5 comments/  49806 views/  9 favorites

Trying To Relate

By: ukresearcher



Warning: This is rather a long story. It tells of a wife financially forced to become a high class whore and a husband who falls sexual prey to a dominant gay male. If this is not to your taste then now is the time to leave. For those who have elected to stay, I would like to mention that this is one of my favourite tales. 

***** 

I was employed as a marriage guidance councillor helping couples in trouble to relate to each other better but at the end, after twenty years, I had become rather jaundiced in my work. Before I begin there are a couple of myths that need exploding. The first claims that the incidence of infidelity has fallen based on the fact that since the introduction of 'no fault' divorces, the reasons given are 'unreasonable behaviour' or 'irreconcilable differences' rather than the previous preponderance of nookie on the side. This is nonsense because I can state categorically that in over 90% of current divorces, whatever the given reason, somebody's genitals have been in action outside the bounds of the marriage. I can't understand this cover-up terminology - I mean if it was me I would far rather admit to having had illicit carnal knowledge of some luscious red head than confess to being a mean cantankerous old git. 

The other myth is that men are the main culprit. 'Men keep their brains in their pants' or 'Men are incapable of keeping their zips done up' are the popular catch phrases but in fact it is a relative small number of serial philanderers who give the rest of the male sex a bad name. However, on the other hand, I am quite prepared to believe that the vast majority of wives have a built in mechanism, which springs their legs open at the slightest opportunity. Remembering a history of headaches, you may say ruefully, 'Not my wife', but I would point out tactfully that a great many husbands can't seem to operate that magic trigger - at least, not with their own spouse. 

Even when sex is not the primary cause of discord, even at trivial levels, it soon becomes part of the equation. A volatile young couple is arguing about television - he wants to watch the match but she had planned her evening round the soap omnibus. They have a flaming row, she insists on her program so he storms down to the pub and finishes up leg-less. Or he insists on the match and it is she who storms down to the pub - but she finishes up getting laid. How many girls who run home to mother could say, "I came home without any money and the guy who gave me a lift really went out of his way - it was the least that I could do." In her absence, the husband gets some beer in to console him and waits for her to return. 

Some times it is the husband who returns to his parent's house for comfort and understanding. If he is not home within twenty-four hours, the abandoned wife thinks, 'I'll teach the sod', and in a woman's mind, allowing some other man to explore her garden of delights is always the first recourse. 

It cannot be proved but I would bet that amongst couples with twenty-five years stable marriage behind them, less than 30% of the husbands will harbour some guilty secret but easily 60% of the wives will have had at least one little dabble on the side along the way. The reasons are easy to understand. As long as a wife does not keep her husband short, with little unaccounted spare time and lacking the cash to pay for an affair most are men content with the faithful life. His mind strays but not his body. He sees the pretty face, the bouncing breasts, a flash of long legs or tight clad rump undulating before him down the street, he remembers and in bed, in the dark that night, mentally he can be humping any woman in the word. Not so a woman. It is hard for her to imagine that she is being screwed by a thick nine inch monster dick when she can hardly feel her husband moving inside her. So next day, it is easy to understand why she wonders if the window cleaner will be able to unerringly find her G-spot every time because her husband patently cannot. 

The above was a bit of philosophy which I had to get off my chest. It has little yo do with the following tale, which is not about infidelity in the conventional sense. Let me say immediately that there is more than a little sexual activity to relate - lest I lose the bulk of my readers at this point. 

This was to be my last case of the day. When the knock came on the door I saw from my pad that it would be Mr and Mrs South - Charles and Fiona. I had not yet met them but already I knew that they would be another very ordinary couple, just one in an endless stream. However, when they entered I rapidly revised my opinion because they were not ordinary at all. The word 'extraordinary' can only rarely be truly applied, but it fitted here - at least it did to her. She just under average height with shoulder length slightly waved honey gold hair and a face with classic if sensuous beauty. For old film buffs, I think that the name Lana Turner might give just a faint impression. And it was not just her face. The tight white skirt ending a tasteful two inches above the knee revealed legs as near to perfection as I had ever seen and her brightly coloured opaque blouse could not conceal a small waist nor the outline of ripe firm breasts. Some women have facial beauty, some have good tits and with others their best assets are found further down - but few have it all. This lady had the lot - and in spades. 

To preserve objectivity, I suppose that I must describe him. At around 40 he was possible five or six years older than his wife, 5' 10" and slimly built. He had short hair, a serious intelligent face and he wore gold wire rimmed spectacles. With both, their clothes were of obvious quality and her expensively delicate high heeled stiletto shoes brought her height to roughly the equivalent to his. 

Breaking my tradition, I stood up to wave them to the two chairs that stood in front of my desk. As we all sat down, my eyes were inevitably drawn to the woman's legs as she very slowly crossed them but without showing a thing. I had the strong impression she had done it in such a way deliberately to provoke me. This seemed to be confirmed when I looked up to find that she was gazing at me with dark fathomless eyes and with a knowing smile playing round her lips. 

I was disconcerted be being so easily caught in the act and said hastily, "I take it that you have a bedroom problem." I did like to start with a provocative remark because, whether well or badly received, it broke the ice and moved quickly past the initial stilted conversation stage. 

This time however I had been too crass and left myself open to a well-founded rebuke. 

"You are completely wrong Mr Scott," she said coolly. "Our problem is primarily financial. We have been married for twelve years, we have no children and we are devoted to each other. In the bedroom - as you like to put it, our sex life is good, some would think exceptional. If you habitually jump to such hasty conclusions on negligible data, perhaps we have come to the wrong place. " 

Her voice was like honey and I could so easily imagine it softly whispering endearments. I could not let them walk out of my life now so I metaphorically slipped into my naughty puppy role, lying on my back with legs in the air by saying, "I'm sorry Fiona. It's been a long hard day and I am tired but that stupid assumption is unforgivable." 

The smile that she gave me showed that I was indeed forgiven - and it made my toes curl into the bargain. "Perhaps you would like to tell me about your situation," I said, having trouble with articulation due to the sudden excess of saliva in my mouth. 

"Our problem started out as strictly financial but since then there have been other developments...ramifications, shall we say," she said, re-crossing her legs the other way. 

Despite myself I could not control my eyes and blushed slightly knowing that she was fully aware of my weakness. Fiona had paused leaving me an opening to prompt her but seeing that I was incapable of speech, she continued. "My husband lost his job just after we had taken on very heavy commitments. Perhaps you would like to explain to the man darling," she said reaching out and giving her husbands hand an encouraging squeeze. 

Despite any impression given above, I had taken note of her husband. He was very restless, His eyes flitted here there and everywhere but seemed reluctant to meet mine - and held within them was what I can only describe as a haunted look. "I was a damn fool," he said, making a real effort. "I gave up what was real to chase a dream despite everybody warning me of the dangers." 

Charles went on to describe how he had been at the same firm since leaving school and had worked his way up to be the financial director in charge of computer systems and accounts. He was on a comfortable salary but might have expected a lot more had not the firm operated in a very competitive market. This meant those salaries and other costs had to be cut to the bone if they were to stand a chance against a larger firm called Sherwood's, their only real competitor in the UK. 

"One day," said Charles, "I got a phone call from a woman who asked me to meet her in a pub, saying that she wanted to make me an offer that I could not refuse. It seemed that I was being head hunted by Sherwood's. They needed a new financial director fast. My salary would be more than doubled; there were substantial guaranteed bonuses, share options, a heavily subsidised mortgage and generous relocation expenses. It was out of this world - I could name any car that I wished as my company vehicle." 

"I am not an underhand type of chap so I went back and walked into my boss and put my cards on the table. He said, 'I can see why you are tempted because it is a bloody good offer - perhaps too good. I've got to tell you there are persistent rumours in the market that Sherwood's are in trouble. They say that someone screwed them for a stack of money and now that firm is living hand to mouth. If they do go under, the sky will be the limit for you here. I am not going to offer you more money to stay because I can't but please try to find out all the facts before you do something silly'." 

"At my official interview I put this to the Sherwood's MD right at the start.'It's all true,' he said. 'Your predecessor had a gambling problem and embezzled half a million before we caught him. There was £140,000 left which he paid back, we didn't prosecute to avoid publicity and he cleared off abroad in case we changed our mind. We have also been pushing credit to the limit with our suppliers but only because we have no idea where we are - he very effectively scrambled all the fucking files to cover his tracks. As for going under - that can't happen. Over the years we have built up a three million contingency fund from retained dividends. It is in a very high interest account under my personal control. As soon as you let me know what moneys are required, then I will authorise transfer of the required funds. One other point, when this happened we were on the point of a major expansion - that will still go ahead and when it does your current firm is going to find that the market is a very cold and lonely place'. There was now no question of me not going." 

At this point Fiona took over and I was pleased to again feast my eyes on her instead of studying her husband's harassed features. "We bought a fabulous house - it was only possible because we had an effective two per cent mortgage. My husband's salary may have tripled but almost immediately we were living as near to the limit as we had been before. Of course when we wanted to sell again the market had dropped and the houses on either side went on the market at the same. Those two other families leaving in a hurry was not a coincidence because both husbands left with the other man's wife - so why there had to be so much aggravation about it I don't understand. The net result was that we couldn't sell." 

Charles came back to explain why they needed to sell. "I worked like a crazy man untangling files and even got down into the program code to remove the little bugs he had planted. After nearly five months I went to the MD to tell him that I needed £500,000 transferring to clear our obligations with little more than £60,000 unquantified debt left remaining. He looked puzzled. 'You make the transfer and then I contact the bank to give final authorisation,' he said. 

