The Bored Housewives Club, Pt. 01

Prologue: The New Arrival

Maggie Willis had seen the removal van pull up at Number 12 yesterday afternoon. Her living room window faced down the length of Banbury Road, and she could see all the comings and goings. Not that she was particularly interested, but removal vans are noisy, and it had caught her attention for five minutes, then she had forgotten all about it. Until the doorbell rang.

Maggie had lived alone since her Sebastian had died seven years ago, and the house was far too big for her. But it had the advantage of being right around the corner from her younger daughter and exactly one-third of her grandchildren, on whom she doted and in whom she rested many hopes and ambitions. It was altogether too far from her comfortable sofa to the hallway, and she vaguely grumbled as she made her way there. She was in good health for a sixty-one-year-old woman, but her knees never appreciated the first two or three seconds after getting up from a sitting position, and she was a woman who liked to be comfortable. She opened the door to be met with the sight of an extremely handsome woman in her early thirties, blonde enough to have stepped out of a Wagnerian opera but slim and well dressed. Her cheekbones might have been carved in Eastern Europe, but when she spoke it was with a clipped, upper-class English accent.

"Mrs Willis?" she enquired.

"That's me," frowned Maggie, certain that she'd never seen this woman before in her life. She would have remembered. The woman was ridiculously attractive.

"I just moved into Banbury Road..."

"Number twenty-two. Yes, I saw the removal van yesterday. Welcome to the Village, Miss..."

"Carrington," smiled the woman. "Isobel Carrington."

She extended her hand, but Maggie was so taken aback she stood there frozen for several seconds before remembering her manners. She took Isobel's hand and shook it limply. "I used to know a woman named Barbara Carrington," she began.

"My grandmother," smiled Isobel. "When she found out where I was moving to, she asked me to look you up, and to say, 'Shameless Greetings, sister'. She remembers you with a great deal of fondness."

Maggie narrowed her eyes, refusing to respond. "Not many blonde Carringtons," she said.

"I'm a Barton on my mother's side," replied Isobel, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

"Hmph. So, you're Tony and Eleanor's daughter."

"I am. I took after mommy."

Maggie pursed her lips. "You'd better come in, then. I never did learn to turn away a Carrington."

Part One: Four Bored Wives

I. The Ennui of Elizabeth Brookes

Age and looks are irrelevant. The only true ugliness is chastity

Sir William Carrington, On Society and Religion, Maxim 7

i. Hosting the BHC

Elizabeth Brookes enjoyed playing the hostess. It gave her a feeling of being in control that was all too rare in her humdrum life. It also went some short way to alleviating the boredom. There were only three guests, friends from around the neighbourhood, all of them mature women with too much time on their hands and too little to entertain them. On the first Wednesday of each month they would get together at one of their houses (they took turns, pretty much), and enjoy a couple of hours of wine, weed, ribald conversation, and raucous laughter. Today was the day of the February meeting.

Annie had been first to arrive, just as she always was. Her oldest friend in the world, Anna Stewart was, by Elizabeth's estimation, the perfect housewife and mother, always elegantly dressed, always polite and proper and always, always, punctual. She was bubbly and friendly though in her grey eyes there was the same boredom, even deep-seated sadness, that Elizabeth herself felt most of the time. She greeted her friend with a peck on the cheek, vocally admiring her bottle-green dress and its plunging neckline. Annie had nice tits, after all. Why not show them off a little? As ever, Annie was surrounded by a cloud of pungent perfume.

Maz was next, flustered and in a slight state of disarray, suggesting she had come out in a hurry, and left a hundred vital tasks unfinished. Having four children would do that to a woman, she supposed. A tall and leggy redhead, Maria McNish could have been quite the glamour puss had she chosen to be. And she did scrub up nice when she made the effort, as Elizabeth knew for a fact, but today was not such a day. She was in a baggy sweater and jeans, her lush waves of Titian hair scrunched up into a ragged ponytail. Her makeup was perfunctory.

"Am I last, Beth?" she asked.

