How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Nine

As it turned out, Hubby’s fantasies took an immediate place on the backburner for two reasons.

First off, he had to move to Paris. His job started pretty much immediately.

We discussed it over dinner and agreed that I would continue working at my job and he’d work at him just while we got settled and money saved up. This was a pretty big decision – especially since I’d just revealed my infidelity to him. During the week, Hubby would stay in a hotel in Paris (on the company, thank goodness) and then come back to me via Eurostar at the weekends. It was an expensive proposition (even with our two combined salaries) but we figured that a couple of months would be enough to put us firmly in the black and let us decide what happened next.

The question of what happened next was especially valid when it came to problem number two.

For about four days, when Hubby had revealed his new job, we’d been fucking like rabbits. I’d figured it was a safe time of the month and therefore we hadn’t used any contraception. In fact – especially after revealing my dalliance with Darren – Hubby had been so turned on with his wife sharing fantasies that he’d blown his load inside me every opportunity he had. I think he was pretending that it was other men coming deep inside my pulsating pussy when he orgasmed. I’d never seen him so aggressive and domineering – and I’d never been so full of cum in my life.

Anyway. Four days and about fourteen creamy cum injections proved problematic when ‘that time of the month’ arrived. Because it didn’t.

No period.

Now this put a kybosh on all sorts of things, not least of which Hubby’s fantasies. Was I pregnant? It was the worst possible time, with Hubby about to leave the country and my career in the height of it’s upward spiral. Not to mention our marriage certainly hadn’t got back on track and I didn’t want to tell my kid in twelve years time that he or she was the product of an angry/horny daddy and a slutty/shameful mummy having dirty, irresponsible, unprotected sex in a desperate attempt to save their doomed relationship.

When I told Hubby about it, he didn’t exactly jump onto the enthusiasm bandwagon. If there is an entry for ‘Oh, Shit’ in the Encyclopedia, it had a picture of my Hubby’s face next to it. I could tell he was thinking the same things as me. Was this marriage going to work? Did he still love me? Was I just some unfaithful whore? Was this kid even his? I mean, OF COURSE it was but he didn’t know that for sure, did he?

I peed on one of the pregnancy tests and it revealed what we’d both been dreading. I had a bun in the oven.

How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Nine

So for the next few days, I lived the strangest double life you could possibly imagine.

One moment my husband would be moody and quiet and avoid talking or looking at me – the typical behavior of a jealous husband who’s just found out his wife was fooling around with another man. But then he’d get all lovey-dovey and sexual and fuck me – I mean REALLY fuck me – while talking about the dirty shit he’s going to make me do.

Getting another guy to fuck me. Making me pick up strange men. Gangbangs. Gloryholes. Orgies.

To be honest, it started to lose it’s appeal after a day and a half. I mean, I loved the passion and energy he showed while he ground his throbbing dick into me, biting my shoulder, squeezing my tits, slapping my arse and cumming in buckets deep inside my pussy… But I started to feel like a piece of meat.

It’s like he couldn’t bear to be intimate with me unless he was talking about another guy fucking me. I’d stopped being his wife – or his LittleKittySlave – and just became a whore he wanted to use and abuse. It stopped being sexy and started just getting weird.

The worst part was when he got his rocks off and came. Then he’d suddenly flip back to being moody, distant and jealous. I could tell my confession had both inflamed and disgusted him. He’d never found me more sexually attractive but he was disgusted by me as a person.

Eventually, I had enough. Recapturing a little bit of the bossy career bitch attitude I showed earlier that day at work, I sat down and said: “What are we going to do?”

“About what?”

I explained how I felt and he nodded in mute agreement.

“I can’t stand it,” he eventually admitted. “It’s like I’m going mad. Careful what you wish for and all that.” He shook his head. “I’m just so hurt and angry about what you did.”

“How are we going to get over that,” I demanded. “Can we get over it? Are we going to have to get a divorce?” I honestly thought that was what it would come to.

Eventually, Hubby said something that surprised me.

“I just want to see it. To be in control of it.” He explained. “I think I’ll be okay with it if I can see you with another guy and get it out of my system.”

“You mean you want me to…?”

“I want you to fuck another guy,” Hubby nodded, and I could already see a lump swelling in the front of his trousers. “I want to see you suck his cock and lick his balls and be the totally submissive slut… But I want to be there and be in charge. I want it to be on my terms so I can deal with it.”

I guess I could understand that. Sometimes I’m a bit masculine in my thinking (helps in the office, I can tell you) so I guess I couldn’t get the subtle difference between me sucking another man’s cock at my husband’s insistence (his ultimate fantasy) and me wrapping my lips around a dick in my own spare time (like I’d done with Darren.)

But men are fragile, insecure little creatures. They like to think they’re in charge.

In any event, just talking it through did help things. Hubby put his arm around me while we watched House that evening. He laughed and joked as we did the washing up. Things almost seemed to be returning to normal.

Were we any closer to Hubby actually making good on all his fantasies? Well, I hated to undermine my new, dominant Hubby – but I’d believe it when I saw it.

How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Eight

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How I've spent the Last Six Months Part Eight

So imagine this.

The marriage you’d just condemned has suddenly been resurrected. The wimpy, pathetic, hateful husband you’ve detested and derided for the last three months suddenly ends up landing a job that earns even more than you do. You go from having no sex for almost three months to Hubby dragging you upstairs, throwing you face down in the pillows and fucking you hard and fast and fucking BEAUTIFULLY until you scream into the cushions and Hubby deposits a pint of sticky stuff deep inside your creamy little cunt.