"I did not know which account he meant and I said so. 'The one encrypted 'SA' for 'Special Account' there is only the one,' he told me. I dug and dug for almost 48 hours non-stop and finally found it in a hidden dustbin folder containing deleted files. With that reference, I went to the bank to be told that the account had been cleared some nine months before. Dutifully I reported my findings to the managing director and within the week Sherwood's went into voluntary liquidation." 

"Charles got three months salary in lieu of notice," Fiona took up the story again," - and then when he could claim unemployment benefit, due to new government regulations concerning expensive houses, we were not entitled to any help with the mortgage. I hadn't worked for years and the money due to the building society each month was so horrendous that it was impossible for him to find a job that paid sufficient, especially in view of his very specialised experience. After six months we were completely broke, the building society was threatening repossession and others were after us for money. It was at this point that I saw a possible way out." 

As his wife said that last sentence, I saw Charles visibly wince. "I think that I have got the initial picture so we will call it a day for now. It might be best if I should interview you separately next time," I said and it seemed that both of them were relieved at my suggestion. 

For the next appointment, it was Fiona that I arranged to see on her own first - did you honestly think it would be otherwise? Thinking ahead, I was torn between escorting her to a chair with opportunity to touch her arm or remain at my desk with best vantage for seeing her cross those fabulous legs. The latter won. This was crazy because I had not reacted this way to a woman for years. She was wearing a figure hugging cream jersey dress of the same demure length but with higher even more flimsy stiletto heeled shoes. Her nipples showed clearly through the clinging material and I was grateful to God for the sudden colder weather. 

When she crossed her legs it was quite deliberate, slowly and flamboyantly. For a moment I convinced myself that she had done a Sharon Stone on me, perspiration broke out on my forehead and I was very glad that the desk between us hid my embarrassment. 

When I finally dragged my eyes up to her lovely face, she was openly laughing at me. "I'll come back later if you need to take a cold shower," she said. 

In my besotted state I took this as a come on. "We don't have to stay here. I can easily interview somewhere more relaxed," I offered with all the sophistication of a gauche schoolboy. 

"Mr Scott. I already told you that I love my husband deeply. Despite what I am going to tell you, I think we should establish at the outset that I remain faithful to him - in my fashion." 

"Please call me Tom," I said. "I am sorry that I have embarrassed you. I have never had a woman quite like you in this office before and it has made me act rather out of character. I promise you that I will behave myself from now on." To cover my confusion I fumbled myself a cigarette and then realised from her raised eyebrow that I had neglected to offer her one. I quickly walked round the desk to repair the omission and then proved my new control by passing up the chance to touch her hand while lighting it for her. 

"You haven't embarrassed me in the slightest...Tom," she said with a smile when I was back in my chair. "I'm flattered by your admiration but I feel that you may pay more attention to my problem now that you have stopped entertaining false hopes." 

I gave her a genuine grin. She may have turned me down flat but it had been done it in the nicest possible way and at the same time established an easy rapport between us. With an effort, I made my voice deliberately professional and said, "Last time I got the impression that the solution you have found bothers your husband more than the actually financial problems." 

"You are very astute," she said. "It may be better if I just tell my story without interruption and you can ask questions at the end. I assume that you have a tape recorder running." I confirmed that to be the case and what follows is a direct transcription of her words. 

"I started working for an escort agency. From your face I can see that you have made certain assumptions and they are not wrong but I must have been pretty naïve because I did not realise at first all that the job could entail. It was my last trip into town because the petrol tank of my car was almost empty and there was no cash to put more in - I had five pounds left in my purse and when that was gone we would be totally dependent on the DHSS. Walking along I stopped to admire a flash new red two seater sports car and it was only when I started to move on that I realised that it was parked outside an exclusive coffee shop that I used to frequent often during those far richer days. On the spur of the moment I went in resolved to blow my fiver on a good cup of coffee and one of their delicious but exorbitantly priced cream cakes. Before I could sit down a female voice called out excitedly, "FEE. FEE. Fiona is it really you? God it's been years." 

It was the voice rather than the face that I recognised but I still said, "Cynthia?" hesitantly as I moved in her direction. At school in a town far removed from this one, Cynthia had been my closest friend. I got my looks and figure very early and was the acknowledged leader of the in crowd. In those days she was a plain thin girl, wore spectacles and came from a far poorer background. Nobody else wanted to let her into the gang but for some reason she appealed to me so I insisted and rather took her under my wing. We went around a lot as a pair - when we met two guys it was nice having a friend always willing to settle for the other one. I made use of her unmercifully but because she had been accepted on my say so, I could do no wrong in her eyes. 

The difference in Cynthia was unbelievable. Her hair was immaculate, her face had an elegant beauty and her clothes reeked of exclusivity. She had a figure that was nicely rounded in all the right places and I presumed that she had switched to wearing contact lenses. She looked like a million dollars. I still had my extensive wardrobe and was so glad that my attire did not reflect my current impecunious circumstances. Joining her at her table we reminisced happily until the waitress came, upon which my old friend insisted that it was her treat. "You look as if you have done well for yourself," I enthused after our order had come, "Rich husband?" 

She shook her head. "No - this is all down to me. There are no men at all in my life - at least none with any degree of permanence." 

"You must have a bloody good job then, what are you - a high flying executive or something?" 

"Much simpler than that - I work for an escort agency." 

"And it dresses you like that?" It seemed incredible. 

"Clothes, a beautiful flat and the red car that's parked outside - all that and more. I take at least three holidays every year and only stop in the very best places." 

I shook my head enviously and said, "What wouldn't I give for a job like that right now." 

"There is nothing to stop you," she said. "I know that the people I work for are on the look out for new escorts. They will fall over themselves to get you. With me a lot of what you see is artifice but you are the real thing, right down to the bone." 


Trying To Relate



It seemed too easy. "What exactly does an escort do?" I asked. 

"Accompany businessmen and executives socially - dinners, restaurants, dancing and sometimes to other events such as the theatre or boxing matches. As well as your wages you can count on a top class meal every time. They pay the agency £100 to hire you for a four hour shift and you get paid £15 per hour. When you get rewarded for working longer than that or if they want to give you presents, that goes straight to you. Believe me; they all want to give you something." 

"I take it that it will all be evening work?" 

"Generally yes although I have occasionally been places during the day. I am contracted to make myself available for three evenings a week. Most of the bookings come from the internet now via the agency web site but a lot of clients still call at the agency office to view the files of available girls on the computers there. The trick is to get your own regulars and slide them on to none agency nights so that all the money goes to you - that's the way I got into the position I'm in now." 

Cynthia gave me the telephone number of the agency instructing me to mention that Cyn recommended me. After leaving my friend, I eagerly found a phone box and dialled the number. The male voice on the other end sounded disappointingly disinterested but did agree to interview me the following morning. My £5 went on petrol so that I could drive back to town. I said nothing to Charles rather than raise his hopes and thankfully he did not notice when I took extra care over my clothes and make-up, accepting my excuse that I was meeting an old school friend. At the agency, the man was presumably the one I had spoken to on the phone but after seeing me, his attitude was completely different. Just one look into his eyes told me that the job was mine. 

Using a digital camera he took various shots, some head and shoulders with me gazing appealingly into the lens, plus other full length ones in various poses. There was also a camcorder sequence showing me moving about doing various things. In addition I had to provide a short resume of interests and hobbies to go on my file. "Some clients just want you on their arm looking decorative," he explained, "but others like conversation and it helps them if they know what you can talk about." He made the final serious point that as all bookings were made in advance from checkable sources, the agency had time to run thorough integrity checks against new clients to ensure the safety of the girls. 

Before leaving I was shown my old friends file to illustrate what my own display package would look like. I noticed that Cynthia had posed somewhat more raunchily than me and for some reason, she had altered the spelling of her name to 'Sin'. At home, I had anticipated trouble selling the job to my husband but apart from wishing my absences would be during the day rather than evenings, he was remarkably pragmatic about it. Allowing for taxi fares, the minimum of £150 per week that I would earn was not much compared to our debt but it meant that we would not be queuing at some soup kitchen for a while yet. 

I had opted to work Wednesday, Friday and Saturday nights but my first period of duty fell on a Friday. My first customer was a bluff and stocky, red faced, middle aged businessman from somewhere in the north and I met him as arranged in the lobby of his hotel. He started to drool on first sight of me and did not stop thereafter. I am used to seeing that look in a man's eyes and know how to control them nicely - so was able to remove his clammy hand from my thigh several times during the meal without it seeming like a rebuff. At the end of the evening, he winked and asked it I was going up to his room for my present. Cyn had told me to expect this so I unsuspectingly followed him to the lift. 

The trouble started the moment we were in his room. Before I knew it he was trying to push his fat tongue into my mouth and his hands were roaming all over my tits. I pushed him off and with some dignity said, "What do you think you are doing - I was here to be your escort for the evening, nothing more." 

"Fair enough - I jumped the gun a bit," he said stepping back. "We should have talked terms first but I've got a wallet bursting with notes just looking for a new home so I don't really give a damn what it costs." 

"You don't understand," I insisted. "I have done what I have been paid to do and now I am going home to my husband." 

The man was so irate that small flecks of spit came off his fat lips to fly in all directions. "I don't believe it," he stormed. "I've been coming down here once a month for years and you are the first cunt that hasn't come across, at least in some way. Look at me. You spend the evening leading me on until my nob is like a stick of Blackpool Rock and then do fuck all about it. We've got a name for your sort where I come from. " 

"I'm sorry if I have given you the wrong impression," I said in a more placatory tone. "This is my first night working for the agency and I had no idea that anything more might be expected of me. My husband has lost his job so I'm only doing this part time to help out." 

"Well you're in the wrong job lass, I'll tell you that for nothing. 'Escort' is just a polite term for you-know-what - I thought everybody knew that," he said, resigned to dealing with that obvious erection himself. "Let's just write it off as a cock-up all round. No on second thoughts - that's the last thing that it is." 

