Faithfully Unfaithful by Secret Narrative Page B

broadcasting my treatment at his hands, and providing masturbation fodder for viewers watching me being restrained, gagged, sodomised and fucked.
    Days would pass, and slowly evidence of the assaults disappeared, usually immediately prior to our next meeting, when he’d do it all over again. But as I said earlier, I loved my treatment at his hands and adored him, being abused by him and his friends was my ambrosia.
    Finally, his hypnosis of me diminished, and I woke up, managed to escape my mesmerising married man and met my now ex-husband, allowed him to rescue me from my sordid little life by marrying me, subsequently boring me to distraction. Thinking that I’d undoubtedly suffocate, stifled by tedium rather than a hard cock, I had to get away, and then I met you.
    My ideal man, my cuckold, keeping me safe, keeping me secure, keeping me fed, clothed and providing plenty of money, as long as I fuck the help, and tell you about it, or at the very least, let you think I do, that’s the deal, and I’m happy to oblige.

Wednesday 2 nd February
    Darling... Now settled into our blissful existence, I wave you off to work every morning. I watch your retreat as you disappear out of sight at the end of the drive, obscured by the hedges that surround our garden and shield the house from the lane. I stand at the door until I can no longer hear your footfalls on the gravel, a natural burglar alarm, the sound of feet or wheels crunching along on those small loose stones creating a distinct noise, impossible to miss amid the silence of the village.
    Closing the door, I retreat into the house and start my day with a bath or shower, depending on what I have planned. My activities always plotted with sexual satisfaction in mind, my insatiable appetite for men and women needs regularly feeding and thoroughly on the five working days that you are out of the house.
    You love it though!
    My antics titillate and excite you.
    When we have sex, you’re imagining what I’ve been doing all day and how many partners I’ve been with. You rarely want to know for sure, because certain knowledge would spoil the game and your need to maintain the illusion of a conventional marriage to a faithful wife.
    I’ll tell you about the session I indulged a little while ago.
    Do you remember when I told you there were a group of men decorating the empty house next door? (Still standing unsold, in spite of their best efforts). Well naturally, I couldn’t be rude, and knowing they wouldn’t have anyone to offer them tea, I did. I’m sure you’re pleased that I was so polite; I told them to call around if they needed refreshments. I mentioned the obvious euphemism of tea, which they must have understood because, on the second morning of that week, I had just seen you off and was still wearing my breakfast attire of bra, panties, suspender belt, and stockings, when the doorbell rang.
    I put on my robe and opened the door to two of the workmen. I made a pot of tea and cleared up the debris of our morning meal while chatting about the work they were doing on the house. After pouring their tea, I showed them into the living room.
    “Do make yourselves at home,” I said.
    They took me at my word and immediately began flicking through the TV channels (typical!) making their final selection having arrived at a programme showing a young girl modelling lingerie. Her image filled the screen, turning this way and that while the presenter discussed the intimate details of her underwear. Of course, the two men were highly amused, making the sort of comments you would expect, bawdily discussing her figure and the sexy undies.
    “Do you wear stuff like that?” one of them asked.
    “Yes,” I replied.
    “Are you wearing it now?” asked the other, even though my thin robe announced the answer.
    “Yes,” I said and slipped off my robe and exposing my own lingerie, nipples protruding a little through the lace of the bra.
    Initially, they were silent and still, as if