Now I’ve never had a second honeymoon (we hardly had a first – I got food poisoning the second day in) but that week really felt like it. I have never found my husband sexier or more dynamic. He wasn’t the useless fucking prick I’d accused him of being. He was the beautiful, muscular man with the good job and that long, thick, hard cock that seemed to be permanently hard every time I touched it.

I actually took two days off work – and I’ve NEVER taken a day off work – the stay in bed with Hubby.

We took the collar out and I he was deliciously dominant for an entire day. He kept me naked from morning until night. He tied my hands behind my back and pounded my pussy until I screamed. He took a cheap plastic fly swatter and went right to town on my big, round ass – and I loved it.

In fact as much as that fly swatter stung – and MAN did it sting – that was the best part of it all.

Hubby must have been taking three months anger and frustration out on my arse. I was accepting it for all the things I’d done my Hubby had no idea about.

Lying face down on the bed, tears streaming down my cheeks, I gritted my teeth and took the blows.

WHAP! Whap! WHAP! Oh, Christ, I thought I’d die.

“You’re a dirty little slut,” he’d bark.

“I’m a dirty little slut, Master,” I sobbed – and I really was.

As the next three stinging blows set my arse aflame, I remembered the taste of salty cum and cocoa butter all mixed up on Darren’s pale, torpedo penis.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! Oh, it was glorious. Being punished for my sins!

“You’re a bossy little bitch!” Hubby roared. “You need to be taught obedience.”

Oh, God, I did. I just wanted to melt into a little puddle. I just wanted to disconnect my angry, confused, busy brain and drift in dreamless, delicious obedience.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

And then it stopped.

This was my favourite bit. When Hubby lovingly rubbed and caressesed my stinging bottom. When he breathed hotly into my ear.

“You’ll be a good girl, won’t you,” he murmured. “You’ll do exactly what I tell you too.”

“Yes, Master,” the endorphins were racing around my body. I was drunk with them. “I’ll do anything you say.”

“You’ll suck my cock. You’ll offer up your pussy and your arse.”

“Mmmmmm,” I purred in affirmation, biting my lip.

“You’ll do whatever I tell you. To whoever I tell you.”

My pussy was tingling.

“Please, touch me,” I begged.

“Tell me what I want to hear…”

I had no idea what he wanted to hear, but I made a pretty good guess.

“I want to suck your cock,” I groaned. “I want to lick your arse. I want you to fuck me and frig me and use me.”

His thick fingers reached between my thighs. The wet, fleshy folds of my pussy parted for him.

“Oh GOD,” I groaned, nearing the delicious surrender of orgasm.

“I’m going to have you fucked from here to Friday,” Hubby breathed hotly in my ear. “I’m going to screw you until you can’t stand. And then I’m going to let them have you.”

Who’s them, I wondered. As if reading my mind, Hubby purred:

“I’m going to find out just how submissive you can be, my little kitten,” oh, he was going to make me EXPLODE. “I’m going to put you to work on as many cunts and cocks as I can find.”

“You’ll… get… jealous….” I groaned, flashing back to Darren’s dick throbbing and spitting and spurting in my mouth.

“No,” Hubby hissed. “Whoever. Whatever. Whereever.”

His fingers worked their magic. I exploded in a glorious, technicolour orgasm.

I lay there, shuddering and shivering. Hands still tied behind my back, I couldn’t stop Hubby prising open my thighs and sliding his enormous erection straight into the gooey, moist heart of me. His hips banging against my enflamed bum was intense, but I was too exahausted to do anything. I just lay there and took it.

“I can’t wait to watch another man do this,” Hubby grinned, grinding away at me. “I can’t wait to watch you get fucked and suck a big, fat cock at the same time.” As if to demonstrate, he offered his fingers and I obediently, unthinkingly sucked them into my mouth.

Sweet, sweaty surrender. Just to fuck and suck and cum instead of thinking. Just the thought of lying there and satisfying somebody. Anybody.

“I sucked somebody…” I groaned.

Hubby’s pounding slowed.

“W-what..?”

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly.

“While we were fighting,” I explained. “When I went up to Birmingham.”

I swear to God his cock swelled.

“Who was it?” He started pounding me again now, really roughly. “Who the fuck was it?”

“You don’t know him,” I groaned, feeling his penis slid deeply inside of me, massaging my g-spot from an exquisite angle. “He’s just some kid.”

“Did you fuck him?”

“Y…yes…” I groaned. “In the ass….”

Ow! Hubby had just grabbed a fistful of hair and wrenched by head back.

“He fucked you in the arse?”

“No!” I cried. He was hurting me. “I fucked HIM. In HIS arse. With the rabbit. And I sucked him at the same time and…” oh, that had crept up on me, “and…” I let out a low moan… “And I’m cumming!”

Hubby let go of my hair. I flopped down into the covers.

Slap! Slap! Slap! His hips hammered against my arse.

“Did he come in your mouth?” Hubby demanded.

“Yes,” I groaned woozily. “A lot.”

“You fucking slut,” His hand was on the back of my neck, crushing me to the bed. “You fucking little slut. I can’t believe you sucked another guy’s cock…”

And then the delicious moment came.

“…without me being there to see it.”

He dug himself so deeply into me it hurt. The thick, meat missile buried inside of me throbbed. I felt him unloading himself inside my greedy pussy, deeper and harder and more intensely than I’d ever felt him cum before. Even as I confessed my betrayal, I felt more connected and closer to him than ever before in my life.

How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Seven

So life as it was returned to normal.

And pretty depressing that normal was.

Work was going well. I was kicking arse in the regional sales charts and my aggressive focus on work meant I’d hit some sales targets (and got the resultant commissions) which pretty much made up for the income Hubby had flushed down the toilet when he’d lost his job.

But although work was going okay, life at home was pretty shitty.