I escaped from the room feeling that I had just been unlucky with my first client but the next night, although my companion was charming and attentive throughout, he took me to his room with similar expectations. "I can't claim that I am not very disappointed," he said with some dignity when I turned him down. "It must be said however that I do feel I have been lured into paying for a very expensive evening under completely false pretences." 

At home I was despondent. Two dates with only the basic fee to show for it when judging by Cynthia's apparent success; I had rather expected a couple of nice presents to boost my income. The friend in question rang on the Sunday evening to ask how I had gone on. Not willing to discuss on the telephone, I said, "I'd like a quiet word with you," and we arranged to meet in the coffee bar the following morning. 

"You might have told me that I was expected to give sex as part of this job," I said accusingly before she had properly sat down. 

"Come on - it was obvious. You didn't seriously think that I got all this working for a measly £15 an hour - hell there aren't enough hours in the day." Cynthia gave me a searching look and on seeing how innocently I had entered into this she shook her head and said sadly, "Oh dear Fiona - and to think that I used to think that you were so clued up about everything." 

Rather nettled I came back, "Well I certainly never expected to see you end up as a whore." 

"I am not a whore," she said categorically. "A whore has to put out for any man who comes up to her with the right number of notes in his grubby little hand. In contrast, I spend pleasant evenings with rich cultured men who I might have just met and, at my choice, end the night in an enjoyable civilised manner. How many decent ordinary girls get picked up, taken for a meal then open their legs and get screwed just to show appreciation. What I do is no different to that except that I get a nice financial bonus out of it." 

"Sorry - I wasn't getting at you. I just know that I couldn't do it - I don't want to be unfaithful to Charles." 

"It all depends upon how you specify infidelity," Cynthia told me, lighting herself a cigarette and tossing the packet on my plate to show that I was still in her bad books. 

"Intercourse - fucking.". 

"Well that gives you a lot of leeway. I won't deny that all clients hope to get their cocks up inside you but most will settle for less, as long as they get rid of the load in their balls." 

"I don't think I understand," I said feeling very stupid. 

""Hand Relief - surely you've heard of that - it's the massage parlours stock in trade. I charge a basic £25 to toss them off, add a tenner to show my tits while I am doing it and it's a straight fifty if they want to touch them as well - that just about doubles the evenings money for little more that an extra ten minutes work." 

Cyn paused for reaction but I was busy thinking about £100 per night and wondering if I could do what had been suggested. She continued, "If you want to get into the big money as I do there are other options like a blow-job. Some guys will pay more for that than a straight screw so you have got to play it by ear. Then you get the kinky stuff, the ones who want you to sit on their face, that's easy and can be quite pleasant - trouble is, it opens you up to really perverted requests but there's really big money in that if you can do it. I let them fuck me using a condom for £300, bareback is one hell of a lot more but I am very particular who I do that with. Anyway, that's what I charge, some girls have to ask for less but with your looks you should be able to easily get top wack." 

My friend left me with food for thought and I spent a lot of time pondering the problem. In the end, I rationalised that giving strange men a quick wank was hardly infidelity and that if I did not accommodate the customers in some way, I most certainly wouldn't get any regulars and might even lose the escort job altogether. My date on the Wednesday turned out to be a quiet, nervous middle aged man. He was on edge all the time but still had plans to prolong the evening. "Would you like to stay with me for a while," he asked looking significantly at the bed. 

I bluntly told him my position, "I am married so I don't go to bed with customers but I am willing to use my hand to relieve your distress." 

"How much will it cost for you to do it will all your clothes off? I won't touch." 

I suddenly realised that I didn't want to do it - so the only escape was to price myself out of the market. "£200," I told him. He looked at me with a shocked expression. "Is that all right," I asked expecting him to say 'No'. 

"I suppose so," he said and counted ten £20 notes into my hand. It left his wallet empty. 

I removed my clothes in a very ordinary way when it would have been so easy to add a 'stripper' touch. He had dropped his trousers and sat, prick sticking out, gazing at me, his eyes alight with excitement. He was too excited for his own good because the moment that I touched him it was all over and all that he had to show for his £300 was a large blob of semen on the carpet. His face registered absolute dejection as he quickly bent to pull his trousers up again. 

I was ashamed. He was a nice man. During the evening he had proudly shown me photographs of his wife and children, and described at length how this was his first weekend away from home in twenty years of marriage. I thought of the weeks he had probably looked forward to this night and how he must have scrimped and saved to accumulate that £300 away from his wife's economic vigilance. There was only one thing that I could decently do. I undid his belt again, took his hand and placed it on my breast then pulled his head down to my other tit. Slipping my hand inside his shirt I tickled his nipples and then moving down I did the same round his groin area paying special attention to the inside of his thighs. By the time that I had finished gently squeezing his balls he was stiff enough for me to start a long slow masturbation. It took me an hour but I did take my £200 home with a clear conscience. 

On Friday it was a brash blunt younger guy. In his room he said straight away, "I assume that you don't screw so what do you charge for a hand job?" 

I was equally forthright, "£200 - for that I strip but you don't touch." 

"Piss off - at that price I'd rather do it myself," he said. 

I had already mentally spent my anticipated fee so now I panicked. "£100 then," I said and when he shook his head I slashed my price again, "All right I'll do it for fifty." 

He opened the door for me to leave saying, "If you tried to rip me off with the price you will probably short change me on the wank. I don't want to know." 

Returning home despondent after this salutary lesson in greed I thought out my routine for the future. My charge became a straight hundred and for that I stripped completely, except for suspender belt, stockings and high heels. I disrobed with some flair, bounced my tits and left my legs sufficiently apart for them to feast their eyes. I found that building an erotic atmosphere saved some wear and tear on my wrist but still left me with a very satisfied client. One guy grabbed my discarded knickers, held them to his nose throughout and at then at the end offered me an extra fifty to let him keep them. After that I had an occasional profitable sideline in souvenirs. 

Charles did not know exactly how much I was earning. I kept some cash back in a secret fund, mainly for the new clothes I knew that I would need, but I still dropped more into the kitty than he expected. At first he was delighted at my extra 'presents' but eventually he became suspicious. "They are exceptionally generous," he remarked casually one day but I could tell from his searching look that he was asking for an explanation. 

The secret of our marriage was trust but despite this I had not told Charles about the way that I 'obliged' the men who I escorted. This was not deceit because I had come to see what I did as trivial and not something worth disturbing my husband's peace of mind over. Now I had no choice but to tell him the truth about what I did. "Look at it this way love," I said in justification. "The basic escorting fee allows us to just survive but the extra presents mean that we can still live a little. Isn't it worth me spending a few minutes doing something that has no relevance to either of us if it doubles the amount that I earn every time that I go out? If I tried to earn as much just with straight escort work then I would have to spend double to time away from you." 

Charles accepted my argument with little dissension and after I had reaffirmed my devotion to him in bed, I felt that he had few remaining qualms about allowing me to continue my working practices. 

It was on a Saturday some weeks later that I met Sheikh Serif Yamani. The agency advised me to put on my very best glad rags because my client was exceptionally rich from 'oil money' and he had picked me out specifically from the girls on file. I entered the restaurant where we were to meet and looked round. The headwaiter was busy showing another party to their table so I had plenty of time to scan the other diners. My gaze fell upon a striking olive skinned eastern looking gentleman sitting alone at a table, and stopped on him. I am very used to being the recipient of admiring glances but never find myself admiring men. This mysterious man was the exception that proved the rule. I found that my blood was flowing faster through my veins and rather disconcerted, forced myself to continue scanning for my client - the title 'Sheikh' had led me to expect someone dressed in flowing Arab robes. 

When the headwaiter returned to deal with me, I was led unerringly to the table of the attractive stranger. At my approach the sheikh stood, bowed very low pressing my fingers to his lips and then said in a voice which made me glow, "Madame - you are every bit as beautiful as your pictures led me to expect." 

He was immaculately dressed, tall and slim with very black slightly wavy hair. His nose was a trifle hooked but apart from that he had the look of Omar Sharif, except that his face was somewhat thinner. The eyes most certainly were the same. A thin moustache and small goatee beard completes the picture, but I have to say that he had the most kissable lips that I have ever seen on a man. 

The food was superb, consistently gourmet standard and in mercenary fashion I calculated that, including the wine, his bill for the meal would be in the hundreds. Throughout he talked in a modulated refined voice, which held only the slightest trace of an accent. Although noticeably reticent about his home country, Serif told how he had been educated in England at public schools and then gone on to Oxford. When pressed, he modestly admitted to gaining a double first. He very skilfully and humorously drew me into conversation even though I was feeling very like a schoolgirl in the midst of her first crush. Money considerations aside I began to worry that he might only require me for my escort function when I desperately wanted to practice my other skills upon him. 

In his suite, he produced a case from his pocket, which opened to reveal an exquisite necklace. "A small token of appreciation for a most delightful companion," whispered as he placed it round my neck. 

Not allowing me to speak, he led me to a mirror in which to admire myself. The necklace was totally me. "How did you know," I gasped. "How did you know it would suit me so well?" 

"Easy. My lotus flower," he said. "All that I needed was to seek stones that would enhance your eyes because I knew that nothing could compare to their beauty." 

It was too much. I turned and flung my arms around him and the next moment his tongue was in my mouth. The tingle went right to my toes. His skin held a delicate aroma of sweet almonds and as the scent of his body wafted to my nostrils, my brain seemed to be inflamed. 

It was he who pushed me away. "Sweet creature," he said. "When I first saw your picture, I must confess that I had hopes we might spend the night in tender dalliance but after hearing earlier about your devoted husband, I was forced to limit my ambitions. Now I fear that you may be inadvertently expanding my expectations." 

