target, grinned lasciviously then, with a crude, almost animal look on his ugly face, thrust his hips forward hard.
The woman’s body tensed, and a high-pitched yelp escaped her lips as the man’s erect penis penetrated her body. Her head was fling back and her mouth opened wide in surprise, as the swollen head of his mighty cock was pushed into her slender body from behind.
Her knees buckled for a moment, and her hands tightened on the desk’s rounded edges as she sought to steady herself against the huge, invading phallus. Encouraged, the man grabbed the blonde by her hips with both hands, and in a single powerful thrust, drove his long, thick cock deep into her vagina.
The woman’s body arched as she was forcefully impaled, her belly was bent downwards, her hips thrust high, her back arched as if trying to raise her vulva to meet the rapidly invading shaft.
The camera angle switched, and the woman’s pretty face filled the screen. Her eyes were closed, her features contorted in a mixture of pleasure and pain as the ugly, fat man began to thrust in and out of her body, fucking her slowly but in strong, confident strokes that built rapidly in speed and power.
His rhythm was relentless as he slammed into her, his pudgy hips slapping noisily against her firm, pale buttocks. Low female wailing from the computer’s sophisticated sound system filled the room where I sat motionless, spellbound; completely unable to tear my eyes from the compelling images in front of me.
The blonde was being fucked hard and expertly, her head rising and falling with every second thrust, her long blonde hair falling over her pretty face, all but obscuring her strong, distinctive features. Behind her, the fat man was taking his time, clearly in charge, his own passion and arousal kept tightly under control as he thrust repeatedly and rhythmically into the woman’s vagina.
This would be no quick wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am screw. The tanned man knew how to fuck a girl and was doing it well – very well if her rapidly-increasing arousal was anything to judge by.
The camera angle changed again, this time showing the mating couple side-on.
The man’s rounded paunch was hanging grotesquely over the woman’s taut buttocks. His belly wobbled with each purposeful thrust of his hips but despite this, his monstrous erect cock was clearly visible beneath his shirttails each time he pulled it from the girl’s moist, open cavern.
Her arousal was mounting even more rapidly now, her blonde head lowered until her long hair hung close to her small breasts. Despite the difference in their ages and fitness, she was clearly tiring.
Undeterred, the speed of the man’s thrusts increased further, his fingers digging deep into the woman’s slim hips as the wet, slapping sounds grew louder. Her face contorted, her eyes blinded by lust were open but seeing nothing.
His pace increased once more, this time accompanied by a series of hard slaps from the palm of his chubby hand on her bare, bony buttocks.
Smack! Smack Smack!
The sound of flesh striking bare flesh filled the room.
Then with a loud moan, the pretty woman raised her head until her closed eyes pointed to the ceiling. A moment later a long, low wail filled my ears as a powerful orgasm ripped through her slender, athletic body.
“Oh my God! Oh Jesus!”
The woman’s voice was hard and coarse, barely feminine, twisted by the first wave of a mighty climax. She began to pant noisily, her arms trembling as the man’s flabby hips slammed into her buttocks relentlessly, his pace quickening to match her arousal but still entirely under control.
“Oooh! Oh Yes! Oh, fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck meeee!”
A second, much stronger wave of orgasm washed over the blonde’s body; still the ugly man maintained his unyielding, unforgiving pace.
The woman was completely out of control now. I watched in awe as her mouth opened wide, her knees gave way and her whole body began to twist and writhe as she came and came, harder than I had ever seen a woman cum before.
The woman was all but incoherent now, her body no longer hers, entirely at her lover’s mercy. I watched her arms begin to buckle and her long blonde hair fall over her face as a third and still more powerful wave of orgasm robbed her of speech entirely.
Sensing her complete surrender, the man hissed something in a language I couldn’t understand. The camera angle changed once again to bring me face to face with the monstrously climaxing, totally unresisting woman’s expression. Her stunning, deep blue eyes were open wide in astonishment, her mouth twisted, first wide open then tightly closed in an ugly grimace as she came wildly and helplessly silently in front of me.
My cock was rock hard in my pants as I stared at the image on the screen; at the beautiful young woman being brutally and expertly fucked by this fat, ugly man; the woman who even now was being totally overwhelmed by her orgasms; the woman who had reluctantly taken on the role of whore that she now played so very, very well.
The woman that I called my wife!
I was sitting in my Boss’s office in a well-known firm of Accountants and Management Consultants. Let’s call it ‘Sandersons’; I’ll keep the real name to myself.
To all appearances I was like many young men in the City of London; well off by most peoples’ standards, fairly good looking though I say it myself, and successful, with all the trappings that success involved. I had a large, detached house in a desirable village, two Mercedes cars, the membership of the right golf club, two attractive young kids, a dog and to crown it all, a stunning, trophy wife.
You see young men like me in bars and restaurants around London every weekend, talking to each other while their wives discuss fashion, shopping and their children’s schools.
The big difference in my case was that Amanda was a trophy wife only in her stunning physical appearance. In every other respect, she was a very long way from being the kind of bimbo so many of my colleagues seemed to desire.
Indeed, the very word bimbo was an epithet she hated more than anything else in the world. Amanda viewed the name Mandy as the ultimate bimbo appellation and throughout her entire academically brilliant life, had firmly requested anyone unwise enough to use it in front of her, to refrain instantly.
So what possible chain of events could have led to me sitting there that fateful July morning watching a recording of my lovely, highly intelligent, formerly faithful wife being fucked half senseless by an ugly, fat man who was almost a stranger to us both?
The story is a long one, and to begin properly we need to go back to our college days to understand both my wife’s extraordinarily strong character and my own lamentably weak one.