Hubby was still disappearing off three evenings a week and every Saturday. I had been planning to confront him about it, but after the business with Darren I just wanted to lay low and let things cool down. I even tried to sleep with Hubby one time, but it didn’t work out when I insisted he wear a condom.

“A condom? I’m your husband!”

I tried to explain that I was worried about getting pregnant (I’m still not on any form of birth control) but the truth was, I was terrified of catching some disease he’d picked up from fucking that prostitute of his. In any event, sex didn’t happen and the gap between Hubby and I got even bigger.

It had been about three months since Hubby lost his job and I was just getting my confidence back, ready to confront him, when Hubby called me at work.

“We need to talk.”

My stomach plummeted.

This was it, I figured. Hubby was going to admit his failure and tell me he was leaving me to go and live with his hooker girlfriend. Not only had been cheating on me – now he wasn’t even going to give me the satisfaction of dumping him.

But that evening, when I got home, I found him bent over a bubbling stove and a bottle of my favourite chardonnay open on the dining room table.

“Listen, I know things have been fucking awful,” he told me, holding my hand and pouring me a glass of wine. “But I’m ready for them to change. But first there’s something I need to tell you.”

Oh for fuck’s sake! My eyes were welling up with tears. Here was this arsehole husband of mine, cheating on me with a fucking junkie prostitute and I was CRYING?

“I k-know…” I sniffled, trying to look angry and defiant instead of sniffly and pathetic. “I’ve known for a while.”

He let go of my hand.

“You do?”

I nodded. Big, fat tears rolled down my cheek.

“Oh…” He looked downcast. “What do you think?”

“Think?” Thank God, the anger was coming back. “What the fuck do you think I think?”

“Hey, it’s not that bad,” Hubby raised his arms.

“That that bad?” I sobbed. “You’re off every Saturday fucking that… that… diseased SLUT.”

“What.”

Hubby looked at me like I’d just turned into a lemon.

“I know all about your WHORE!” I sobbed. “I know all about the hundred quid you take out every Friday. I know how you…”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hubby balked. “WHAT?”

“The whore…”

“What whore?”

“Every Wednesday and Saturday. You go and spend it with HER.”

Hubby’s eyes bulged.

“What the hell are you talking about? I’ve been taking French lessons.”

What?

“I signed up three months ago,” Hubby explained. “I heard there were really good jobs going with some of the Paris firms, so I started learning the language.”

“B-bullshit,” I sniffled.

“No, it’s true,” He reached over the table and handed me an envelope. Inside was a smart looking diploma from the college in Basingstoke.

“W-what?”

“Every Wednesday and Saturday,” Hubby explained. “It’s intensive. I got an A.”

“But the hundred quid?”

“That’s how I paid for it,” Hubby explained.

“B-but why didn’t you,” sniff, sniff, “tell me?”

“Because you were furious with me,” Hubby explained. “I wasn’t earning any money and I knew you’d get pissed off if I went back to college instead of finding a job. So I started teaching those classes to pay for it.”

My mind was reeling. I mean, not only had Hubby NOT been cheating on me… But he’d got up off his arse and done something I’d never imagined him capable off.

Oh! And what a cold hearted slut I felt! I’d CHEATED on him!

“But Darling,” Hubby continued. “There’s more. I got a job.” He handed me another envelope, this time with the logo of a famous French computer company.

“It’s all in French,” I sobbed.

“I know, I know. But look at that.”

There was an amount in the letter written in Euros. Now I know euros are worth less than pounds, but this still seemed like an awfully large amount.

“That’s what you’ll be earning?” I sniffed. “Really?”

Hubby nodded.

“But there’s just one thing,” he said solemnly. “The job’s based in France.”

How I've Spent the last Six Months Part Six

After that, it took precisely fifteen seconds to eject Darren from my hotel room.

Here’s the conversation we had.

“Out!”

“But…”

“Out!”

“But…”

Bundled clothes were jammed into his hands. Cute little white body was pushed forcibly towards the door.

“Oh, and Darren? If you tell ANYBODY about this…”

I didn’t need to finish that sentence. I hit ‘play’ on my mobile phone and we both listened to Darren’s girlish cries of: “YES! Yes! I want Matt to fuck me! I want to suck him! I want to swallow his spunk!”

Darren was blushing. And I mean EVERY INCH of him was blushing. He went from ‘pale and interesting’ to beetroot red in about half a second.

The door slammed shut.


The drive home the following day was conducted in absolute silence.

Darren didn’t say a word. He sat there like a prim little schoolgirl all the way home from Birmingham. I imagine part of it was embarrassment. The rest was probably an extremely sore arse.

And me?

I was feeling rotten.

I mean, not only had I just cheated on my husband (although I was under the impression he was cheating on me at the same time) I’d also just ‘outed’ and defiled the youngest member of my sales team. There I was, meant to be ‘Little Kitty Slave’ the submissive lady-slut and in the end I wind up being the complete opposite.

So I drove home with conflicting feelings of shame, arousal, guilt and disgust. And I’d thrown away my beloved little rabbit. Even though I’d scrubbed it and cleaned it and washed it a dozen times, it would never quite feel the same now that it had done it’s business up a boy’s bum.

How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Five

Except after a few minutes of blissful relaxation, I heard hard, ragged breathing and remembered that Darren was still in the room.

I opened my eyes and saw him standing there, erection bobbing hopefully in front of him as he stood there, all naked and desperate. And you could see he was desperate. With my pussy juices still glistening on his chin, his puppy dog eyes were pleading at me for ‘his turn.’

And that’s what I hate about ‘being in charge,’ really.

Whether it was Hubby I was ordering about or this little weasel, being the dominant one in a sexual relationship is always a drag. I’ve had mine, so now the submissive one expects ‘theirs.’ At least as a delicious submissive, you can just lie there and take it, or give it, or lick it or suck it or fuck it and know that the dominant one is going to take care of his needs all by his bloody self – even if that does mean you get the business end of it in one hole or the other.