Had he not spoken, I would have forgotten my vows, abandoned the years of fidelity and with no thought of reward abandoned myself to him, to do with me what he may. He gave me the chance to regroup, rebuild my defences, remember my husband. "I am allowed to make you come - with my hand," I said thickly, still breathing heavily and trembling all over. I mentioned no price because the value of the necklace far exceeded what I might ask - and even if there had been no gift I would still not have mentioned reward. As I quickly undressed, I decided that I could give him as much as I gave that first unsure premature punter who betrayed his wife for the first time with me. 

I will not dwell upon that long hard penis, (at least two inches more than Charles and extra in girth). Nor will I tell you how much it thrilled me to touch it or how I ached to have it inside me somewhere, anywhere. I must however admit to a certain lack of professional detachment. 

I was proceeding not briskly, not slowly, but with possible too much reverence when Serif put his hand under my chin and tilted my face towards him. I looked into those deep brown eyes in which I would happily have drowned and heard him say, "I will give £1000, if you can complete at least part of the operation with your lovely mouth." I sank immediately to me knees, slid his lovely cock between my lips and only vaguely heard him say, "I will understand, if at the end..." 

I sucked happily, possible enjoying it more than he did. I had no doubt that I would let him cum in my mouth, the only question was whether I would be betraying Charles less if I spat it out. To be honest, thoughts of betrayal did not feature too largely in my mind at that time. I do know that I made it last it long as possible, feeling him on the point of ejaculation several times but successfully calming him down. Afterwards he counted out ten £100 pound notes and placed them in my hand. "Next Saturday I would be pleased to pay twice that amount to enjoy your lovely body as it cries out to be enjoyed. I probably have no right to ask but please think about it - discuss it with your husband if you need to. Whatever you decide, I still crave your company for the evening." 




Trying To Relate



I made no commitment but choosing my moment on the Sunday, I broached the subject with Charles. "You probably suspect that I have sex with the men who take me to dinner." 

"I have wondered. All the men must want to and I can see that it puts you under pressure." 

"I swear that I have not done it with anyone," I said, pedantically excluding the blow-job. "The point is that I think we ought to consider whether I should. All the other girls do and I lose out because I don't. At the moment I am earning enough to let us live decently but it doesn't touch our real problem. Pretty soon the building society id going to repossess the house and they will slash £50,000 off the price to sell quickly. It's our money that is lost but only if we can't hang on and sell it privately. If we can start sending them some money, they might hold off and give us a chance." 

He shook his head. "You would have to do it with a lot of men to make any difference." 

"A man has offered £1000 to let him fuck me." 

The amazement showed on his face. "What is he like?" 

"Rich, clean, civilised - in fact most of my clients are a bit like that." 

"It's a hell of a lot of money," he said and the tone of his voice showed that he was not rejecting the idea out of hand. 

"It need not affect us at all," I said, following up my advantage. "You are the man I love and this will only be sex. Looked at one way, their cocks won't actually touch my insides because they'll all be wearing condoms. Darling, if we both make a little sacrifice this is a way that we can get out of trouble. I think should do it." 

"A thousand pounds," he said nodding his head slowly. I took this as tacit agreement. Charles didn't actually say 'Yes' but that would have been akin to giving me a chit of authorisation to commit adultery. 

I must mention her that out of Serif's money I only put £100 into the household kitty. The remainder together with other accumulated fees that Charles knew nothing about, I used to open a secret account. One half of the next money that Serif gave me would be going in there too. Lest you think that smacks of deceit, I can say that the action was to safeguard both our interests and I will give my reasons later. 

I went to bed with my next two clients and there is a tortured train of logic that explains why I felt that I must. They used my body but I disengaged my mind giving poor value for the £300 that they each paid. My argument ran that being paid for sex and doing it with your husband's permission was not infidelity. Yet, knowing how badly I wanted to open my legs for Serif, pedantic definitions aside, I would certainly be cheating in spirit. The only answer was to screw all my clients and then any extra that I put into the sex with my exciting Arab would be fully justified by the handsome fee that he was paying. 

My husband remained unaware that I had extended my job description earlier than he expected and to hide this fact I dropped just £100 per time into the kitty with the surplus deposited in my secret account. Consequently on the morning of my £1000 pay-day, thinking that I was going to have another man's penis inside me for the first time since we met, he was understandably tense and grew more so as the day progressed. In contrast, I was bubbling with excitement, wishing the hours away and having great difficulty hiding my eagerness. Charles mentioned that I looked strained and happily put down my disturbed peace of mind as due to the same cause as his own. 

Through a glass panel at the restaurant, I saw that Serif was sitting facing the door and watching intently for me. It pleased me to see that he had lost his suave air of unconcern. 

He stood until I was seated and then gazed into my eyes with a big question in his. I nodded almost imperceptibly but allowed myself a small smile in confirmation. Serif gave no return signal but the contented smile as he relaxed in his chair told me that my message had been received and understood. Though a succession of, once more, delicious dishes, we talked about a wide range of subjects, never once touching on ourselves but the unspoken reason that we were together was like an electric current in the air between us. 

It was only towards the end of the meal that he broke the prohibition that had been tacitly agreed between us by bringing the conversation onto a more personal level. "Your husband must love you very much," he said softly. 

"As I love him." 

"Desert flower you play with words. Perhaps I should have been more specific and said trust." 

"Yes, Charles trusts me - he has no reason not to," I said. "You see over the years I have always drawn the attentions of men, some of whom find excuse to put their hands on me unnecessarily. I dislike making scene so I handle the situation verbally and I can assure that few take such liberties again but my husband has seen me handled by other men many times. He knows that my heart belongs only to him and that is all that matters." 

"But surely tonight will be different from that?" 

"Only in extent," I said. "The principle remains the same." 

Serif let his disappointment show. "Perhaps I have let myself expect too much," he said. 

"Don't worry Fair Prince," I said with a smile. "I promise you a very generous return on your investment." 

He looked startled. "Fair prince?" he repeated looking at me with eyes that were suddenly hard. 

I laughed. "An honorary title only Serif - not unlike your 'Desert flower'." 

"Touché," he said laughing with me. "Perhaps it is time for us to retire. I do think that too much talk can destroy the ambience of an evening." 

More than happy to agree, I still managed to walk to his suite maintaining a decorous distance from Serif but once inside the door is was different because I was as hungry for his kisses as I was for his body. His tongue set me on fire exactly as it had done before and I could have lapped up far more foreplay but his urgency for consummation rather dented Serif's relaxed image. There was no question of using a condom. I had produced one for those first two as a matter of course but I could not ask a man who was paying so much, to accept any diminution of his pleasure. That was not the real reason - I wanted to feel his cock inside me with no layer of latex separating skin from skin as badly as he did. 

My husband is a skilled, considerate and exiting lover. Over the years I have never once failed to have an orgasm with him, usually I have two and there have been many, many times when he has given me several but I have to admit that compared to Serif, he is a novice. 

From the moment that my eastern lovers beautiful penis entered my cunt I started to cum. 

The orgasms were more intense and of greater magnitude than any I had experienced and they came one after the other like waves breaking on the shore. 

After he had filled me with his seed we did play, kissing and fondling with hands and mouth in joyful exuberance. When his prick regained stiffness he quickly entered me again and I abandoned myself to another orgasmic sequence. This time after his cock had launched another load of life giving semen towards my womb, we lay and caressed in a more relaxed manner but I was still hungry for more. Unfortunately, a glance at my watch told me that we had already over-run the time that I had allotted and I badly needed to take a shower before returning home. I knew that Charles, hoping that I would give my client a 'short time', would be anxiously awaiting my return and growing ever more troubled the longer I remained away. 

Sitting up I swung my legs over the side of the bed but as I did so Serif put a hand on my thigh to stay me. Reaching under the pillow he pulled out a jewel case which contained a matching bracelet to the necklace he had given me the week before. "My previous gift was for the pleasure of your company in the restaurant - this is for the even more delightful pleasure of your body in this bed. My sweet, you may love your husband but you most certainly held nothing back from me." 

Throwing myself at him I flung my arms around his neck. "Oh Serif, Thank you" I cried. "I can never hold anything back from you." Needless to say, it was a further hour before I threw on my clothes and ran for the taxi he ordered for me. On the ride home, I did not need to count the £100 notes in my bag to know there would be exactly twenty and I had the satisfaction that he had hired me again for the next week at the same fee. On a more mundane level, I did suffer a large degree of embarrassment during the journey. Due to the haste of my departure, I had to sit with my thighs clamped tightly together to stop Serif's cum from leaking out of me and I still left a large damp patch on the taxi seat when I climbed out. Ii was a sense of obligation that made me give the driver a very large tip in the way of compensation. 

It will tell you something when I confess that I counted the hours until I would be with Serif again. Even though a mixture of emotions were competing within me I realised that I could not let myself get so out of control with that beautiful man again - or at least ensure that I never returned home in a similar state again. I was lucky that my husband had neither waited up nor noticed any other clues to the fact that I had violated the sprit of our agreement. I realised that in future I must return home in good time and in a respectable state after being with Serif but at the same time I could not face the thought of having less sex with my desert sheikh. The solution to these conflicting problems was simple. The next time when meeting in the restaurant, instead of seating myself I softly suggested, "Shall we give the meal a miss and skip straight to the chase?" He was more than happy to agree and after that, every time that we met, I went straight to his suite for several hours of the most heavenly sex that you can imagine. 