Intellectually very much my superior, Amanda and I had met in our first year at university and had taken an instant dislike to each other. I was studying English Literature; one of very few boys in that department and consequently the focus of a great deal of female attention. This I adored, but it made me rather self-satisfied and spoilt. To make things worse, I was blessed with my father’s good looks and attractive personality too. Unfortunately, modesty came a lot later, which was partly the reason for my downfall.
Bright-eyed, intelligent and with a jaunty, almost rakish demeanour, I had attracted a lot of the girls on my course and in the Hall of Residence where I lived in during my first year. I had bedded a good number of them too, though in one of the few good decisions in my life, I had made it a rule never to ‘kiss and tell’.
Amanda was studying Psychology at the time. We met through mutual friends and I was immediately struck by her extraordinary good looks. Tall, slim and blonde, with small but firm breasts and legs that seemed endless, she was a permanent fixture in the university hockey and netball teams which kept her in great physical shape.
She was exceptionally bright too, and really loved her studies whereas I only tolerated mine. As a result, she was expecting a strong, First-Class degree, way ahead of my hoped-for Upper Second.
But what struck me most when we met, were her extraordinarily deep blue eyes which she would fix on me during the few, but highly animated conversations we had. As well as being devastatingly attractive in themselves, they gave her an aura of mystery, as if her mighty intellect could see right through me, judge my deepest motivations, and find them wanting.
I deeply hoped she couldn’t actually read my mind; the thoughts I was having about her were very far from pure and intellectual, but I did my best to appear the perfect student.
Unfortunately, this almost psychic ability also made her immune to my seductive charms, as my complete lack of success in getting anywhere near her panties amply demonstrated.
Because of those extraordinary looks and magnetic personality, Amanda had more than her fair share of admirers, but she came from a rather strict and traditional upbringing, was extremely careful about her reputation, and even more circumspect about who she was seen with and where.
Consequently, she was still a virgin at nineteen.
Of course, for me, this apparent inaccessibility only heightened her already considerable appeal, to the extent that over time, I became completely infatuated with her. Every word she spoke, every look she gave me even when turning me down for a date once again, merely deepen my infatuation.
Gradually I lost interest in the other, more attainable girls around me. Well, perhaps not all, but even as I bedded them, I knew it was Amanda’s face and body I really wanted to see on the sheet beneath me.
In the end, it took three months of almost complete celibacy on my part, and all the persuasive charms I could muster before she would even agree to go to the movies with me. It took all my self-control not to push my luck in the darkness, but I did, and was rewarded with a second date during which we actually held hands.
It was two dates later before we actually kissed, and I can say without hesitation it was the sweetest kiss of my entire life.
Progress from there onwards was frustratingly slow but, driven by a series of tiny successes, I persevered. On many occasions, I was obliged to deal with my sexual urges myself after we had parted, but to me, falling deeper in love by the day, any progress at all was unbelievably rewarding.
From a light peck on the lips, we began to kiss open mouthed, then finally with tongues.
From holding her hand, I gradually progressed to touching her breasts; at first covered, then eventually to sliding my hand under her shirt and caressing the bare flesh of her small, firm globes.
From simply stroking her thighs, it took months of stealthy, inch by inch progress before my searching fingers finally made contact with her panties, and it was many weeks more before I was allowed contact with her bare slit.
Fortunately, once that barrier had been broken, my progress became faster. Amanda quickly discovered that, far from being unpleasant, she really enjoyed being fingered and could climax easily. I already knew how much I enjoyed doing it, so we were perfectly matched, and it soon became a regular part of our courtship.
Many was the morning I woke with my hands smelling strongly of vaginal juices; a distinctive aroma which, as most boys know, is very hard to wash away.
We were less well matched when it came to repaying the compliment. It was a long time before Amanda took my cock in her hand and brought me to what was a very rapid and messy climax of me own.
It was nearly a full year later at the age of twenty-one, when we were head-over-heels in love and with an engagement ring firmly in place on her third finger, that Amanda finally surrendered her virginity to me.
It was an evening that reduced us both to tears, and which I will remember for the rest of my life. I had waited so long and been so patient that at first, I was afraid that either one or both of us would be disappointed.
I need not have worried.
When the long-awaited moment finally arrived, both physically, emotionally and in every other way, making love to Amanda turned out to be everything I had dreamed it would be, and more. When I heard her gasp beneath me as I entered her, and soon afterwards, felt her fragile hymen tear under pressure from my agonisingly erect cock, all my previous conquests faded into insignificance.
I was lost then, and despite all that has happened since, I still am!
Once the dam had been breached and her virginity was gone, our relationship changed profoundly. For a long time and at Amanda’s insistence, we made love almost every day - sometimes several times a day – pausing only when her periods came.
True to her competitive, high-achieving personality, she was as lightning-quick a student in bed as she was in study; eager to learn and excelling in both technique and enthusiasm. More than once I was left astounded after a lengthy session of energetic lovemaking, her fit, athletic body more than a match for the wettest of any man or boy’s dreams.
At the same time, an undercurrent of sexuality crept into her already strong personality, making her, if it were possible, even more attractive to the rest of the world, as well as to me, her pussy-whipped fiance. I positively glowed when we were out together, side by side, holding hands, proud of our relationship and the ring on her finger, believing myself the luckiest man alive.
I felt luckier still when shortly after graduating with her well-deserved First Class and my just-sneaked-over-the-line Upper Second degrees, she became my wife in a traditional church ceremony, and we set out on our life as a couple.
For me, work began immediately. I had secured one of the few, and highly coveted training positions with Sanderson Brothers, a small, but highly prestigious and influential firm of accountants and management consultants.
A few weeks later, Amanda began teacher training in a nearby college. We moved into a small apartment in an unfashionable part of the city, and for the next two years were poor and tired, but happy and very much in love.