But no. not when you’re in charge. Darren’s cock was literally throbbing with need and he was looking at me pleadingly. “Please make me cum.”

I was sorely tempted to send him off to bed with an excruciating case of blue balls.

But that wasn’t exactly fair – or sensible.

As the endorphins filtered through my bloodstream, I was beginning to realize that grinding my greedy gash in Darren’s face was probably not a very smart decision. How many milliseconds would it be before that little tidbit of gossip was going around the office? And worse, how long before it got exaggerated?

I knew what immature boys were like. It was the same at school, when I’d let Tom Browers finger me in the back of his Ford Escort. He’d got nothing more than a pair of fishy fingers, but when it came to recounting the story to his friends, I’d apparently tongued his balls and taken it up the arse like a dirty little slut. My reputation was ruined (or possibly made) overnight by one boy’s wagging tongue.

So when it came to Darren’s wagging tongue (and boy, could that kid wag his tongue) I was going to make sure he kept his mouth shut.

“On the bed,” I ordered, standing up on very unsteady legs.

Oh, Darren thought he was going to get his alright. Up he popped, onto the bed, sprawling like a porn star. His throbbing dick pointed clear up to the ceiling and was glistening with pre-cum. He was smiling, the cocky little fuck.

“Hand and knees,” I ordered.

This confused him.

As Darren clambered onto his hands and knees, I shrugged out of my jacket and unzipped my crumpled skirt. A moment later I was standing there in my blouse and bra, which was hanging open after I’d groped and squeezed my breasts mid cunnilingus.

Darren was on his hands and knees, facing me. Idiot.

“Turn around.”

Looking even more confused, Darren turned around until he was facing the head of the bed. His pale, white bum was sticking up in the air at me.

And a very nice little bum it was. He was obviously a stickler for hygine, that Darren. His bottom looked as clean and white as two boiled eggs. Between his legs his tight balls hung. His asshole was a little pink starfish. If I’d have had that strap-on hubby had bought me, I’d have been buckling it on right that second.

But I didn’t.

So I knelt down on the carpet and shuffled between Darren’s legs, until I was staring eye-level with his taut, tight buttocks.

Darren shivered. He must have felt my hot breath on his arse.

With one hand, I reached between his thighs and cupped his balls. They were deliciously warm and heavy, like two eggs in a handkerchief. Then I reached a little further until my fingers curled around the shaft of his erection.

Darren groaned. I started to gently stroke his cock, pulling the tight foreskin back and forth over the swollen purple head of his dick.

Now I’m a multi-tasker. Should have told you that earlier. Because while I was wanking Darren off with my left hand, I was scrabbling blindly in my suitcase with the other.

“Uuuurrh,” Darren groaned luxuriously. “What are you doing?”

Oh, you’ll find out, you little fuck, I thought.

Still slowly, teasingly wanking him, I leant forward and slowly licked his balls. Darren shuddered in delight – I honestly thought he’d shoot off right in my hand and it was far too early for that. If the entire team finding out about him eating me out wasn’t bad enough, I’d dread for them to think he’d shot his muck with me licking his balls.

So I slowed my wanking motion. I licked upwards, up the folds of his ball-sack and between the tight, white globes of his bum.

“Oh God,” Darren groaned. “Your licking my arse. You’re such a fucking dirty slut.”

I squeezed my left hand. Hard.

Darren squealed like a castrated pig – which is what he was seconds from becoming.

“Don’t you ever fucking speak to me like that,” I ordered – suddenly the angry, scary boss again. Darren’s erection rapidly wilted in my hand.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

Satisfied that the little fuck would give me some respect now, I continued slowly wanking him off. My tongue encircled his arsehole, slurping and licking. He tasted of soap and talcum powder.

Now if anything, my little ‘love squeeze’ had taken the edge off Darren’s orgasm, so at least I felt that he wasn’t going to go spurting off into my hand any second. As I coaxed his cock back to a magnificent erection, I continued fumbling in my suitcase until I found what I wanted.

My fingers encircled another thick, long shaft. This one was cold and rubbery.

I pulled out my rabbit vibrator.

Darren, of course, was oblivious to all this. He was just gargling with pleasure while his bum got tongued and he got a delicious handjob (and my handjobs are famously delicious.)

Squish, squish, squish, went my tongue around his bumhole. Slurp, slurp, slurp went the drooling ropes of saliva I was slathering his arse with.

The rabbit vibrator went on the floor in front of me. My hand disappeared into the suitcase again and came out clutching a tube of… what was it? I glanced down and saw that it was toothpaste. I threw that back in the bag and recovered the cocoa butter I’d been looking for.

I let go of Darren’s throbbing member for just a second while I squirted a big gloop of chocolate smelling butter into my hand. He groaned as I released him, but groaned twice as hard (and again, nearly shot off in my hand) as I wrapped my fingers back around his cock and started wanking him off anew. The cocoa butter made everything slick and slimy and Darren literally shuddered in pleasure.

I’d also squirted another dollop of cocoa butter into my right hand and used it to slather up my trusty little rabbit. The long, rubbery shaft was soon glistening with moisturizer.

“Oh, God,” Darren was groaning a little harder now. I noticed he was bucking his hips, too. Fucking my hand instead of letting me wank him.

I pulled my mouth away from his arse and gave him a wet, buttery slap across the buttocks.

“Stop that!” His hips ceased.

“Oh God, please,” Darren begged. “I’m SO close to cumming.”

“Oh really?” I extended my middle finger and poked his tight little arsehole. “Are you now?”