Elizabeth shook her head. It was always Maria's first question, as if she both expected to be and dreaded being the last of three visitors to arrive. What did it even matter? "Annie's in the living room. But you surely didn't expect Tilda to get here ahead of you."

Maz laughed. Her kiss for Elizabeth was on the lips, the swift peck of a woman perpetually in a hurry. Unlike Annie, Maz did not smell of perfume but nevertheless had a comforting, womanly scent about her.

Last to arrive was Matilda Ellis - 'Tilda'. A cool, gorgeous blonde, Matilda was pretty much used to the world revolving around her, and was never bound by such dull, worldly concerns as manners or time-keeping. She breezed through the front-door with an air-kiss. She was clad in a powder-blue blouse and matching skirt. She had the looks of a film star and the figure of a model, the bitch, and Elizabeth both adored and hated her in equal measure. She could be as charming and as generous as she was exasperatingly inconsiderate.

Once all four were sitting together, sharing a joint and sipping red wine, they quickly relaxed into the familiar round of chatter and laughter. They had known each other for years. Elizabeth had lived in the Village all her life and so had Annie, and the other two had moved there when they were still newlyweds, so many years ago. They all either had rich husbands or rich inheritances and either worked part-time or not at all. Annie wrote children's books and had done well enough from them that she could afford to write more only when she was in the mood to; Maria's husband owned his own business as did Tilda's, though Tilda had been born into wealth and privilege all her own. As for Elizabeth, her late father had been a millionaire and her mother, who had moved into the Village while still pregnant with her, used to own her own business, though nowadays she was content to paint, to make pottery, and to pass her days in pleasant if industrious comfort. Elizabeth's husband continued to work, but she hadn't felt the need, not since the children were born.

The subject of the four housewives' conversation had meandered to the destination it always and inevitably reached - their boring, boring sex lives.

"I swear," said Annie, leaning forward as if to impart a secret that was in danger of being overheard, "if it wasn't for my battery-operated friend, I would, er, 'clam up' altogether."

That made them all laugh. Elizabeth felt wine snort into her nose, and she had to reach for a tissue.

"I wore out two vibrators last year alone!" claimed Maz. "I mean, Josh does his best, bless him, but a girl has needs. Lots of needs!"

"Will doesn't even do his best," said Annie with a scowl. "He must be fucking someone else. No man can have that low a libido."

"He's a handsome man, too," observed Elizabeth. "If he wants pussy, it must be there for the taking."

Annie shrugged. "I almost wish he was having an affair. At least it would mean he still had a taste for it. Jesus! And now, as you might say, the pussy's come to him. Or tell me you haven't seen the blonde bitch who just moved in next door to me!"

"Oh my God, she's fucking gorgeous!" said Maz, who lived on the opposite side of Banbury Road to Anna. "Her little girl's a head turner too!"

"It's her niece, apparently," said Annie. "That's what Elle Hemmings told me."

"Well, her family certainly inherited the gorgeous gene. I've seen them coming and going. If I were looking for an affair, even I'd be fucking tempted!"

"I can't wait to see her!" said Elizabeth. Of the four of them she was the only one not to live on Banbury Road, though she was only one street away. "Always nice to see a bit of glamour coming to the Village."

"Hey!" protested Tilda. "Aren't I glamour enough for one little town?"

"I dunno," laughed Elizabeth. "Aren't you getting a bit long in the tooth now?"

"Fuck you, you bitch!" Matilda had turned forty at the end of last year and was still extremely sensitive about it.

"You're all old, let's face it," teased Maz who, at thirty-seven, was the 'baby' of the group.

"I'm certainly starting to feel it," admitted Elizabeth.

"This is all nonsense and poppycock!" declared Annie. "I can't speak for the rest of you, but there's still life left in this old dog! I've heard it said that forty is the new thirty, which makes me a very new thirty-one. I'm a woman with needs, God damn it, and I'm entitled to have them satisfied!"

"Don't we say the same thing every month," purred Tilda. "Yet we never do anything about it."

"So why don't we then?"

"What do you have in mind, Annie?" asked Elizabeth.