With both of us working so hard, our sex life inevitably moderated a little but remained adventurous. We still made love most days of the week and would occasionally spend entire mornings or afternoons at the weekend in bed with the phones switched off.
At work, my training programme gradually took me through most departments within my company. I quickly realised just how much money could be made, even by people with only modest talent, if they were ruthless enough.
Of course, I confidently believed my own talent to be anything but modest, and as I saw what was going on around me, my ruthlessness grew to match it. In a short time, I became determined to carve out quickly a lifestyle that more befitted a man with my exceptional abilities than the meagre living we were enduring at the time.
And if there were casualties on the way, well, that was just the way the world worked; the survival of the fittest.
Meanwhile Amanda was positively thriving in her work. A natural teacher whose penetrating gaze generated as much awe in her students as it had in me, she qualified first in her class and took up a full-time role in a nearby High School.
But it wasn’t all great. I quickly realised that, though teaching brought Amanda great joy and satisfaction, it brought little financial reward. It was soon apparent that, although a happier wife certainly meant a happier life, if we were ever to enjoy the good life financially, it would be down to me to provide it.
So, I began to plan.
Never a patient person, my two years’ training at Sandersons seemed endless, but eventually it finished, and I was promoted to a junior role in Accounts. The Accounting Department of a consultancy firm wasn’t what I had in mind for myself as a glittering and financially rewarding career, but at least it did represent a significant increase in salary.
Add to that Amanda’s slowly increasing pay packet, and we were able to move from our tiny flat in the city to a small fixer-upper detached house in one of the less fashionable suburbs.
The financial constraints of our first mortgage meant that most evenings and weekends were spent decorating and renovating - when not in bed or out with friends - but things went well, and after only a year we were able to sell the house at a good price. With the profit from that and a goodly stretch of our next mortgage, we were able to move into a much larger house in a much better area.
Then Amanda fell pregnant.
It wasn’t planned but wasn’t entirely unwelcome either, and all our parents were thrilled when nine months later we produced their first grandchild. However, it did mean that from now on, Amanda could only work part-time, so our income fell noticeably, making things much more difficult financially.
Fortunately, a short time later I was promoted to Manager of the Accounts Department, a much more senior role with more responsibility and a much better salary that more than made up the difference.
As a result, when Amanda fell pregnant for a second time only months after our oldest was born, it was no great hardship for her to give up paid work altogether. She moved, as middle-class yummy mummies do, towards volunteering with local charities and with seeing her increasing circle of polite, middle-class friends.
After that, a vasectomy ensured that there would be no more little surprises in the baby department!
My new role did however, involve some new duties. As a Manager I was obliged to attend many more social functions and to entertain clients as the business demanded. In this role, it was often essential to have a partner and it soon became clear that my beautiful, highly intelligent wife couldn’t have fitted the role more perfectly.
Still strikingly attractive thanks to hours spent running and in the gym, Amanda could easily hold any potential client spellbound in intelligent conversation for as long as the situation demanded.
Soon we were being invited to many more company events, and meeting more senior managers too. I could feel my career developing around me and the good life began to beckon even more strongly.
I suppose my undoing began with my insistence that Amanda should always dress the way in which I believed befitted the wife of a man with my bright, successful future. Although she was unsure at first, it didn’t take long to convince her to increase her spend on clothes dramatically and take even more care over her appearance than before.
Amanda had always dressed well, instinctively choosing the right lingerie, the latest styles in dresses, jackets, shoes and skirts, but all purchased carefully and within a strict budget. All I had to do was persuade her that the budget had increased quite a lot, and within a few weeks her wardrobe had been turned over.
Unsurprisingly, it turned out she had really good taste in designer clothes too. The result was simply stunning. Already strikingly attractive, the new outfits she chose complemented her slim, athletic figure even more perfectly. When we were out at the theatre or at a party, she turned the heads of most men and attracted the envy of many of their wives too.
I felt even more proud to be seen out with her, and inevitably, she attracted even more attention from the senior managers whose influence my career so badly needed.
Amanda seemed to enjoy most of the attention she received, but was never fully aware of the effect that she had on those around her, male or female. As a result, she remained modest and never indulged in anything more than harmless flirting despite having many opportunities presented to her.
On that subject, despite the flirting, I had never really worried about my wife’s fidelity. Perhaps it was an arrogant belief in my own extraordinary desirability, perhaps it was because of our highly active and exciting sex life at home, but Amanda had never given me cause for concern. As a result, I basked confidently in the admiring glances she received from other men, and enjoyed the envious looks they gave me, believing that it simply added to my own status within both the company and the community.
Admittedly, there had been occasions when she had been forced to repel the advances of men who had misread the situation and been a little too enthusiastic in their admiration, wanting to carry the relationship beyond simply a social one.
Most often on these occasions, she would simply turn those penetrating, deep blue eyes on her would-be seducer and watch him wither away, much to my amusement. On other occasions, she let them down more gently, but still made it clear that she was a one-men girl who did not stray in her marriage.
This worked well for most of my male colleagues, but unfortunately for us both, one of her most persistent admirers was the firm’s founder and Senior Partner.
At least twenty years older than me, and decidedly old school in attitude, Andrew Sanderson believed in the City of London adage ‘my word is my bond’. He had a simply awesome reputation throughout the industry both for achieving results and of course, for keeping his side of any agreement, whatever the consequences.
‘Andy keeps his promises!’ was a phrase I had heard on a weekly if not daily basis throughout my training.
Like me, Andrew Sanderson had been a high-flyer in his youth and, along with his older brother Michael, had been personally responsible for the meteoric rise in success and influence of the company they had joined when it was merely a mid-sized accountancy firm.