With all the saliva and cocoa butter smeared around, Darren’s tight little bunghole couldn’t resist my middle finger. He squeaked as I pushed my finger forward, clenching his buttocks uselessly. But ‘pop’ went one knuckle through his sphincter and then ‘pop’ went the second.

I was still wanking him off, of course. But now he had my finger lodged deep in his bum.

“You know what I figured?” I warned Darren, slowly sliding my finger in and out of his tight little arse. “As soon as you hopped up onto that bed and stuck your bum in the air, I figured you wanted to get fucked.”

“Owww!” Darren cried unconvincingly. “Ow! Get it out! Please! It’s too intense.”

Well, he SAID he wanted my finger out of his bum. But his hips were really bucking now. He’d thrust forward to ‘fuck’ the warm, slick embrace of my fist around his dick and then he’d thrust back to get ‘fucked’ by my finger. I extended a second finger mid-thrust and whoops! Up his bum it effortlessly slid.

“Nnnnngh!” Darren was biting his bottom lip now.

“Yes,” I continued, realizing I’d forgotton to keep speaking amidst all the distraction. “I know I’m always joking about you being a little gay boy, but there’s much truth spoken in yest,” or however the fuck that expression goes.

“Nnnngh,” said Darren. His cock throbbed. He was right on the brink.

I let go of his cock before I made him cum, still pumping two fingers relentlessly in and out of his arse. With my free hand, I grabbed Darren’s elbow and yanked. He flumped forward like a toppled tree, going from ‘on all fours’ to his face in the duvet and his bum stuck up high in the air.

“So tell me, Darren,” I grinned, squirting another great dollop of cocoa butter onto his bum and using the slickness to cram another finger into his tight little arse. “You’re a closet pillowbiter really, aren’t you?”

“No!” Darren was fighting feebly – but it’s a pretty feeble fight you can put up when you have the best part of somebody’s fist crammed up your bottom. “I’m not!”

I wrapped my fingers around his cock again. The shock of the extra fingers and the manhandling had eased him back from the trigger by a few minutes, at least. So as I slowly yanked his plank, I pulled by fingers from his bum with a gooey slurp.

That’s the trick to anal sex, I’d learnt. Get ‘em good and loose first. My three fingers had opened up Darren’s bum more than enough to welcome the big, rubbery head of my rabbit vibrator.

“OH MY GOD!” Darren literally jumped across the bed when he felt the cold, unyielding rubber pressed against his bum. But he couldn’t jump very far, not with my hands around his cock.

A little roughly, I forced the slick, rubber rabbit into Darren’s backside – all the way until the rabbit’s little gel ears were pressed up against his ballsack. And then I switched it on.

Now if you’re not familiar with a rabbit vibrator, let me very briefly explain how they work. The thick rubber shaft rotates like a crank shaft while the little rubber ‘rabbit’ vibrates wildly, with two little rubber ‘feelers’ shimmying across a girl’s clitoris (or in this case, Darren’s balls.)

It’s a pretty intense experience. I can orgasm with my rabbit in about a minute and a half if I’m a good frame of mood. Although I get it in the pussy, not the arse.

So poor Darren? Well, I was still wanking him off, but now he had five inches of thick rubber stirring around inside his bum like a concrete mixer – and the little rabbit ears were making his balls jiggle wildly. He was tossing his head back and forth, groaning and moaning and crying.

I stopped wanking him for a second to grab my camera phone. With one hand I had to grasp the end of the rabbit – his clenching anus kept threatening to squeeze it out of his butt and send the toy shooting across the room. With the other, I aimed the phone and started recording a delightful little movie.

“Tell me you like it up the arse, Darren.”

“Nnnnngh.”

“Tell me!”

“NNnnnngh!”

I put the phone down on the bed. You couldn’t see the impressive sight of the rabbit lodged in his arse, but you got a wonderful skewed view of Darren’s straining face, sweaty torso and throbbing erection. And I was recording all that lovely sound.

“Tell me, Darren,” I tickled his balls with my free hand. “Tell me you love it up the bum!”

“Ooooh.”

“I’ll let you cum.” My fingers teasingly encircled his cock shaft.

“Ooooh… Please….”

“Tell me you love it up the bum. Tell me you’d like to get fucked.” I started stroking him gently.

“Oh yes,” Darren begged. “I do! I want to get fucked! I want it up the bum!”

I was stroking him faster now, leading him to the relentless path of orgasm.

“Tell me you want to have your bum-chum Matt fuck you,” I demanded. “Tell me. SAY IT!”

“Oh please make me cum. PLEASE!”

“Say it!” I barked.

“YES!” Darren pleaded. “I want Matt to fuck me! I want to suck him! I want to swallow his spunk!”

I blinked. He’d been adlibbing there! Perhaps this repressed gay theory wasn’t so outlandish after all!

“Please!” He begged.

Well, a deal was a deal. I let go of his straining cock (“oh no,” he groaned) and grabbed my phone, switching off the recording. Then, leaning forward, I opened open my mouth and wrapped my lips around that beautiful, pale torpedo of a cock.

“Uuuugggh!” Oh, I know I’m good, but even I can’t take credit for this one. I didn’t even flick my tongue or bob my head. “Oh my GOD!”

At the mere touch of my wet lips, Darren exploded. Like a firehouse, my mouth was flooded with salty cum. It came spurting out so powerfully one jet shot right down the back of my throat and nearly made me gag. I yanked my head away, coughing and gagging - and got an eyeful of cum for my trouble.

Darren was groaning. I was hacking and spluttering and ‘pop’ went the rabbit, shooting out of his clenching bum and landing on the carpet in a sticky mess. The shaft continued to swirl and swivel, making the rabbit look like a freshly caught fish flailing on the dockside.