Anna hesitated and took another sip from her third glass of wine. But there was a look of resolution on her pretty face, one which Elizabeth had seen before. She was easily the timidest of the four of them, the politest and the most well-mannered, but when she got a notion in that Disneyfied mind of hers, it would not be easily shaken. "OK," she began, "how about this? By the next time we meet, each of us will have had a sexual adventure. And instead of bitching about how bored and boring we are, we'll all tell each other exactly what we've got up to!"

"What, er, what kind of 'sexual adventure'?" asked Maz.

"Anything you like. Your only goal is to impress the rest of us. What do you say?"

"I'm in," said Tilda. "I'm not so over the fucking hill that I can't do something good and fucked-up!"

"Beth? Are you too old or too boring to have a sexual adventure?"

Elizabeth eyed Anna, still unsure whether she was being entirely serious. "There's a lot about me you don't know, Annie Stewart," she said enigmatically. "My sex life might have become dull in recent years but believe me, I have a much more sordid past."

"Really? And you kept it secret from me?"

"It was far too sordid for your delicate ears, Annie. Anyway, I left it behind when I had the kids. I thought, naively, that I could pick it back up again once they were grown up. I'd pretty much given up on that, though. Still, you're right. I could have a sexual adventure if I really put my mind to it, I'm certain of it. I'm in. Maz?"

Maria pulled a face. "I might be bored, but I'm a happily married woman. I'm not sure about this."

"All right," said Anna, "but if you weren't a happily married woman, and were the kind of shameless hussy who went around having sexual adventures, what kind of adventure would you like to have?"

"Oh," she said breezily, "in that case I believe I'd give myself to a group of men to have their wicked way with me, all at the same time."

"How many men?" demanded Elizabeth, a little incredulous.

"Probably seven. They take me one after the other, and leave me a naked, sopping wet mess."

"So, bukkake then?" slurred Tilda.

"Maybe," said Maria, who suddenly had a rather dreamy expression on her face. The bitch was not entirely joking. That really was her fantasy, Elizabeth sensed.

"I'd go full-on lezzie," said Tilda, no doubt annoyed that she was not the centre of attention. "How old's this new woman's niece, would you say?"

"Eighteen or nineteen," frowned Anna. "Why?"

Tilda nodded. "Yeah, maybe I'd seduce the bitch, or someone like her."

"I had no idea you had a thing for little girls!" exclaimed Elizabeth.

"Well, not little girls," said Tilda. "You make me sound like a perv! Eighteen's OK, isn't it?"

"I didn't really know you were into girls at all!"

She shrugged. "Girls are nice," she said defensively. "Or are you telling me there's anyone in this room who has never in her boring life fantasised about a bit of girl-on-girl?"

Nobody quite denied it, and nobody quite admitted it. For herself, Elizabeth had done a lot more than fantasised about it, but she wasn't about to be the first to admit it. "I do fantasise about using a strap-on," she told them, "only I kind of picture me using it on a man rather than on a woman."

"Nice!" cooed Tilda. "Oh yes, I like that. Except I would prefer to use it on a girl."

"So... you mean you'd like to peg your husband?" asked Annie. "Or did you have someone else in mind?"

"Don't know really," said Elizabeth. "I just like the idea of being the one doing the fucking, instead of the one being fucked for a change."

"Oh no," said Anna, "I like to be the one being fucked. I like my men to be assertive. I've been having these dreams recently... In one of them, I had a big, strong man throw me over his knee and give me a right good spanking, followed by a right good fucking," said Annie. "When I woke up, I was fucking soaking!"

"Can't you persuade Will to spank you?" asked Elizabeth, her ears pricking up.

"Maybe. It's the fucking that would elude him. I'm not sure whether or not he still fancies sex at all, but I'm absolutely certain he doesn't fancy fucking me!"