Indeed, the two brothers had become so synonymous with the business that its ultimate change of name to theirs had seemed only right. The two had run the business as partners with offices side-by-side for many years until Michael had been involved in a terrible road traffic accident a decade before.
Though he had survived, it was rumoured that his car had caught fire leaving Michael so badly disfigured that he had never been seen in the company’s City of London offices again. Though in theory he retained a desk next to his younger brother’s, in reality, he worked from behind the high walls of his impressive period home in a pleasant village an hour’s fast drive from the City.
Michael remained an invisible but highly influential member of the small and secret Board of Directors that now met only at his home, but on a day-to-day basis the business was to all intents, being run solely by the younger brother Andrew.
Tall, fit, imposing, impressive and of indeterminable age, at first, I had found Andrew Sanderson rather intimidating. But his management style was reassuring as well as demanding; he knew every employee on first name terms and through this attention to detail, managed to bring the best out of his colleagues.
As a result, he rapidly became a hero of mine. I suspect he saw me as resembling himself when he was my age, because to my delight and my colleagues’ envy, he seemed to take me under his wing as a kind of protégé.
This did my career no harm at all.
Always warm and friendly in a disarmingly informal way, he insisted both Amanda and I called him Andy, though I was much more comfortable using the more formal Andrew when at work.
Whatever his mysterious age might be, he was still remarkably good looking, very rich, fit, childless though three times divorced, and had quite a reputation amongst the staff as a ladies’ man. He was rumoured to have a substantial endowment in his pants too and was known to have left a trail of conquests behind him.
A woman as attractive as Amanda couldn’t possibly escape his notice, and he very soon began to pay her rather more attention than we were quite comfortable with. Several times at company events, after feeding my wife a few large drinks, he had casually tried to add her name to the impressive list already on his bedpost.
Amanda had been forced to be very firm in her refusals, especially on one occasion during a company party in a smart hotel, when he had suggested the two of them went upstairs to a room he had booked specifically for the purpose.
At first I was both angry and horrified; after all he could control my future career progression, but Amanda assured me she had gently but firmly rebuffed his attempts at seduction and anyway, his insistence on addressing her as ‘Mandy’ no matter how many times she corrected him, had made her dislike him intensely, however good his looks and influential his position.
For many months, life went on and went on well. Our kids grew older and started at an expensive private school that Amanda and I believed would be best for them, but which cost a fortune. What with expensive foreign holidays for all four of us too, our finances were very strained, but with care we could just about manage it all.
Then our dream house came on the market.
Barely half an hour’s drive from the kids’ school, it stood on a road known locally as Millionaires’ Row and was simply perfect. Originally built in the 1920s and standing in its own acre of ground – huge by UK standards. It had just the right mixture of ultra-modern facilities and original architectural features; Amanda and I had admired it ever since we had moved into the area.
With its five bedrooms and impressive front entrance, it would put us firmly in the top echelon of local society and would have been the fulfilment of all our social dreams - if we could have afforded it. But no matter how many times Amanda and I pored over our finances, we couldn’t make the numbers add up to anything like a realistic offer.
Night after night we talked through option after option, but without success.
Then one day, to our horror we saw the sign ‘Under Offer’ go up outside the house.
Amanda was beside herself in disappointment. She tried hard not to let it show but I knew her too well. Though disappointed myself, the idea that a man of my talent and ability could not deliver his wife the one thing she desired most was unthinkable.
It was time for desperate measures so, when I came home from work the following evening, I broke the good news as Amanda was getting dinner for us and the kids on the table.
“I talked to Andy today,” I began uncertainly.
“Oh yes?” she asked, distracted by the food and the kids squabbling. “Andy who?”
“Andy at work?” I retorted sarcastically. “Senior Partner Andrew? My Boss? Your would-be boyfriend?”
“Sorry,” she grinned sheepishly. “Go on!”
“Yes, well … I… um… I told him I deserved a pay rise.”
“What?” This news stopped her dead in her tracks.
“Yes. I told him I had been approached by a competitor offering a bigger salary.” I was gaining momentum now. “I said I would prefer to stay at Sandersons, but couldn’t ignore the package they were offering.”
“What did he say to that?” she asked, frozen. “It’s not true, is it?”
“No, but he doesn’t know that. Anyway, he called me into his office as I was leaving tonight and told me they’ve decided they don’t want to lose me. They’re going to give me a substantial increase from next month.”
“How much is it?”
I told her an amount.
“Wow!” she said, as astonished as I had expected.
“You know what this means?” I said eagerly before she could ask any more questions. “It means we can put in an offer on the house first thing in the morning!”
Amanda yelped for joy then ran to me and threw herself in my arms. Dinner was a delight, even the kids behaved and when we went up to bed, the celebration sex made me exhausted and sore for two full days.
Three months later, the fabulous house was ours and our dreams had come true. Well, Amanda’s dream had come true. She was teaching part time again and had even started preparing for her PhD.
For me though, the nightmares had just begun. Or so I thought; little did I know what nightmares really were!
What I had not told my wife that fateful night, was that I had not asked my boss for a pay rise and Andy had not given me one. I had simply ‘borrowed’ a little money – little by corporate standards – from the company.
In my role as Accounts Department Manager, I had access to most of the company’s bank accounts, and after all that training, I knew my way around the books better than anyone. It was easy for me to set up the odd non-existent employee and the occasional ghostly contractor to improve my income considerably.
Well, it was easy in practical terms, rather less easy on the conscience.
I told myself it was just a temporary loan. I persuaded myself that I was well overdue a promotion to Junior Partner and the salary that entailed. I assured myself that my partnership was sure to happen during the next twelve months anyway, and when it did, I would be able to begin paying back the money.
All l had done was take a little advance on my new salary and bonus.