How I've Spent the Last six Months Part Four

As I drove up to that sales conference, Darren sitting silently in my passenger seat, I’d never been more furious in my life.

My husband! The fucking rat! Screwing some WHORE, no less. Was he using a condom? I guess it didn’t matter. He and I hadn’t so much as kissed in weeks so I didn't need to worry about his skanky slut giving ME an infection through him. But I was determined that as soon as I returned I was going to kick that fucker out of my life for good.

Now the sales conference was a nightmare.

It was long and it was hot and the conference hall didn’t even have air conditioning. Darren was like a little kid, far too scared to talk to me about anything. Not that I could concentrate! While some stupid ‘sales guru’ they’d flown in from America was up on stage talking about ‘closing’ and fear of loss,’ I was imagining what my Hubby’s prostitute looked like.

Was she younger than me? Was she prettier than me? I mean, I’m a good looking woman and I couldn’t imagine anybody really pretty would become a prostitute. But maybe she was desperate. Maybe she was on drugs or something. Shit! Maybe my husband was having sex with a junkie every weekend!

My day got even worse when it came to my presentation. Fucking stupid little Darren had one thing to remember – one fucking thing – and he forgot to bring it. I didn’t have the CD with my sales presentation on. So I had to stand in front of a room of a hundred of my peers and rattle off some crappy presentation from memory, with no charts or figures or graphs to guide me. I must have looked like a total idiot. The tepid applause when I’d finished pretty much confirmed that my speech had failed to impress.

By the time the conference wound up for the evening, I went to the hotel bar and ordered a bottle of chardonnay and started working hard to finish it.

I’d done quite well – probably about three quarters of the way down – when Darren slunk up to me like a naughty puppy. Fucking expense account bullshit meant we had to have dinner together, so there I was, pissed off and half drunk and sitting in a cheap hotel’s restaurant struggling with overpriced and undercooked chicken.

Now I have two small problems when I’m angry. I get bossy and bitchy and I get extremely horny. The alcohol wasn’t exactly helping, either. So I ate my dinner and glowered at Darren and I started thinking really dodgy things.

You see, my opinion of Darren had somewhat changed that day. When I’d first met him, I’d thought he was a cocky, arrogant little prick and cut him down to size. But now, since I’d already terrified him into submission, he’d basically become as docile and pathetic as a puppy. Add to that the fact he’d fucked up my presentation and the little dick was so eager to please it was embarrassing me. He sat down opposite me, nursing a pint of lager and trying to use a knife and fork to eat his hamburger.

I finished off my bottle of wine and moved onto my second and started giving Darren an entirely new appraisal.

He was a kid. A little, nervous, uncertain kid. All that macho blustering bullshit he and Matt had tried when they first arrived was just textbook overcompensation. Darren knew that he was a pretty worthless junior sales exec and not very high on the totem pole. He was looking across the table at me with a mixture of awe and terror.

And I didn’t mind that one little bit. I mean, Darren was actually a good looking kid. He was still slim and fairly muscular. Give him a few years and a few more pints of lager and he’d be chubby and sloppy like most of the sales dickheads at my company, but at the moment he was nice looking. And the smooth chin (I hate stubble) and baby soft skin was attractive. Darren looked clean and neat and malleable and I suddenly started thinking that he might be able to make up for his earlier fuck-up with some other service.

I decided it when he started apologizing for the six millionth time about forgetting the presentation CD.

“If you really want to make it up to me,” I hissed, buoyed by alcohol and horniness, “go upstairs.”

I handed him the key to my room.

“W-what?”

“Go upstairs,” I swigged down half a mouthful of chardonnay. “And I want you naked by the time I get there.”

Now I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. I was drunk, of course. I was also horny and pissed off. My fucking husband was probably in Basingstoke right as we spoke, balls deep in some junkie prostitute. So what I was about to do wasn’t any worse, was it? I mean, at least I wasn’t wasting our money. And at least Darren was clean. I mean, he looked clean. Now I’d got the better of him, I had even started to suspect he was a virgin – or at least pretty inexperienced. And it’s not like I was going to fuck him.

“W-what?” Darren stammered.

“Upstairs,” I ordered. “Now.”

He scurried off like a good little boy.

Which gave me a few leisurely minutes to drain the last of my wine and pay the bill.

As I strode to the lift on my high heels, I was feeling pretty damn good. Warm and buzzying from the wine. My pussy was tingling. I couldn’t believe I was about to do this, but I also couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of doing something like this earlier.

As the lift headed upstairs, I checked out my reflection in the mirror. My hair was in a tight bun, but drunkenness had let a couple of wifts of hair fall down around my face. My suit and skirt were sharp and official looking, but my big boobs and round bottom filled them out nicely. I looked hot, actually.

And that’s what all this was about, I guess. I wanted to feel hot. I wanted to feel like a gorgeous, sexy, desirable woman. My limp little Hubby, wanking away to his internet porn or possibly fucking some diseased prositite, hadn’t made me feel like that for weeks.

I was swaying a bit as I made my way down the corridor, but stood up straight as I pushed open the door to my bedroom.

It was dark. Darren had switched off the overhead light and just kept the bedside ones on. His clothes were in a messy pile on the floor. Darren himself was under the covers in the bed, duvet pulled up to his chin. He looked so meek and helpless, I felt almost motherly.

Although I didn’t sound it.

“Get the fuck out of my bed!” I yelled. “That’s not for you!”

Like a SHOT he was out from under the covers.

And that’s when I saw him naked for the first time. And it wasn’t an unpleasant sight.

Darren was very slim, with pale skin and that slightly lanky build of men in their early twenties who haven’t quite grown out of being teenagers yet. He had a tight little white bottom and a hairless chest. There was some gay looking tribal tattoo on his arm. That, along with his hairless chest and earring and highlighted hair, made him look very gay indeed.