By the time the other three left, Elizabeth's mind was a daze of sexual fantasy and frustration. Each of them had surprised her. She never had Maz down as longing to be gang-banged, or Annie to be spanked, or Tilda to fuck a girl. In truth, all three sounded super-exciting, and her pussy was wet and tingling. No sooner had she closed the door behind them than she ran upstairs, threw herself on her bed, and wanked herself to half-a-dozen straight orgasms.

ii. #1 Dream

She was all in black, clinging tight to firmer curves than she saw in the mirror. This was a darkling world, a Gothic landscape of haunted forests and vampire castles, and it fitted her as perfectly as her clothes. Here, she was mistress of all she surveyed, a lady, a queen, and her subjects were everywhere, fawning and obedient. Her husband preceded her, connected to her by the leash fastened to his collar, which was the only thing he wore. Her daughters followed at her heel, both of them (though in real life she had only one). They were naked too, save for filmy, transparent camisoles. She was utterly in control, except for a single voice that whispered, from an unseen mouth, urging her to greatness, urging her to shamelessness. And then, before her, stood her mother, dressed like she was, with one hand up in a gesture of warning. "You're nearing the crossroads," she told her, "and you'll have to choose."

iii. A Wife and Mother

Elizabeth's son was a few minutes late coming home from school, and she was already worried. She worried about Owen a great deal. Eighteen years old, and in his final year of school, he was bright, funny, and good-looking. But he was also shy, and his good looks had as much of the feminine as the masculine about them. He wasn't gay, or she had no reason to suppose he was, but he was effeminate enough to have been bullied over it. So when he was late, she would worry herself sick that he had been beaten up, or cruelly teased, and she couldn't bear to see him hurt or upset. Owen was his mother's angel. She doted on him, and he adored her.

Clara was different. Her older child, almost twenty years old now, was beautiful in an entirely and undeniably feminine way, but she was also tough, sassy, and self-confident. Clever, too, though she had not gone to university, and was working now. Just some drone-like office job, but you had to start somewhere. She never worried about Clara, even though she was sexy enough to have to fight boys off left, right, and centre but did not, Elizabeth happened to know, always do so. But if any boy tried to press unwelcome attention half a millimetre too far, she would be more worried about the boy than about Clara.

She heard the key in the lock and fought down the urge to rush into the hall. She was busy in the kitchen but not that busy. She heaved a mighty sigh of relief when she heard Owen call out, "Hi mom!" He pushed his way into the kitchen and allowed her to hug him. His shirt was out of his trousers but that was pretty much par for the course for any eighteen-year-old.

"Did you have a good day, sweetheart?" she chirruped.

He shrugged. "It's just the no man's land before exams. There's not really that much left to do."

"You'll breeze them anyway," she told him.

"I know."

She ruffled his floppy hair. "Well, it's the weekend now. You can chill out for a couple of days."

"Don't say 'chill out' mom, it makes you sound like you're an old woman."

"I am an old woman!" she laughed. "All aching joints and wrinkles."

He was indignant at that, as she knew he would be. Sometimes, though, even a mother has to fish. "You still look amazing, mom! I reckon all the other boys fancy you."

"You reckon no such thing!" she protested, lapping it up. "But, er, which mom do you fancy, Owen Brookes?"

"Like I'm going to tell you!" he said, with that adorable, lopsided grin of his. "Anyway, I'm going up to change. Hate wearing these rags."

"Aw, but you look so adorable," she teased.

"Can't wind me up. Can't reel me in," he told her, sticking out his tongue. He disappeared upstairs with the silent grace of a herd of elephants.

Clara got home an hour later. She knew this because she heard the door go, followed by the clatter of feet up the stairs accompanied by a grunt that may or may not have been, "Hi mom, I'm home." If past behaviour was a predictor of the future, she would resurface only when informed that dinner was ready. Her husband got home from work twenty minutes later, and from him at least she could be sure of an enthusiastic greeting, featuring kisses and hugs. She loved Ash, and he loved her. They would be together until death did them part. It was only their sex life that was on life-support, not their relationship. Besides, Ash was one of those men who seemed to grow more handsome as they got older. He was forty-three now, almost a year older than her, and she would still have picked him out of a crowd were she seeing him for the first time.