The company would be no worse off in the end, so it wasn’t really wrong, was it?.
The more I said it to myself, the less like fraud or theft it sounded. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never quite convince myself completely, and from time to time needed just a little Scotch whisky to help ease that last niggling pang of conscience.
Meanwhile, things at work and home continued to get even better. My reputation within the business was soaring, thanks to my stumbling upon the solution to a systems glitch that had plagued the Accountancy and Finance Department for several years. An increase in salary followed this triumph, but of course was immediately absorbed in more spending.
At home, the new house was every bit as great as we had hoped, though inevitably after a few months we started to find fault. The driveway wasn’t quite big enough for four cars; the conservatory was a little too narrow; there was no swimming pool; Amanda’s walk-in wardrobe wasn’t quite large enough for her rapidly increasing collection of designer clothes.
It’s amazing how quickly one’s standards change, and all these vital improvements demanded money. Of course, having once crossed the border into dishonesty, it was obvious to me where the extra money should come from, and having been successful once, my conscience offered little resistance the next time.
It took only a few weeks to create a couple more ghost employees and a new fictitious contractor. The resulting extra income meant that, even with my soon-expected Junior Partnership, it would now take several years to replace all the borrowed cash. But, I reasoned, I was with the firm for the long run and it would all still be okay in the end.
It would just take a little longer, that was all.
As my Junior Partnership grew closer and the business developed, our social engagements increased too, both within work and with our increasingly rich and glamorous circle of friends. We were frequently called on to look after important clients too. Amanda’s stunning looks, obvious intelligence and sparkling personality made her a favourite with male and female guests alike, and we were soon spending at least one evening every week entertaining.
It was fortunate that Amanda’s parents lived close by and could babysit at short notice.
Unfortunately, this socialising also gave my boss, Andrew, even more opportunities to make real-but-supposedly-pretend assaults on my wife’s fidelity. At this stage, it was annoying rather than worrying; after all, Amanda had only ever slept with me, our sex life remained very active and, although he was still very good looking, Andy wasn’t her type.
Add to that his dubious reputation with women and his continued insistence on calling her Mandy, and it was clear that she wasn’t going to succumb to his charms, though a surprising number of other Company wives seemed to have done so if the many rumours were true.
“I just wish he’d leave me alone,” Amanda complained one evening when she had finally been able to remove his hand from her bottom during yet another important but tedious corporate event. “And he keeps calling me that name!”
“I know and I’m sorry,” I told her. “If you could just put up with him until I get my Partnership...”
“Well, okay! But it had better come soon!” she had replied.
I wanted that Partnership badly too, but for very different reasons. The amount of money I had borrowed from the company had increased alarmingly in recent months. The house, and Amanda’s expensive taste in clothes weren’t helping at all, and if I was ever going to repay it, I needed that Partnership badly and quickly.
I have to say, my wife had looked particularly stunning that evening in a sparkling beaded black dress with shimmering stockings and black patent heels. Her blonde hair had been raised and sculpted high on her head; making her look more like a movie star on Oscar night than the wife of an Accountant. It wasn’t at all surprising that Andrew had tried his luck again.
Fortunately, he had been quite relaxed about Amanda’s continued resistance to his charm and didn’t seem to have taken any real offence at being rebuffed yet again.
He had however, hinted that she might not always feel this way about him and that the change of heart might not be far away. Amanda had been puzzled by this, but before she could ask what he meant, he had moved on to talk to Yvonne, the short, dark-haired, overweight wife of a senior colleague.
Yvonne and her husband Mike had been good friends to Amanda and me throughout my career with Sandersons. We had been to each other’s homes on many occasions, and our kids were friends both inside and outside school.
Mike had been a couple of years ahead of me on the Graduate Training Scheme. He had worked in a different sector of the business to me, but we had been able to provide low-key support for each other during the difficult first years in our new jobs. Our wives were firm friends too, often meeting for coffee – less often in the gym; a place Amanda adored, but which pretty-but-plump Yvonne had never really enjoyed.
Just why Amanda and Yvonne should have become such close friends was something of a mystery. Unlike my wife, Yvonne was no intellectual, having left school at sixteen with few qualifications. Worse still, she was handicapped by an unfortunate baby-doll voice and strong regional accent which tended to prevent colleagues from taking her seriously.
Amanda often said that this was as much their loss as Yvonne’s, and that it was a mistake to underestimate her good friend.
Yvonne was working as a clerical assistant in the Audit Department when Mike had met her and had been, if the photographs in their lounge were anything to go by, an absolutely stunning, full-figured brunette. Clearly very able, though lamentably under-confident, she had been rather star-struck by Mike, the rising Corporate Star who had wooed, wedded and bedded her in record time, if not in that order.
Over time, living the Good Life and having two children had taken its toll, and Yvonne’s already curvy figure had become even curvier to the point where she was now decidedly chubby. But, although she was as far from Amanda’s tall, slender figure and fiery personality as I could imagine, she remained bright, friendly and surprisingly attractive,
Andrew clearly still found Yvonne worth paying attention to if their current body language was anything to judge by. I watched the pair of them for a moment as I sipped my drink in silence.
“Can we go home now?”
Amanda’s voice whispering in my ear brought me out of my reverie, her tone mirroring perfectly our daughter’s ‘are we nearly there yet?’ that we heard on every car journey. She was a good mimic and I laughed out loud.
“Sorry,” I grinned. “Well done diverting Andy. I see he’s moved on to new ground.” I nodded in the direction of Yvonne who appeared to be completely engrossed in whatever he was telling her. “It would be good if the two of you could get on better though. It would do my Partnership chances no harm.”
“I’m trying my best,” she protested. “It would be easier if he kept his hands to himself.”