Hanging between Darren’s legs was a fairly nice looking dick. It wasn’t hard – I’d probably got him too scared for that. But it was nice. He looked clean. There’s nothing worse than a young man who’s all stinky and sweaty and greasy when you get him out of his clothes.

I felt delicious. Here I was, with a pretty naked boy in my hotel room. Oh, Hubby, I thought to myself. If only you could see me know. There you go, boasting about wanting other men to fuck me. You fantasy was a hair’s breadth from coming true and you were too blind to see it.

Except, of course, I wasn’t going to fuck Darren. At least, not tonight.

Now if Darren had been nervous before, he was terrified now. There he was, naked as a jay, and I was just staring at him. The poor boy shivered and cupped his privates in his hands.

“You!” I eventually demanded, wondering exactly what it was I was going to do with this pretty plaything now I’d actually got it. “Still want to make it up to me?”

“Y-yes.”

Swaying slightly (either horniness or the wine) I grasped the hem of my skirt and started to wiggle it up over my hips.

Once the pinstripe was bundled up over my waist, I hooked by thumbs into my tights and started to pull them down. I had to kick off my high heels to do it, which spoilt the fantasy a bit, but a moment later I was standing there bare-legged with my pretty little French knickers stretched over my big, round bottom.

“On all fours,” I ordered. And Darren, bless him, hopped down onto his knees and shuffled forward.

I half sat, half fell into the chair in the corner and shuffled my bottom to the edge of the seat. Skirt up around my waist, thighs spread wide, Darren was crawling towards a perfectly unhindered view of my pantie-clad crotch.

Now if I’d known I was going to have some twenty-two year old boy snuffling around my pussy, I’d probably have got her waxed or shaved. As it was, Darren just had to put up with a couple of thick, brown hairs peeking around the corners of my knickers. Not that he seemed to mind.

In fact, as he crawled closer, I could see his cock swelling up quite impressively. Like a long, pale torpedo, it swung back and forth between his legs. I licked my lips.

Darren was on his knees in front of me now, breathing in the musky scent of my cunt. My clit was throbbing, even without being touched. The feel of his hot breath on my thighs was delicious.

“You know what to do,” I ordered, even though I wasn’t entirely sure he did.

His lips started kissing my thighs. His nose was snuffling against my pussy through the soft cotton of my panties. I half closed my eyes and drunkenly surrendered to the sensations.

Darren was clearly inexperienced, but he made up for it in enthusiasm. After slathering my thighs with spit and kisses, he started tugging down my knickers and I lifted my bum off the chair to help him remove them. Then his nose, lips and tongue went right to the ‘hot spot’ and he was literally devouring my pussy.

To be honest, I prefer to be teased a bit first. I almost jumped off my chair when Darren rammed an inch of tongue down my cunt without so much as a by-your-leave. But his enthusiasm was sexy. And the wetness, too! I get pretty wet normally, but Darren was slathering and slobbering down there and it sounded deliciously wet.

To further support my inexperience theory, Darren seemed to be licking, sucking or kissing every single inch of my pussy except my clit. For the briefest of moments, I felt a little disappointed. But then I realized that I was in charge of this situation and, besides, Darren would thank me if I taught him this. So I grabbed his ears and manhandled his head until his tongue was hitting the right spot.

And then?

I just threw my head back, spread my legs wider and enjoyed it.

It was the enthusiasm and energy that was so delicious. It was been over a month since I’d last been eaten out and by that stage in our relationship, Hubby was more or less just going through the motions. Lick, lick, lick. Suck here. Kiss there. Concentrate on the clit for one, two, three minutes until POW! I came in his mouth like an obedient little cunt.

But Darren didn’t know what the fuck he was doing and it made it deliciously unpredictable. My arousal would build and build and then plateau as Darren’s tongue found some other, less satisfying avenue to explore. Then he’d return to the sweet spot and up, up, up my arousal would go.

I was SO wet down there, I must have been making a wet spot on the upholstery. I didn’t mind, though. That’s what hotels are for. Besides, all those secretions and saliva made it deliciously easy for Darren to slid two fingers into my pussy and start pumping.

It was unsatisfactory – I prefer the fingers to stay fucking still, to make me feel full and tickle my g-spot. But the sensation was different.

I gasped and groaned. I popped the buttons of my blouse, squeezing my big breasts. And then, after painful seconds teetering on the brink of it, I came.

My orgasm was shattering. I squeezed Darren’s head between my thighs and didn’t let him breath again until my whole body had stopped bucking and shaking. Then, panting for breath, I kicked him away and felt the cold air conditioning on my wet thighs.

It felt blissful. I had two or three après-orgasm shudders and then just tingled in pleasure. Warm and relaxed and sleepy I wanted nothing more right then than to crawl into bed and go blissfully to sleep.

How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Three

The main point is that I was going into work earlier and earlier and staying later and later. I’d come back home and say maybe five things to hubby before heading off upstairs for a bath and bed. The one thing I was always grateful to Hubby for was that cherry red Rabbit vibrator. While he was wanking off to computer porn, I lay in bed and used to give myself a pretty awesome orgasm every evening. Man, those Japanese really know something about vibrators.

Life went on like this for week after week and soon I just got plain pissed off with Hubby being around. I mean, it was like having a houseguest who just never fucking left. We hardly talked, no longer fucked and aside from hoovering the carpet and microwaving dinner, he brought nothing to the relationship apart from hair in the plughole.

I swear to God, I came this close to kicking him out of the house. Then things changed.