"Kids home?" he asked, with that slight Welsh lilt that had so attracted her to him in the first place.

"Upstairs, doing whatever teenage children do," she smiled.

"Better not to inquire too closely," he concluded.

"You're right. Best not to inquire." She remembered the things she did when she was that age, things even Ash knew nothing about. In that matter, too, he had never inquired too closely. Just as well. She had a policy of not lying to her husband unless it was pretty much life or death.

And it was in that spirit that, as they got under the covers later that night, she found herself telling him about the Bored Housewives Club meeting the other day. He knew about the BHC, of course, though what the four women talked about was yet another thing that came under Ashley's 'don't ask, don't tell' attitude towards marriage and parenting.

"The conversation on Wednesday was a bit, well, a bit spicier than usual."

"Do I need to know this?" he asked, looking slightly scared.

"I wouldn't say you need to know, exactly. And I wasn't proposing to give you a blow-by-blow account. You won't be surprised to learn that when four women of a certain age get together, the conversation always eventually turns to sex and relationships. This time, though, we all got a bit more specific."

"Specific? Now I'm almost certain I don't want to know."

"I mean, we started talking about, you know, fantasies and stuff. Of course it was all in confidence, and I'm certainly not going to tell you what my friends are fantasising about, though I assure you it would blow your bloody socks off if you did know. But when it was my turn, I even surprised myself a little bit."

"You did?"

She nodded. "I'm not quite sure how you'll take this, but I told them I had this fantasy of... Oh God, no, I can't!"

"Out with it!" he said. "You'll tell me eventually, I'm sure, so let's get it over with." He was affecting a kind of world-weary resignation, but Elizabeth had the sense that he actually did want to know.

"I said... I said I wondered what it would be like to... to wear a strap-on and fuck a guy."

Ashley's eyes widened. "Any, er, particular guy?"

She treated him to her best coy smile. "A handsome, sensitive, accommodating guy. One who loves his wife enough to take one up the arse for her."

"Hm."

"Hm? Is that it? That's your reaction to your wife proposing fucking you up the arse?"

"Well they do say 'happy wife, happy life," he mused. "Would you really do it, though, or is it just a fantasy to get off to?"

"I'd do it if you'd do it," she said, taken aback by her own brazenness.

"You would look hot, wearing a strap-on," he conceded. "I'm not saying yes," he added hurriedly. "But I'm also not definitely saying no."

iv. A Gift to Herself

It took a couple of weeks for Elizabeth to choose, order, and receive her special gift to herself, and she opened it in private. Then, late one night, after all the kids were well ensconced in bed, and while Ashley was in the bathroom, she stripped naked and put it on. She struggled to get the straps on in the right places, but she managed it without too much fuss. She slid under the covers. As soon as Ashley returned to the bathroom, wearing only his dressing-gown, she threw back the duvet to reveal herself in all her naked glory.

"Fuck me!" he whistled.

"Oh, but I intend to, my darling," she said, running a suggestive hand up and down the shaft of her brand new, strapped-on, four-inch-long, slender dildo. "Now, take that dressing-gown off and get ready for me like a good, little slut."

"Is that it? Is that all the foreplay I get?"

"Don't be a whiny bitch," she scolded, climbing to her feet, and coming around the bed to chivvy her husband along. She got a nice side-on view of herself in the dressing-table mirror and had to admit that she looked pretty good. A cock suits me, she thought, even if I say so myself! She retrieved a little tube from the dressing-table as she passed by. Ashley shucked off his gown and, though he looked uncertain what to do next, he looked very handsome doing it.

"Get up on the bed," she told him, surging with a sense of her own power. "On your knees." He did as she told him, though still more bemused than aroused. "Bend forwards, face on the mattress."

"Really?"

"And spread your knees, else I'm not tall enough!"

"Aw, poor petite little girl!"

She slapped him across the buttocks, and not playfully. "Don't talk back to me, bitch!" she hissed. "Just do as you're fucking told!" Well now, that made his cock twitch! Interesting. Once he was in position, and she was satisfied his knees were sufficiently widely spread, she unscrewed the tube and squeezed lubricant between his arse-cheeks. It was evidently cold, because she heard him gasp. She got into position behind him and lined up the head of her dildo with his tight anus. He was audibly holding his breath.