“I know,” I agreed. “He’s a bit ‘hands-on’ with all the wives.” I nodded at the way he and Yvonne were talking happily. “They do get on well, don’t they? That won’t do Mike’s prospects any harm.”
Amanda gave me a furtive look, then glanced left and right as if to make sure she couldn’t be overheard.
“I don’t think you’d like Andy to get on with me quite as well as he does with Yvonne.”
I started then stared at her. She opened her deep blue eyes very wide.
“You mean they’re...” I asked amazed.
Amanda nodded slowly.
“Since when? I mean, how do you know? Did she tell you?” I demanded, genuinely shocked.
“Not in so many words,” my wife confided. “But something has definitely changed. She talks about him more now. And differently.” I must have looked doubtful because she added. “Trust me! We psychologists can tell these things!”
I stood in silence for a moment, watching Andy and Yvonne chatting animatedly. Their body language certainly suggested they were comfortable in each other’s company, but surely she was just being friendly to her husband’s Boss. Surely I was reading things that weren’t there?
“How long has it been going on? Does Mike know?” I asked, remembering how often we had been to their house without any hint of trouble between the two of them.
“I’m not sure, but I’d guess it started before Christmas last year just before Mike got his promotion. I know Andy gave her a surprisingly good Christmas present.”
I raised an eyebrow in silent question.
“Next time you’re close, look at her neck. That’s a gold necklace she’s wearing. She always wears it to work do’s and sometimes when she’s out with Mike. Three stones on a gold chain; two clear ones separated by a larger, darker stone. Very tasteful and very expensive. She told me the company owns three of them. They took them in lieu of payment from a client that went bust. If they’re real diamonds, they must be worth a fortune.”
She continued talking, but I wasn’t listening because at that moment, I noticed Andy lean forward and very quickly whisper something into Yvonne’s ear. She paused, nodded and they separated. It looked casual, as if they were simply going to circulate around the other guests, but there was something furtive about Yvonne’s movements that, given what I had just learned, caught my attention.
Moments later though, I lost track of her in the crowd but over Amanda’s shoulder, I watched Andy working his way to the back of the room, then disappear down the corridor that led to the lifts. A few seconds later I scanned the room thoroughly, but Yvonne was nowhere to be seen.
Puzzled, Amanda and I returned to the throng to look after our important guests
It was nearly an hour later when the closing speeches were being made that we next saw Andy. He looked his usual smart, professional self and I began to wonder whether anything had happened at all, or whether it was all just a silly misunderstanding on Amanda’s part.
That idea was dispelled fifteen minutes later when, the guests having departed, we employees were having a post-party debrief. As Amanda and I were collecting our coats at reception before heading home, we saw Yvonne leaving the lift alone and making a beeline for the front door.
She was obviously trying to get away without being noticed, but when she caught sight of us watching her she froze in her tracks. For a moment she seemed to panic, then looked as if she was about to run back the way she had come, but finally realised that she had been well and truly spotted and, with a deep breath, crossed the lobby to join us.
She seemed to be walking awkwardly, and as she drew near, Amanda nudged me and nodded towards Yvonne’s bosom. At first, I noticed the necklace Amanda had described hanging down in the V of her top. Close up, it was both distinctive and beautiful and looked very valuable, but then I saw the state of the chest on which it lay, understood my wife’s meaning, and all my attention was grabbed by our friend’s condition.
Yvonne’s face and chest were flushed pink, her lips were puffy, her hair was slightly dishevelled, and it looked like her make-up had been recently and clumsily re-applied. There was no mistaking it; our friend had had sex; very passionately, very recently and if her flushed complexion was anything to go by, very satisfactorily.
I stood open mouthed, staring at the woman I had thought I knew so well, but who now stood apparently freshly-fucked right in front of me.
Fortunately, before my gawping could cause too much offence, I was rescued by my clever wife who weighed in with chat about how well the evening had gone and the important contracts the company was trying to win on the back of it. Yvonne responded, clearly thankful for the diversion and a minute or two later, her husband arrived with their coats.
Mike either didn’t notice his wife’s dishevelled appearance or chose to ignore it because he bade us farewell as if nothing had happened.
Amanda and I talked about little else in the car on the way home, both of us shocked that a close friend of ours could do such a terrible thing in such a brazen fashion, and amazed that her husband either couldn’t see what was happening or else cared so little about it.
When I returned from taking the babysitter home, Amanda was already in her nightdress and was brushing her hair. I undressed quickly and joined her under the duvet. It was too late for any reading and a moment later the lights were off and the room in darkness.
But sleep would not come. After half an hour’s tossing and turning, a pained voice came towards me from across the bed.
“Please keep still. I’m trying to sleep!”
“Sorry. I just can’t settle,” I apologised.
“Neither can I with you shaking the bed like that. What’s the problem?”
“I just can’t get the image out of my mind,” I confessed.
“Who? Oh, you mean Yvonne and Andy?”
“Yes. I mean, he’s supposedly had so many women at work – and outside it I guess – it just seems strange that he should want her.”
Amanda chuckled. “Maybe she’s really good in bed. Have you thought about that?”
I laughed too, but I could tell it wasn’t really a joke.
“I suppose she used to be a lot better looking. Remember their wedding photos on the mantelpiece? She looked pretty hot back then! Ouch!”
Amanda had poked me hard in the ribs.
“She’s not your type,” my wife said firmly.
“How do you know?”
“I’m a psychologist, stupid!”
“So, what is my type then, Professor?” I asked, rolling onto my side and stroking her tummy through her nightdress.
“Well,” she began in her ‘professional’ voice. “Based on a long term, in-depth analysis of your past history and expressed tastes… Mmmm, that’s nice…”
My fingers had strayed upwards to her small firm breasts and were toying with her nipples through the cotton of her nightie. They had instantly hardened under my touch. I rolled them gently in my fingertips then cupped the firming cones from which they grew.