From then on I opened up with all my clients, giving good value for money. I was happy to dispense with condoms (at extra cost) and included other activities such as playing the 'two backed beast' game for an additional fee. Supercharged from being fucked by Serif every week, some of the other men that I went to bed with managed to make me cum. This pleased them so much that with those who did not I managed to give a fair simulation. It is fair to say that I started getting pleasure from most of my clients but surely everybody is entitled to enjoy their work. Cynthia had told me that getting regulars was the secret of her success. I began to get lots of re-bookings but, out of consideration for Charles, I did not undertake to spend additional evenings away from him. However, following the precedent set by Serif, with men who had booked to screw me for the second or subsequent time, I suggested that we skip the restaurant and get in extra fucking. All were happy to agree and my increased remuneration naturally included the saved cost of the meal. First time clients only got one shag for their money but I always took a shower afterwards allowing them to watch. When some got in with me, I allowed them to wash me - and if they got an erection, (always), a quick wank with my soapy hand was their uncharged bonus. I did a lot of oral - no that sounds too polite - I sucked a lot of pricks. It's interesting to mention that I found an amazing variation in taste, texture and quantity between the cum of different men. 

A lot of the men who paid to fuck me were on expense accounts and with my collusion, we worked a fiddle that resulted in extra presents for me. I bought a receipt book, acquired a stamp from many of the hotels that I used regularly and practised a flamboyant but illegible signature. With this kit I was able to give receipts and amused myself by thinking up different euphemisms to describe my services. 

I was having the time of my life between Serif and the better of my other regulars but I have to admit that I started to find sex with Charles rather boring. He was competent as ever and I did like the familiarity and bathing in the strong love between us but in comparison, I missed the excitement and anticipation that I had with the others. Part of the trouble lay with my husband because he seemed to have lost his spark - and not only in bed. I knew that my new life affected him rather badly but he would have to put up with it because I could see real prospects of screwing us right out of trouble. The building society, happy with the money we sent, agreed to delay repossessing the house and I was building up a nice secret nest egg. I think now is the time to explain that secret account. If everything went pear shaped we could finish up officially bankrupt. Charles being far too honest for his own good would declare everything and if that happened I wanted to have a hidden bankroll that would allow us to start again. The fact that I was earning far more than I dare let him know about also had something to do with it. 

On the subject of Charles, I must mention an incident that disturbed me. Soon after I started as an escort, he acquired a friend called Mathew who subsequently called to keep my husband company on many of the nights that I worked. I was glad that Charles had someone with him to stop him brooding about what I was doing but I absolutely loathed the man - he is a fat oily creepy type and makes my flesh cringe. He was one of my husband's subordinates before the firm folded and I came into contact with him at a company social occasion. Mathew asked me to dance and out of politeness I agreed but once in his arms I found him to be one of the rare men that I cannot control with a few sharp choice words. He spent the whole dance slavering down my cleavage and at the end I had bruises all over my buttocks from his fingers and another big one on my tummy where his dick had been digging into me. I was surprised that Charles liked him because when still working he kept complaining how this Mathew was constantly trying to undermine him. 

One morning we had stayed in bed late and were having a formal breakfast as we did from time to time. Charles was fidgeting, pushing things pointlessly about on his plate, so I gave him my 'Say what you've got to say' look. "Mathew wants to fuck you," he said. 

My husband would have said 'sleep with you' or something similar so I knew these were not his words. The idea was preposterous and I couldn't take it seriously. "Tell your friend that he can't afford me," I said sweetly. 

Charles moved the marmalade jar to the other side of his plate and then said carefully, "He was hoping you would do it for nothing because he spends time with me, 'A freebie for a friend' he said." 

What a nerve! I was shocked that my husband had dared to pass on such an absurd request. "I don't do freebies," I said coldly. "Tell your obnoxious friend the going rate and say that if he has the cash and waits in line with the others then I might just consider him." 

The effect of my words on Charles was devastating. He looked as if the bottom had dropped out of his world and I could not imagine why this had been so important to him. I carried a slight but constant feeling of guilt about my activities and the look on my poor husband's face exacerbated this. I brooded about it all day and finally, just before we went to bed I said, "Look love - if it is really important to you, I will do what Mathew wants." 

For a moment Charles' face lit up but then that expression died and I watched him fight a silent struggle in his mind. In the end he shook his head and said, "No, you were right, I'll tell him that he can't - I didn't want him to anyway." 

The trauma of passing on his friends request, (it had seemed almost like a demand), had drained Charles and he fell asleep the moment that we were in bed. I had been in the mood for some nice leisurely sex but instead lay awake pondering my husbands bizarre behaviour - and continued to wonder for several days. He never mentioned it again 

It was a number of weeks after this that one Friday it was Serif who had something on his mind that he did not like to ask me. I gently prodded it out of him. "You are very special to me Fiona, I think you know that and I like to believe that I am special to you," he began speaking very slowly and softly. "I know that there are other men who share your charms and there is always your husband but I can put them out of my mind and pretend that you exist only for me. It is hard therefore to ask you to go with a man, and a not very nice man at that, purely for my benefit. There is a countryman of mine who has in his possession a certain document that could do me great harm should it fall into the hands of my father. Akbar does not know that I know this. I happen also to know exactly where the document is kept. If I could be certain of the gentleman's whereabouts for one hour, I can retrieve the item and possibly save my life. All that I need from you my dear is that you entertain him for that short period of time. It may not come to sex - all that I ask is that you keep him distracted inside the hotel and for this I am able to pay double my normal fee." 

I agreed immediately. You may have gathered that by this time I had developed certain feelings for Serif but even had that not been the case, I would not have turned down such a payoff for turning what would be just another trick. My only regret was that the following Friday I would be fucked by this mysterious Akbar and not my ultimate lover - but I thought perhaps, after that hour, Serif might reward me with his body as well the cash. 

The following week my heart sank as I walked through the restaurant to where Serif and his guest were waiting. My handsome Lothario was sitting with about the most unprepossessing man that I had ever seen. Take Odd Job out of James Bond for build; add a completely bald head, a heavy fleshy face, thick sensuous permanently wet lips and a badly healed scar stretching from the corner of his eye down to his jaw line. He was the ultimate sidekick to the more refined head honcho in every pirate film or eastern epic that you ever saw. Let's just say that he was not my type - and that's not mentioning the dissolution and cruelty in his eyes. My instinct was to turn and run a mile - 'but a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do'. 

Forcing a smile to my face I advanced. Serif stood up and bowed but his companion remained seated. "Cherie" my lover started and followed with a short sentence of fluent colloquial French. Having spent some time in that country, I was able to reply in the same idiom. Serif allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction and then explained using the same language, "Akbar has lost a necklace that he says had been in his family for generations. I have given the impression that I have the item and he is here to negotiate its return." Then, switching to English he said, "Fiona, may I introduce my friend Colonel Mohammed Akbar." 

I produced my most charming smile for the repulsive military man but he barely conceded a nod in return. "Fiona, my fragrant petal," Serif went on, "The general has very little English, so you understand that I must converse with him in our national language." 

Throughout the meal, Serif kept throwing me a smile or a word in English so I had a legitimate excuse to keep my eyes on his handsome countenance rather than that of his ugly guest. Just before the sweet, my 'employer' got up and left the table. He muttered 'call of nature' to me but I think excused his departure to the other man in a more basic way. Left alone with the General I felt very self-conscious so gave him a smile to establish some minimum rapport. The look he gave back made me feel very much the 'cunt for hire' that I had undoubtedly become. Unusually for the restaurant, photographers had been active round other tables all evening. While my rejected smile remained frozen on my face, a flash bulb exploded by the side of our table. General leapt to his feet with murder in his eyes but the target of his wrath had disappeared as suddenly as he had first materialised. Serif reappeared and we ate our selections from the sweet trolley in silence. I did not enjoy my choice one little bit because I was wondering how I could force myself to be intimate with such an uncouth uncivilised man. 




Trying To Relate



The three of us had hardly returned to Serif's suite when, speaking very slowly for the benefit of his guest, he said, "I have to leave you for a short period my sweet, perhaps you will entertain Mohammed until I return." With that he left. 

I had decided on my ploy to avoid commitment until my lover returned. My only chance was to keep talking, act flirtatious and seductive but stay out of his reach and pretend to misunderstand any sexual overtures that were made to me. Putting this into operation, I walked to the window, gazed out for a moment then turned and asked brightly, "Have you been in England long General...Mohammed?" 

Mohammed had opened his trousers and released his penis. "Suck," he ordered. 

I almost laughed. Due to the distance separating us and possibly the angle, it looked both short and stubby. There was no choice; I had to give this man something. I started walking slowly towards him but as I drew near I was suddenly afraid. Close up I could see that the man's cock easily exceeded Serif's generous length and that stubby impression had been caused by the organ's incredible girth. 

Sinking to me knees in front of him, I was considering how to approach the task. It would have to be a largely licking job because I doubted if I could get very much into my mouth. I was not given the chance because he gasped a handful of my hair and rammed his rock hard rod forward, badly splitting my lip in the process. They say that you can't get a quart into a pint pot - but using brute force and ignorance General Akbar achieved an equivalent feat. He was a satyr, or at least a man who can ejaculate multiple times without any change in the stiffness or hardness of his cock. I almost drowned on his cum and he then proceeded to sodomise me. I passed out with the pain and then came to more than once while the buggery continued only to decent into merciful oblivion again. I was still reasonably aware when an hour had passed and I hoped that at any moment I would be rescued from my torment but Serif did not come. Akbar raped me several times, shot his sperm down my throat again and forced his cock up my rectum at least once more. I fell into a state of semi-consciousness at one point registered in a disoriented way the passage of three hours. Throughout the cruel Arab demonstrated that his command of English was restricted to a vocabulary of four letter type words. 

Before he left I was roused by him urinating on me as I lay on the floor and vividly remember the words, "I piss on your princes hospitality." My memory is that Serif appeared almost immediately that my abuser had gone. I remember lying looking up as he stared down at me but instead of compassion in his eyes I saw disdain - as if I was little more than discarded garbage. While continuing to drift in and out of consciousness, I registered several flashes, which suggested that someone was taking pictures. I awoke in hospital. 

