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Wife becomes the slut he always wanted.


And that's how we came to be waiting for him in the hotel bar, tea for three already served when he arrived. Tall, taller than both of us, wiry, bald. And nervous. Couldn't look me in the eye as she poured tea, obviously enjoying his discomfiture. I wasn't entirely relaxed, but I wasn't going to show either of them that fact.

Somehow, we all passed whatever tests we'd set for each other, and before any of us were quite sure how, we were in the room.

"You. Sit there. You can do what you like, as long as you keep quiet, and don't interfere."

He took the chair, placing it near the bed.

"Too near. I need space. Back about three feet, please."

He moved the chair, and I busied myself with removing her clothes, slowly and methodically, turning her this way and that to display to him the body he'd previously only seen on a screen. To mirror her state, he removed his clothes, and sat back in the chair, cock swaying, hardened by the sight before him.

Naked now, I turned her towards him, running my hands across breasts, midriff and down between her legs. They locked eye contact. "Look", she was saying. "Watch what I let him do to me, this man. See how much of me he has."

The pillows ready I laid her face down on the bed, then opened the wardrobe, retrieving two elegant, black floggers. One, the one with thin, resilient strands of hard, square-cut leather, I placed on the bed next to her, in his full view. The other, I swung through the air a few times, finding the point of balance. Glancing over to him, gauging his reaction at this unexpected (to him) development, I could see his hand slowly pumping his cock, his eyes wide open.

I started as we always do, gently running the black suede tails across the skin of her back and buttocks, letting her feel the softness of that which would soon be hard. Used to her responses by now, I waited for the signs of relaxation and acceptance before starting to gently flick the tips of the lash against her, gradually building intensity until I was moving around the bed. Swinging and whipping shoulders, upper back and buttocks, seeing the flesh yield and discolour under the blows, going pink and mottled. Sometimes, a stroke would land with the tails separated, like a claw striking, then run back. Sometimes, gathered together, striking with speed, a jerk and a groan would result. And, favourite of all, precisely aimed flicks down between legs and striking nether lips, eliciting a delighted yelp.

Twenty minutes of this, and it was time for the denouement. Picking up the other flogger, and delivering twelve hard, quick strikes, six to each cheek, a delicate filigree building along with the sweet, sharp sting, intensity building almost to breaking point. Experience had already told us how much, and no more, and the final stroke left her quivering and moaning.

I looked across. He was still sitting there, cock hard and ready. Resolved to show my control -- our joint control, really -- of events, I threw him a condom.

"Here. Put this on and fuck her."

As he struggled with foil and rubber, I turned her over, moving the pillows and readying her trembling body for his promised onslaught. A hand passing across her cheek, tearstained, and I withdrew as he climbed on the bed between her spreading legs. The moment of penetration was clear from his grunt, her groan, and then the chronology was lost in a flurry of feral dance, smell and sound.

She was close -- the sting of that last flogger is almost enough by itself, without the complication of cock -- and almost as soon as I'd registered that he really was fucking her, and fucking her well, she came with that characteristic arching, thrashing and gasping. He wasn't slow to follow, pulling out when it all came too much, ripping the condom off and sending a perfect arc of fragrant come through the air before splashing hotly across her tits. Another jerk, another arc, and again, and soon her belly and pubis carried the same sheen, his attempt to mark her as his.

But, to no avail.

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