“I’d say… I’d say that you prefer… mmmm… the less educated woman,” she continued. “Someone more… mmm, that’s very nice. Someone more compliant. Someone less intelligent than you, maybe… less of a threat to your own intellectual status… And with much bigger boobs of course!”
I chuckled, my fingers stroking her tummy and descending to her lower belly.
“Let's see if I’m right!” she said playfully. “A good theory has to be tested!”
I felt long slender fingers working their way into my boxer shorts and ticking the underside of my cock as it lay on my belly, semi-erect.
“Hmmm… there’s evidence to support this but it’s… inconclusive,” she said, her voice low and sexy. “Let’s see… she should definitely be someone less challenging academically,” she continued. “Perhaps with a fuller figure, not slim and athletic like mine… Ouch!” I had prodded her in the ribs again, but she carried on teasing me.
I felt her fingers close around my shaft and she squeezed it firmly. It resisted her grip, hardening quickly.
“I’d say we were on the right track, wouldn’t you? Definite signs of arousal here!”
Her voice in the darkness and her soft hands were so intense that I had abandoned stroking her lovely body and was selfishly enjoying the wonderful sensations she was bringing me. Amanda’s fingertips traced along the ridge under my smooth swelling head, then down to my tight scrotum and back.
“Certainly, you’d enjoy someone softer and more cuddly than me; someone less bony when you’re in bed with her; someone perhaps with larger, heavier thighs for your hips to slap against when you thrust into her!”
My cock was now very hard in her hand. I felt my shorts being lowered then the hidden hand began to pump my shaft slowly but rhythmically. My head filled with disturbing images of Yvonne talking to Andy, then Yvonne naked, her curves exposed, her thighs and tummy generously proportioned.
To my astonishment, I realised I was getting really aroused by the idea. Amanda must have noticed because she pulled back the duvet, exposing my bare midriff to the low light. My erection was mostly covered by her hand but as I watched, she lowered her sweet, blonde head towards my groin.
The next moment my swollen, sensitive head was engulfed by a warm, wet cavern containing a magic beast that writhed and squirmed all over its smooth end.
“Oh God! Amanda!” I breathed out into the darkness.
I felt a small, dainty hand cupping my balls, gently massaging them, running one over the other as her tongue sought out every secret cavern and indentation in my cock. From the tiny lips at its tip down to its thick hairy base, it felt like every cell on my shaft was being aroused all at once as she licked up, down and around its length.
“Can you picture it?” she asked, pausing for a moment in her expert ministrations. “Close your eyes!”
There was another kiss on my sensitive tip.
“Can you imagine…” one of my balls was sucked into her mouth. “Her doing this to him!”
The flat of her tongue passed over the sensitive skin of my sack in its warm cavern. It felt incredible for a moment then she spat it out and drew the other ball between her lips where it enjoyed the same treatment.
I let out a low moan.
“Mmmmm, Ammmmannndddaaa! That’s soooo good!”
“And you’ve been sooo bad thinking about one of our closest friends in that way,” she teased as her middle finger slipped down between my thighs and tickled the sensitive place just above the cleft between my buttocks.
“Ohhhhh... that’s amazinggggg!” I murmured.
A moment later, her attention had moved from my groin to my mouth. I could taste a little of myself on her lips as her tongue was thrust between my teeth. My hands rose to her breasts, but she brushed them away, raising her nightgown high above her waist as she rose on her knees and straddled my body.
“You don’t deserve this,” she smiled, reaching between her slender, athletic thighs and positioning the head of my rock-hard cock at the entrance to her vagina. “Don’t you dare cum until I’ve finished with you!”
Slowly, agonisingly, she lowered herself down onto my shaft, her vagina monstrously lubricated but still wire-tight despite having given birth to two kids. My aroused, anxious pupils were fixed on her eyes, whose deep blue appeared black in the darkness.
Slowly, her svelte body swallowed my entire manhood in a single smooth stroke until her sparse, tightly curled pubic hair was pressed hard against my coarse wiry triangle.
Amanda paused and sighed, fully impaled on my monstrously erect cock. Her extraordinary eyes twinkled mischievously just for me, the only man who had ever known what it was to be inside her most precious place. I could feel my swollen head pressing hard against her cervix and the powerful walls of her vagina gripping me tightly.
And then she began to fuck me!
There is no other way to describe the vigour, passion and skill with which my beautiful, intelligent wife rose and fell, rose and fell, over and over again, driving my erection deeper and deeper into her body with every descent.
“Oh God!” I moaned, “Amanda that’s... that’s...”
“Fuck me!” she growled as the room filled with the wet slapping sounds of our colliding bodies. “Shut up and fuck me!”
My hands reached out for hers, our fingers entwining. I could feel her nails digging into the back of my hands as she continued to rise and fall. Inspired, I began to clench my buttocks rhythmically, thrusting myself upwards in time with each of her descents, hammering the head of my cock violently into the entrance to her womb, stretching her tight, wet inner lips around the thick base of my shaft.
“Yes! Oh, yes! Oh fucking yes!”
Amanda’s growled words grew louder and louder as her arousal rapidly increased. A strong smell wafted from her groin towards my face and I looked across my own flat, athletic tummy to the place where our bodies were joined. Even in the low light, I could see the rim of thick white cream that surrounded the base of my shaft, felt my cock beginning to swell within her sweet body and the rising heat in my lower spine that told of an imminent climax.
Amanda clearly knew my body almost as well as I did myself. I tried hard to beat back the arousal, counting backwards in my head, imagining fat, ugly women and old male politicians in a desperate attempt to stop myself cumming before she had reached her peak.