My two top front teeth were loose and I later found that they had to put three stitches in my anus. I hurt all over and my twat felt as if someone had driven steam engine through it. My medical notes were to say that they had found bite marks and bruises over almost every inch of my body. Serif made a fleeting appearance to leave flowers and say that his plans had gone terribly wrong, as a consequence of which he needed to disappear for a time. A nurse passed my handbag and I was slightly consoled to find in it an envelope containing forty notes of the usual denomination. I think that I had just fully recovered my senses for the first time when my darling Charles entered the room. The love in his eyes and pain on his face as he saw my injuries triggered a surge of love for him and I started to cry for the first time. I told that I had been attacked and raped but did not reveal exactly how badly I had been brutalise because that knowledge would have been too hard for him to bear. When I inadvertently mentioned that an Arab had committed the attack, the vehemence of his reaction told me that my husband must never discovered the true extent of my relationship with Serif. 

I did not work for four weeks and even when I resumed it was in a very restricted manner. My body ached for Serif but I could not face the thought of sex with other clients, even regulars, and resorted to the hand job cop out. After a fortnight of working in this fashion I began to seriously wonder if I could continue in the profession because I had to fight a wave of panic 

every time I first entered a clients room. Then one day I found a package waiting in my mailbox at the agency. Inside was a very worn and scuffed jewellery case, which snapped open to reveal a fabulous necklace, which was obviously extremely valuable and also very old. I was suddenly very frightened, shut it again quickly and was about to stuff it back into the package when I noticed a newspaper clipping lying at the bottom of the box. It was from an English/Arabic newspaper and read:- 

COUP FOILED IN QUARUBA 

Acting on information placed before it by Crown Prince Serif Abdul Yamani 

The High Council of Quaruba today held an extraordinary Court Martial. 

General Mohammed Akbar was arrested at Military headquarters accused of 

Treason, planning a coup de tat, consorting with females not of the Faith for 

immoral purposes, rape and unnatural practises. Various unspecified charges 

of murder were not proceeded with. The General was found guilty by a 

unanimous verdict and subjected to immediate summary execution by firing 

squad within the precincts of the palace. 

After the trial, Crown Prince Serif peacefully replaced his father as head of state 

and promises a firm hand dealing with the wave of civil unrest that is sweeping 

the country. 

This was followed by another paragraph in Arabic, which I presume gave the same information. I was very disappointed that there was no note from Serif. I could neither wear nor dispose of the necklace due to my doubts about its legal status so decided to hang on to it, ready to return if someone made such a demand. It joined my other gifts in the safety deposit and I tried to forget all about it. Knowing that I would never see Serif again sent me plunging into renewed depression and I realised that it was only having sex him that allowed me to be nice to my other clients. I sank so low that I communicated my sense of disillusionment to Charles but without specifying what had prompted it - thankfully he blamed the attack I had suffered. 

Fortuitously, my next client saved me because I knew that I wanted to fuck him the moment I saw him. Jonathan was far younger than my usual paramours having just graduated with honours from Oxford. I got the impression that he came from a titled, landed background and he told me at length about his education in various famous public schools. I actually asked him why he had the need to hire someone like me. He laughed and said that he had never paid for sex in his life but decided to treat himself to the experience as a private celebration of his degree. I liked his added touch that 'having once seen my picture on the internet he became enchanted by me'. It was glorious with him in bed - financially he was an extremely generous young man but I still gave him far more than he paid for. Oh for the resilience and enthusiasm of youth. Akbar's brutal virility almost killed me but I revelled in the ability for quick recovery enjoyed by my good looking, extremely well endowed graduate. Jonathan infused me with such a renewed zest for living that my next two clients quite genuinely made me cum. 

I was back on track but I seemed to have transferred my depression, lock stock and barrel, over to my husband. The moment that I intimated my new found enthusiasm, his face fell as if I had just delivered a death sentence. Thereafter, when I set out for work he clung to me like a small child not wanting to be left at school. I was seriously worried about him - so much so that I cancelled appointments to have another full week staying at home with him. You will understand why, on my first night at home and after I had given back-word to my now favourite regular, I was not too pleased when Charles disappeared to see his friend at 9 p.m. 

We were sitting watching television, and about nine o'clock during a commercial, we had just talked about going to bed early, when the phone rang. Charles answered, said 'No' twice and then agreed. He said to me "Mathew's got a problem, I've got to see him", and then he was gone. I sat up waiting until it was very late but he didn't return. He slipped into bed just before four o'clock the next morning. It took me only one glance to know that my husband had had sex - and a great amount of it if I was any judge. Believe me, I have become an expert on recognising the signs on a man's face - particularly the eyes. I was filled with jealousy. Who the hell was she? How did they meet? How often and for how long had he been screwing her? One thing was certain - it was my fault. I had driven him to it if only as a petty kind of revenge. What superheated my jealousy was that it had been a very long time since I had made Charles look quite so totally shagged as he looked that morning. 

Retraining my curiosity I merely asked, "Did you have a good time with your friend Mathew?" OK - so I probably sounded a bit more scathing than that. Charles just nodded not meeting my eyes so I asked, "Is there anything that you want to tell me?" This time he shook his head but kept staring down at the floor. Changing tack I asked, "Are you happy with the way things are going?" Again he shook his head but this time he looked up and there was a haunted expression in his eyes. 

I reached forward and grasped his hand. "Do we need to get help love," I asked. 

He nodded. I knew by the tears streaming down his face that the emotion inside had made him incapable of speech. And that kind sir is why we have brought our troubles to you." 

Fiona stopped talking and looked for my response. The trouble was that the accumulation of saliva in my mouth made me almost as incapable of speech as her husband had been. Making an effort I said formally, "Thank you for being so completely frank with me. I need to interview your husband to get the full picture but at the moment I have cause for optimism. My job is to uncover all the hidden factors but I think I can say now that I have been able to help couples with problems far more serious than your own." 

Fiona smiled and uncrossed her legs with exaggerated slowness leaving no doubt about the absence of underwear. Then she stood up. Politeness decreed that I should do likewise but the oversized boner jammed against the underneath of the desk made it impossible for move. 

She walked to the desk, placed her hands well apart on the surface and leaned forward to look deeply into my eyes. I was not aware of this at first because her top two buttons were undone and I gazed enraptured at two fabulous breasts hanging before my eyes like lush ripe fruit. Finally dragging my eyes upward I was treated to a knowing, very intimate look. "If you can solve our problems, I will be very very grateful," she murmured in a voice laden with promise. Then in a more normal tone she continued. "The financial side does not really bother me because, if allowed to continue, I think I have it well in hand. If you can only get this silliness out of my husband's head, I will be more than happy. I enjoy my work but I will give it up if required - I would far rather lose the house than risk losing his love." 

With that she was gone. Thankfully, her last sentences gave me answers that I should have sought, had my mind been properly on my work. My interview with Charles was for the following day and I knew it would be far less enjoyable that this one had been. One thing was certain - I now had far greater motivation than simple job satisfaction, to bring this case to a successful conclusion. 

Charles sat in the chair his wife had occupied far more decoratively. I could tell immediately that he was more at ease alone with me than he had been when accompanied by his delightful spouse. All the same I felt that he was likely to divulge more if I kept him on edge. Following this philosophy, before he had chance to properly settle, with a slightly scornful edge to my voice I said, "I take it that you are not totally happy with your wife's choice of occupation?" 

My plan worked because he flustered, "Yes...No...I mean" Then he stopped, gathered himself, "I admit that what Fiona does to earn money for us has been very difficult to accept - but that is not the problem." 

"So it's the cock-up with your job and the small fortune that you have finished owing?" 

He shook his head. "That is a worry but it is not what at times makes me almost suicidal." 

Now we were down to the nitty gritty. "Another woman? You got pissed off with your wife putting out for others and grabbed a slice for yourself on the side to compensate. Now you're worried scared that the lovely Fiona is going to find out. Your lady friend wants you to leave your wife and is threatening to spell the beans - is that it?" 

Charles again shook his head. "It is not another woman," he told me categorically but did not seem inclined to elucidate further. 

I had gone rather heavily out on a limb, speaking in the wrong tone and acting upon a completely wrong assumption. I had absolutely no idea how to backtrack and restart the interview on a more sympathetic basis. To my surprise, Charles came to my rescue. "Perhaps it would be better if I told you what has happened to me. You probably will not understand because, to be honest, I don't understand myself. Please don't ask any questions until you have heard the whole story because it is so unbelievable that I doubt if I could give a rational answer." 

Undeniably intrigued, I relaxed and allowed him to continue:- 

"Imagine an area of black ice that you come upon unsuspectingly. You have fallen before you realise and from then on you seem to slide inevitably further and further away from safety until you even lose the will to try. Continuing the analogy, it is only because I have seen a gaping hole in the ice ready to consume me that I am making this effort to escape. 

I was just an ordinary man but one favoured with both intelligence and background - and also blessed with an exceptionally beautiful wife who loved me deeply. I am unable to father children so was fortunate that Fiona has no yearning for motherhood. She thrives on admiration and the thought of losing her figure for months would be far too big a sacrifice - at least that is what she told me. So we lived a secure and comfortable life, able to devote ourselves to each other. It was ambition and greed that brought me down - greed for money that we did not need. 

When the firm folded I got three months salary in lieu of notice. If I had used my intelligence, we should have consolidated available cash and made contingency plans for the future. Instead we continued to service financial commitments that would inevitably need to be defaulted on in the future. In short we continued as if nothing had happened, living for those brief months in a fool's paradise, putting unpleasantness out of our minds and vaguely hoping that something would turn up. 