Hubby started teaching a computer course two nights a week. So Tuesdays and Thursdays, I’d come home and spend a blissful evening on my own. Bottle of chardonnay and CSI and I was a happy little camper. By the time Hubby came back, I’d had a bath and gone to bed and it no longer felt like two strangers living in each other’s pockets.

Then he started leaving on Wednesday evenings and most of Saturday as well. So we hardly saw each other, which was fine as far as I was concerned. In fact, I was thinking more and more seriously about getting rid of him. With Hubby’s income gone we weren’t exactly living like Lords and he’d still failed to get another job. He told me he wasn’t even getting paid for these computer classes and just taught them to get out of the house. (sometimes I just wished he’d fucking stay out of the house.)

That eased the tension – at least for a bit.

Then three things happened.

First off, I got sent up to Birmingham for a sales conference and I had to take fucking Darren with me. Now he and Matt had kind of settled into things at work, but my bitchy behavior had ensured that we were never destined to be friends. Two hours stuck in my Vauxhall Vectra with him – PLUS a night in some Marriott hotel – was a guaranteed downer.

Then, the day I left, I picked up the post and found a couple of curious letters.

The first was from the local college, where Hubby had been teaching those computer classes. It showed that they were only running on Tuesday and Thursday night, like he’d originally told me. So where the fuck was he going every Wednesday night and for most of Saturday? What was worse was that the letter contained a receipt. He WAS getting fucking paid for teaching these classes! Over a hundred quid a week!

The second letter, our bank statement, answered what was happening to the money.

Every Friday, he’d get a hundred quid deposited in the bank. The following Saturday, he’d take it all out from some cash point in Basingstoke .

Basingstoke? What the bloody hell was he doing there?

I’d pretty much guessed by this point. Dear old darling Hubby hadn’t had his rocks off with me for over a month by this point, so I should have guessed it was only a matter of time before he started looking elsewhere. By this point, my handsome, muscular Hubby was pretty much neutered in my eyes and I couldn’t imagine any woman voluntarily fucking him. Seemed logical, in that case, that the hundred quid he got paid every week would go to some prostitute up in Basingstoke .

Now I’m not sure if this theory sounds crazy to you or not, but this is what I honestly imagined was going on. It leapt into my brain and stayed there. I had no other evidence beyond a bank statement, but I was utterly convinced that Hubby was off fucking some cheap (I don’t know. Is a hundred quid cheap?) prostitute twice a week when he’d barely come near me now.

How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Two

It got even better when the new season’s team arrived and I really went to town on them.

There were two young lads I especially liked playing with. Darren and Matt, they were called. Cocky little salesman types with highlighted hair and cheap suits from Burtons . As soon as they began, I knew that I was going to have fun with them.

Now if you’ve ever worked in a sales environment, you’ve met boys like these. They’re in their early twenties and they think they’re the hottest shit on the scene. Tons of aftershave. Fancy cufflinks. Souped up little hatchbacks (Darren had a Renault Clio Sport and Matt drove a Hyundai Coupe.) They swaggered into my office like they were rockstars or something.

It took me precisely one week to break them.

I’ve already told you how I’m a bitch, so I don’t need to keep repeating myself. But to these boys? I was a super bitch.

In all honesty, though, they had it coming. Within half a day of having me as their new boss, Darren responded to one of my questions with a nonchalant: “Yes, Love.” Now I’m a lot of things, son, but I’m not your fucking ‘love.’ I didn’t work my arse off for six years to get this management position for the cocky little new kid to call me ‘Love’ on his first day. And Matt was his little bum-chum as far as I was concerned. Flirting with my other sales girls (who are young and giggly, the little cows) and whispering and sniggering with Darren whenever those two were together.

As the Americans would say: It’s on.

First thing was first. Darren and Matt stopped being referred to independently. In my Monday morning sales meetings, they were the ‘Petshop Boys.’ With their fucking gormless expressions and highlighted hair, they even looked a bit like Chris Lowe and Neil Tennant. That took the hot air out of their sails, I can tell you.

From then on, it was easy. I needed them to head into town for a presentation? “Oi! Petshop boys!” I’d tell across the office. “Quit sixty-nineing and get over here.” If they were late for a meeting (as they invariably were, taking a million and one fag breaks) I’d kick open the fire exit and bark: “Hey! Rent boys! Quit trawling for business and get in here!”

All COMPLETELY politically incorrect, as you can imagine. I didn’t really mind, though. Stuart’s this gay bloke I’ve got on my team and he didn’t take any offence to any of it. In fact, he once admitted to me: “Those lads are everything that’s worst about gay culture, except neither of them take it up the arse!”

God, we laughed.

Anyway. In less than a week, I’d put those boys firmly in their place. By teaming them up exclusively together, I made sure they never made allies of the rest of my team and with the constant gay remarks, I soon had the rest of my flirty sales girls howling in laughter at them rather than canoodling. They settled in alright in the end, but I cut them down to size before I let them get their feet under the desk.

Now you might wonder what the hell that has to do with anything, but I’ll explain in a bit.

How I've spent the last six months.... Part One

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Back from Hiatus...

I'm back!

Well, it’s been six months.

I haven’t written in this blog for six whole months. I can hardly believe it. You stop writing for a weekend or something and the next thing you know, half a year’s gone by.

Although an AWFUL lot has happened and over the course of the last six months, I haven’t exactly felt like being the submissive little lady-slut and instead have just been struggling through life and all the bollocks it throws up at you. The whole sexy slave thing was completely adorable while it was going on, but like the best of things, it can’t last forever.

But anyway. I would LOVE to get back into writing this blog, so I guess I’d better explain everything that’s been going on for the last six months. But be prepared. It’ll take a while.

I’ve been trying to write it all down and so far, it’s over 5,000 words in length! So I’ll split it into neat little chapters for ease of consumption.