Still her body rose and fell, slamming into mine messily and noisily as the unmistakable smell of a woman’s impending orgasm grew stronger and stronger.
“Yes! That’s it! Don’t cum yet! Don't-cum-yet Don't-cum-yet Don-t-cummm... Oh... my... GODDDD!”
He words were choked away as the strength of the orgasm she had largely given herself, robbed her of the power of speech. Her deep blue eyes closed tightly then sprang alarmingly wide open as she came silently but violently above me.
With all this happening, I could not control myself any longer and with a moan so loud it surprised even me, I surrendered myself to one of the most powerful and intense orgasms I had ever enjoyed. My throat seized up and my chest went so tight that I was sure I was having a heart attack, as my lovely wife flexed and twisted in the throes of a climax as intense as any I had ever seen, even in porn moves.
Thick, pungent juices oozed from her slit and were spread across my upper thighs as her spasming vagina clamped and released my pulsating shaft over and over again. Again and again, semen spurted from the swollen head of my throbbing cock buried deep within her body, was smeared over her open cervix and pumped into the womb beyond.
The mixture of pain and pleasure was exquisite, but of course this intensity of orgasm could not last long. As the last few drops of my seedless semen spurted upwards into her smooth, toned body, I felt the grip of her knees on my chest loosen and the tightness of her hands on mine begin to relax.
Blood finally began to return to my fingers as her riding slowed to a halt.
Amanda was still for a while, her long blonde hair falling over her pretty face, her pink-flushed chest rising and falling as she panted for breath. I felt my erection softening inside her, then slipping messily from her loosened vagina accompanied by a torrent of sticky goo which spread all over my lower belly.
Amanda stared down at the pool between her spread thighs and giggled. I rose on my elbows and stared at it too. It was a very big pool.
“How much of this stuff can you produce?” she asked, pulling her hair away from her face and grinning.
“It depends on the incentive I have,” I replied smiling, running my fingers from her knees towards her pink, open slit. “Besides, some of it came from you.”
She leaned over and we kissed long and deeply before she lifted her shapely leg over me and lay alongside me on the bed. I reached across to the bedside table and, taking a handful of tissues, cleaned myself up before, exhausted, we both rolled over and tried to sleep.
An hour later, Amanda woke to find me staring at the ceiling in the darkness.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked softly. “If you’re after a second helping, I’m much too tired!”
“It’s Yvonne and Andy, I suppose,” I replied, though my head was full of odd thoughts.
“You’re still thinking about them?”
“Sorry. It’s just that... well, it’s Yvonne! I know Andy’s supposed to have had lots of affairs, but she and Mike are two of our oldest friends. We’ve known them for so long, and I’d never guessed she was cheating on him.”
“It surprised me too,” Amanda agreed. “I suppose you never know what’s going on behind closed doors.”
“Poor Mike,” I sighed.
“Maybe he knows. Maybe he’s known for a long time and has decided to live with it. It’s not doing his career any harm, is it?” my lovely wife said with uncharacteristic bitterness. “He can’t have failed to see what she looked like tonight. If we could tell when she was dressed…”
She left the rest unsaid.
“It’s weird,” I frowned. “I mean, you think you know someone well and they bring out a surprise as big as this!”
“How well can anyone ever know anyone else?” Amanda asked quietly. “We’re all capable of doing surprising things, given the right incentive. Everything is down to the right incentive – and incentives can be positive or negative. Undergraduate Psychology, year two, term three.”
She laughed at herself.
“I know you’re right, but I still can’t really believe it,” I pondered aloud. “I mean, if nothing else, just look at her!”
“Don’t be so nasty,” Amanda scolded me. “Okay, she’s put on a bit of weight with the kids but she’s still an attractive woman and...”
“That’s not what I meant!” I interrupted. “I meant she’s Yvonne! You know, as in Mike and Yvonne! She’s normal; just like us, not a scarlet temptress! She’s got two kids like ours and a house like ours!”
“Just what do you think a cheating wife should look like?” Amanda demanded, laughing at my stupidity. “That she’d have devil’s horns or maybe dress like a street hooker? She won’t have the word ‘slut’ tattooed on her forehead, you know!”
“No, of course not, but...”
“But nothing! Psychologically speaking, there are plenty of reasons why a wife might sleep with another man. There are reasons why Mike might be okay about it too; he might even want it to happen. You can’t judge someone’s motivations and their relationships by the job they do or the address they live at! Everyone’s different!”
I paused for a moment, silenced by her little tirade and of course, by the truth in what she had said.
“You’re right,” I conceded. “As you always are. It’s just… unsettling. I mean If Andy can get into Yvonne’s knickers, and they’re just like us, then...”
“Then he might be able to get into mine too?” she completed my thoughts with razor-sharp accuracy.
I nodded, ashamed of myself and my sudden insecurity.
“He’s got a real thing about you, you know that.”
Amanda just looked at me indulgently and took my hand in hers.
“You don’t need to worry. There are simply no circumstances in which I’d let Andy, or any other man get his hands, or any other part of his anatomy, anywhere near the places you’ve just been.”
I squeezed her hand in the darkness, relieved.
“Especially if he keeps calling me Mandy!” she added angrily.
That comment broke what little tension was left.
“Well, that’s good news!” I said, smiling broadly in the darkness.
“Do you feel any better now?” Amanda asked indulgently.
“A lot better,” I replied, rolling onto my side until I was facing her. “I love you, Amanda!”
“I love you too. I love you much more than you realise, you foolish man! Now go to sleep!”
As I drifted happily off to sleep, I began to understand just how very, very much I loved her and how very, very right she was about my foolishness.
Neither of us realised how very, very wrong she was about Andy!
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with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.