We had reached the point, where only a few coppers separated us from financial destitution, when my wife told me that she had found herself a part time job. My spirits soared but then immediately sank again with equal rapidity when she told me what the job was. The word 'Escort' has acquired an unfortunate connotation but I did accept that there are organisations that offer a legitimate 'escorting only' service. This didn't help because I was unhappy with the thought of Fiona alone in the company of other men without me hovering in attendance nearby. This was not just jealousy because I had learned from experience to be wary. Such is my wife's unusual figure and beauty that over the years, I have known many decent men step completely out of character and behave in a most ungallant fashion when believing themselves to be unobserved in her company. Despite these reservations I reluctantly agreed but only because Fiona was so keen on the idea. I was prepared to sacrifice my peace of mind for the benefit of hers. 

The night that she was to work for the first time it was a different matter because I found that I was wound up tighter than a spring. Fiona gave me an especially loving kiss at the door and told me not to worry but when I sat down a minute later I was trembling all over. So it proved a welcome distraction for my agitated mental state when the doorbell rang about half an hour later. Standing on the doorstep was the very last person I expected to see. 

His name was Mathew and he had been part of the team under me during my short tenure at Sherwood's. He was also the only person in that office that I had actively disliked. In any office environment, the workers tend to be more or less homogenous in background but Mathew was an odd man out. His appearance and behaviour came from lower down the social scale but he was undoubtedly intelligent. On my first day he sauntered into my office, helped himself to a cigarette from the hospitality box and then sprawled in an armchair. The familiar way in which he did indicated showed this was a routine that he had followed many times before. He openly told me of a yet undiscovered scam in which he had colluded with my predecessor. This consisted of misrepresenting the quantity of finished product in stores with it being Mathew's role to extract the undisclosed surplus and dispose of it using his contacts. Quite blatantly he suggested that I continue the arrangement and when I refused, it was the start of a persistent campaign of insubordination and attempts to undermine my authority. I had one other grievance against the man and that was the way he had lecherously pawed Fiona at a firm's dance. 

Now strangely I found myself pleased to see him. Perhaps absence does make the heart grow fonder. More likely it was the fact that since the firm collapsed, Mathew was the only one who had taken the trouble to call round to see me. I did desperately need someone to talk to and in that situation, he was better than nobody. Only when I had invited him in did I notice he was carrying a four pack of lager. I thought that he was looking round admiring the house but it seemed that his eyes were searching for Fiona because he said, "Where's that lovely wife of yours hiding Squire - fetch her out so I can get another gander at those gorgeous tits." 

"I'm afraid that she has gone out for the evening," I told him rather coldly. 

Disappointment was obvious in his face but he remained unabashed. "Never mind - I can call another night for a look at the lovely Fiona. I'll stick around tonight anyway. You and I didn't exactly hit it off before, which is a pity because I think you are my kind of person. Give it a chance and what do you know - I bet we are hitting it off like a house on fire." 

I took this as an apology and accepted the can that he offered. We did get on very well. Instead of the surly face and snide remarks of before, he was constantly smiling and gave some wickedly humorous impersonations of our mutual acquaintances at the firm. I hadn't laughed so much for a very long time. He left reasonably early and my wife was not late getting home. To my relief, she reported enjoying a very nice meal and said that she had then come straight home. 

The following Friday Mathew was again standing outside my front door. On each of the three successive working evenings, Fiona had arrived home very promptly and I was now far more relaxed about her part time job. I had no desperate need this time for Mathew's presence but I had enjoyed his previous visit so much, I invited him in again. Once more he looked eagerly round for my wife and I had to tell him that she had gone out again. He accused her of avoiding him so I explained that she had a part time job. His next question was about what she did and as soon as I told him I immediately regretted it. He gave a lecherous grin. "An escort - you mean that she hawks her chuff!" 




Trying To Relate



"It's not like that - she just eats with someone in a restaurant and then comes home," I protested. 

"Course its like that. Don't be bashful. Christ - what a wimp you are," he said with a return of his old attitude but then he added more thoughtfully, "I can't really blame you. This place must cost a packet and I always did say that she was sitting on a fortune." 

"Some escorts may be like that but Fiona is working for a respectable agency," I said without much conviction. 

Mathew ignored this and asked, "Have you got anything stronger than lager Charlie boy - I need a bit of a jolt after that kind of news." 

I dig out the half bottle of whiskey I had been hoarding and from then on we drank lager with whiskey chasers. After downing his first tot, Mathew returned to the subject. "I don't know how you do it - I certainly wouldn't let my wife go out and get shagged for money." 

"I didn't know you were married," I said switching subject having decided that further defence of my wife's chastity would do no good. 

"I was. She was another tart though - opened her legs for half the neighbourhood. I kicked her out on her arse the moment I found out. I certainly wouldn't have sat watching the box knowing that she was being shafted by some rich toffee nosed git." 

Rather than answer I raised a can to my lips and for a while we drank in silence. I was serious bothered by Mathew's words because he sounded so confident in what he said. I found him gazing reflectively at a head and shoulders photograph of Fiona on the mantelpiece. He saw me looking and said, "I'd give a lot to fuck that myself. I know she's the real thing you see. Back at the firm's dance, I copped myself a really good grope - she loved it." 

I felt like crying. My mind was becoming fogged and I felt unable to refute his insinuations. "She doesn't do anything like that - I'm sure that she doesn't." 

"Don't fool yourself Charlie - of course she does. Why not - a purse full of cash and all the extra cock that she needs. Face it. It's an absolute certainty that you can't give her all that she needs. A woman like that has got to have an appetite to match - I bet she's been at it for years behind your back. You mark my words - your shag happy wife is in it more for the screwing than for the money." 

And so it continued. Periods of silence interspersed with further aspersions against my wife's morals. I found myself believing him. Not able to close my ears to these insidious words, I tried to drown them out with liquor. Suddenly I realised that my bladder was bursting and got unsteadily to my feet. "Got to go for slash," I muttered staggering away. 

"Have one for me while you're there," he said. 

I had heard the remark many times before and raised my hand in acknowledgement. As I reached the door he shouted harshly, "Come back here." Without thinking I turned and retraced my steps until I was standing before him. "I wasn't joking," he snarled. "Get down on your fucking knees." 

Bemused I obeyed, only then realising that he had got his cock out and a stream of light coloured urine was arcing through the air towards me. Even in my condition I saw three alternatives. I could dodge out of the way in which case it would go all over the carpet or I could stay where I was when it would go all over me. With no time to think I opened my mouth and let the piss go down my throat - even then my shirt got very wet from the liquid that had overflowed my mouth. There was little taste, which is understandable because it must have been mostly greatly diluted lager. When he had finished, with mind reeling, I made my way to the bathroom. The experience had sobered me slightly and I tried to understand why it had happened, and more importantly - why I had allowed it. It had to be a joke that had got out of hand. I was stoned out of my skull and he could not be far behind. We would most like laugh ourselves silly over it afterwards. I had the sense to change my shirt before returning downstairs. I made no reference to what had happened and neither did he - thankfully he said nothing more about Fiona. 

The following Friday I was wary of him. With more resolution I would have refused him admittance but my mind was split. The suspicion engendered by his accusations the previous week had made the two nights between when Fiona had worked into hours of mental torment. Now I would almost rather suffer his obnoxious presence than spend more hours alone. He started the moment I let him in. "The lovely Fiona been spreading her legs again? The money must be really rolling - what does she get £100 a trick?" 

"She gets paid fifteen pound an hour for four hours with no sex involved, " I told him firmly. 

"Maybe you're right," he said. "Just take my tip - don't gobble her twat after she's been working - you might get a mouthful of something that you don't expect." 

I just nodded not allowing myself to be provoked and instead put in to operation a plan I had devised to circumvent a reoccurrence of the previous week's incident. After drinking only one can I got up thinking that if I emptied by bladder early then I should last the rest of the time he was there, without needing to visit the toilet again. However I had only gone half a dozen paces when Mathew said calmly, "If you're going where I I think you are going, then you know what you have got to do." 

I can excuse my weakness the previous week because I was taken by surprise and badly inebriated at the time but I will never understand why this time I turned back to meekly sink on my knees before him and open my mouth. "You're in luck - I've been saving this up nearly all day especially for you," Mathew said confidently directing a gushing stream of dark yellow urine towards me. 

Had I not opened my throat as if downing a pint of beer then I could not have coped and as it was there were moments when I felt as if I were drowning. The urine was strong and bitter inducing a feeling of nausea. The moment that he had finished I jumped up and ran upstairs with my stomach heaving. I spent a long time in the bathroom regaining my composure and returned downstairs determined to tell my overbearing guest that this would never happen again. Before I could speak, he said harshly, "Who told you that you could go?" 

"I thought..." I stammered caught off balance again. 

"That's the trouble - you don't think. I hadn't finished - there's still some more in there that you've got to get. Come on - down on your knees chop chop." Browbeaten into obedience, I knelt, closed my eyes in misery and waited. "That's no good. The piss has gone back in - you are going to have to suck it out," he instructed. 

I shuffled forward, took the end of his prick slightly between my lips and began to suck as if it was a very thick straw. He laughed. "You've no idea have you? Get more of it in your mouth - and you might as well make yourself comfortable because this could take quite a while. Tickle it with your tongue that should help." 

Unthinking, I did as ordered and it was not until his penis began to harden and lengthen in my mouth that I realised exactly what I was doing and tried to pull my head away. Mathew had his hand in my hair holding my head firmly in position. "Suck - and keep on sucking until I tell you to stop," he ordered. 

Then a weird thing happened. What I was doing had a soothing effect on me, my sense of humiliation disappeared and the tormenting visions of my wife with other men just melted away. For the first time in my life I understood the comfort that babies and young children get from dummies and sucking their thumbs. When he ejaculated, I had no sense of taste or anything much - just a feeling of satisfaction at having crossed some kind of line. I wiped my lips and got up and sat on the settee beside him with heart pounding. Mathew smiled. "That wasn't so bad now was it Charlie? It was for your own good you know - you need to know what cum tastes like, so that you'll know when you come across it again." 

For the rest of the evening, Mathew was very friendly and there were reminders of that first evening he called. "Seriously Chas," he said tossing me a cigarette. "You ought to ask your wife exactly what she does to earn her money because I don't like to see you being misled. She probably hides things from you thinking they don't matter and are not worth upsetting you with. Look at it logically. This bloke lays out sixty for her, some more for the agency and then the cost of the meal. That is at least £150 he is out of pocket to start with. He spends the evening with a beautiful woman and finishes up with aching balls just looking at her - don't you think he will want her to do something about it. If he has already laid out that much, what's another £50, £100 or even more to enjoy whatever she has to offer. Perhaps I have laid it on a bit thick teasing you but I bet a pound to a penny that it's not just 'thank you and goodnight' when they have finished eating." 

This calm argument destroyed my trust in Fiona far more than his inflammatory accusations and I resolved to question her. It took several days before the right moment and a steady nerve coincided. She admitted fairly readily that she masturbated clients but then proceeded to justify her actions. "Suppose it had been you Charles instead of me who got the chance of a part time job," she said. "It is at an abattoir but working in the offices. You don't like working there but we need the £50 per night. Then suppose that they offer to double your money for ten minutes overtime moving meat. You'd find it distasteful but I think you would do it. That's all that I do love - 'handle meat'." 

I waited for my 'friend's' visit complacently having been able to convince myself that what my wife did to earn her extra money was meaningless. As soon as he was in the door he asked, "Speak to your wife then?" 

I confirmed that Fiona indulged in minimal sexual activity as part of her work and repeated part of the argument that she had used to justify it. Mathew nodded with satisfaction at having been proved correct and then destroyed my peace of mind by saying, "It she was willing to admit doing that much it means that she has certainly done a hell of a lot more. Did you ask her about blow-jobs because I bet she sucks of the ones she likes? Remember to find out if she has any regulars because she won't get regulars unless she either gives head or fucks." 

Now that I thought about it, Fiona had answered my question far too easily. Mathew had been accurate in his predictions so far and this latest surmise had certain logic to it. I watched absentmindedly as he got his cock out to be brought back to reality when he said, "While you are pondering, wrap your lips round this. With a bit of practice you are going to get a good mouth - but move your head up and down a bit this time, it makes it feel a lot nicer." 

His penis at eight inches was a good inch longer than mine and quite a bit thicker. I had been circumcised as a baby so I found some fascination in his foreskin. I got his cock in my mouth rather quickly - my mind was in new turmoil over Fiona and I hoped to find mental relief this way as I had before. It worked just as I had hoped but I was able to take better note this time of the diverse elements that made up the experience. I loved the sweet sticky pre-cum from the start, constantly sending my tongue to seek out the dribbles that oozed from his slit, but found the real cum to be more of an acquired taste. Its texture was not unlike that of sago pudding but it had an arid almost acerbic taste. Over the next few blow jobs that I gave him, I did quickly acquire a taste for the stuff, finding some similarity to getting to enjoy eating blue cheese. 

Mathew had kicked off his trousers and sat naked from the waist down while we continued to drink. Time and time again, he brought the conversion back to Fiona. Every time he did that his prick grew ominously stiffer until it was sticking up like a flagpole. He saw me looking at and said, "I am just imagining Fiona lying on her back panting with her legs in the air and some well hung stud pumping her full of his spunk. I'm afraid that I need the use of your mouth again." 

Although my jaw still ached slightly, I was not really reluctant and did what he asked. However, I had only been at work for a couple of minutes when he shouted, "Watch your fucking teeth. Stop." 

I knew that I had caught him slightly but it was little more than a graze so I sat back and looked at him in puzzlement. The next second he had caught me with a roundhouse slap to the side of my head and sent me sprawling. More shocked than hurt, I regained my knees. 

"Just because you think I am imposing on you there's no need to chew lumps out of my nob," he said angrily. "I will need to punish you for that. You can think of it as making amends rather than punishment if you want. Start by licking my cock all over, just lick but make it nice and soft and soothing." 

Very relieved that I was not to be chastised physically, I licked as ordered. But when I thought I had finished he told me to do his balls as well, saying "You can put them in your mouth but only one at a time - it's too risky until you learn to control your jaws." 

Mathew had shuffled forward until his butt overhung the edge of the settee and also spread his legs wide to give me access. Again I found that there was still more to do when he ordered me to lick the skin underneath his balls. I endeavoured to obey but the presence of his obscene anus less than an inch further down made me keep my tongue as near to his testicles as possible. The raw musk smell was overpowering. "Lower," he ordered but although I moved my head slightly, I managed to only cover the same area as before. 

"Come on Charlie, don't fuck about," he said impatiently. "You know exactly what I want you to lick - so do it. You are staying down there until you do. Go right round the outside slowly and then circle in to the middle." 

That was the start of my nightmare. The following time he made me push my tongue inside his anus and this first time became only a taster (literally) for what was to come. It did not take me long to realise that I could not escape punishment and the only thing that varied was the duration of the penance I had to pay at his backside. At the start I paid for further infringements with my teeth and when I cured that he found fault in the enthusiasm with which I had sucked his cock. Giving perfect head was no answer because he then found offence in what I said and when I remained silent, he took umbrage at my surliness. The punishment was inflicted with him in different postures like standing legs with legs apart and his hands on his knees or me lying on my back with him squatting above my face, (I was always terrified that he was going to inflict another obscenity then). In a way the worst position was how he sat the very first time because he got a hand mirror to watch me through and was able to give orders like saying 'That tongue will go in another good half inch - you can't fool me'. 

I always had to suck him off immediately I had finished licking because my tongue always made him extra hot. During the first blow job of the evening he lay back and let me do it all but after a licking he kept thrusting, effectively fucking my face. The end of his cock pushing against the back of my throat caused me to retch and after a time or two this started to annoy him. He warned, "The sooner you learn to swallow and take my cock right down your throat the better. In future, whenever you make that nasty choking noise, I am going to add five minutes to your next punishment." After one horrendous evening when he kept my tongue embedded up him for almost a full half hour, I mentally controlled the retching reflex and soon after could give 'deep throat' without any problem. 

As he left the house, the evening that I had first been subjected to punishment, Mathew asked casually if Fiona did her escort work on any other evenings. I already felt unable to lie to him so answered, "Yes, she works Saturdays as well," intending to continue with, "-and Wednesdays" but before I could complete the sentence he interrupted with, "Good - then I'll be round to see you tomorrow." There were times in the future when I was very grateful that he was unaware of her third night. 

Every time we met Mathew asked if Fiona had admitted to fucking her clients and I was able to truthfully deny that she had. He accepted this but said, "When she does confess remember to tell me because she will - nothing is more certain on this earth." 

He was proved right one Sunday. Fiona tactfully told me that she wanted to start - or rather that it was imperative for our financial well being that she took advantage of an offer made to her. Mathew had already got me well softened up to the idea, I was relieved that she wasn't doing it already and the we undoubtedly did need that thousand pounds with the likelihood of more to come - so I reluctantly agreed that she should do it. I stewed over it for the rest of the week and when Mathew arrived on the Friday, I told him immediately that Fiona was going to have full sex with a client the following day. He whistled when I mentioned her fee but made no comment and this encouraged me to pass on my wife's propaganda about condoms and 'skin not touching skin'. He laughed uproariously and when finally able to speak he said, "You poor sap - you'll believe anything that anybody tells you." 

When I just stared, failing to see the humour, he explained, "If a man is paying that much for a shag, do you honestly believe he will wear anything that is going to spoil the pleasure?" 

I had no answer and he did not push the subject at that time but the following night he couldn't leave it alone, constantly suggesting what she might be doing at any given moment. He kept projecting images of Fiona engaged in passionate unbridled sex which conflicted with my more acceptable picture of her lying passively and merely allowing her body to be used. Before he left, Mathew said, "Check her knickers. If they used a condom they'll be dry - and if they are dry I'll...I'll suck your prick for a change." 

After he had gone I sat up and waited Fiona to get home, allowing for the hour she had led me to believe this 'overtime' would take. After that I went to bed but stayed awake. She was very late and I had drifted off once or twice before I finally heard her key in the door. I heard her use the toilet in the main bathroom, tiptoe quietly into the bedroom, undress as usual at the bottom of the bed and then go into the en suite bathroom for a quick shower. When she got in bed beside me I said nothing - what could I say - 'Had a good time?', 'Did you enjoy it?'. My wife fell asleep immediately but I waited until she was breathing steadily before slipping out of bed. I searched her clothes twice by touch without success and drew a similar blank in the little bathroom. They turned up underneath two other garments in the linen basket that we keep in the main bathroom. I lifted them out gingerly praying silently to myself but without avail. Why was Mathew never wrong?" 

This knowledge ate away at me all week and when my lascivious visitor arrived on the Friday, I would have blurted my pain straight away had he not spoken first, asking, "Well," with his eyebrows quizzically raised. 

"They were wet, " I admitted but before I could go on to say more he held up his hand. 

"I'll tell you," he said. "You searched her clothes on your hands and knees but the knickers weren't there - but you kept on looking and found them..." 

"In the linen basket," I provided. 

"They were not lying right on top but you dug down and found them. They were very wet. You lifted them up to your nose and got a whiff of her aroma and something else. You turned them inside out and found it rather slimy, especially on the crotch. Then you gingerly poked out your tongue and touched the slime with just the tip. The next moment, you have got the crotch band in your mouth and you are sucking the accumulated spunk and cunt juice as fast as you can. Then, knowing you, I would imagine that you tossed yourself off and shot your cum all over her pants." With that he stopped and looked at me triumphantly.