"Now then," she said, "I feel like you ought to ask nicely."

"What?"

"You heard me, bitch! Ask me for it!"

He gulped. "Er, please, Beth. I want you to fuck me."

"Really? You're not making me believe that."

"Please!" he said again. "Please, fuck me, Beth! I want your cock in my arse."

"Better," she said, and eased her hips forward. It was most pleasing to see the cock-head sink easily inside her husband's rectum, half-an-inch, then an inch, and to hear him whimper, not from pain or fear but from anticipation. "More?" He nodded and she slapped his arse again, harder this time. "I said, do you want more of my cock, slut?"

"Yes! I do! Please, Beth, I want you deeper!"

She laughed and pushed forward again, another inch, spreading him out about the rubber shaft of her boy-sized cock. Then she stopped and waited, not saying anything this time.

"Please!"

"Please what?" she said, affecting puzzlement.

"I want it deeper!"

"Do you now? Are you sure you're enough of a slut for that?"

"Yes! I am a slut, Beth! I'm a slut for your beautiful cock!"

Wow, he was really getting into it now. And so was she. "OK, then take it, slut!" And she finally slammed the dildo home, wishing now she had chosen one longer than this paltry four inches. Ash grunted. "Like it?"

"Mm..."

"What was that?"

"I said, yes Beth, it feels amazing!"

"What does, bitch? Tell me what feels amazing."

"Your cock feels amazing in my arse!"

"So then, what would you like me to do now?"

"Fuck me! God, please! Fuck me, Beth!"

"There's a good slut," she told him, and began to move her hips in a slow, easy rhythm, driving the cock in and out of her husband's arsehole, and feeling a surge of power as she did so. This felt right, somehow. He was her slut now."

"Yes! Oh yes, fuck me, Beth!"

By degrees, she increased the tempo, and her mind too accelerated through a daze of fantasies while, as if watching herself from several feet away, she fucked her husband for the first time. "Are you really my slut, Ashley?" she challenged.

"I am! I'm your willing slut!"

"And are you hard for me?"

"God, yes!" To verify this, Elizabeth slipped one hand under his stomach and felt for his cock. It was indeed turgid, almost glued to his stomach with the hardness of his arousal. She wrapped her slender fingers around the shaft and ran them up and down in time with her pelvic thrusts. "Oh fuck, yes!"

"What will my slut do to please me?"

"Anything! I'll do anything, Beth!"

"I don't believe you!"

"Test me!" he gasped. "Ask me for anything but please, keep fucking me!"

"Would you watch while I fuck another man?" Where did that come from? She hadn't even thought about that before, yet it was the first thing to spring into her mind.

"What!"

"You said ask anything," she said, driving extra hard and extra deep, and tightening her grip on his iron-hard cock. Now that the idea had been voiced, she was going to run with it. "Would you watch me fuck another man?"

His breathing was coming hard and, if anything, his cock had stiffened still further in her hand. "Yes! God, Beth, I'd fucking do it if you asked me to!"

"Oh, and I think you like the idea, don't you, bitch? Your cock likes the idea, anyway. You like the idea of kneeling on the bedroom floor, wanking away while a big, strong man with a huge fucking cock drives in and out of your wife's cunt, don't you? Don't you?"

"Yes! I... yes!"

He was on the verge of coming, she could tell, so she took her hand away and stopped thrusting. "I think you're lying."

"I'm not! Please. Oh God, Beth, keep fucking me for God's sake! I'm so fucking close."

"Tell me then, slut. Make me believe you want it."

He was all but whimpering by this time, so desperate was he to come, and he was panting between words. "I swear... I... want to watch... I want to watch you... fuck another man... I want... I want... to see him... fuck you hard..."

"That's better." She started to move again, slapping her pelvis against his buttocks with each inward thrust. She moved her hand to his balls, though, squeezing them in the way she knew he liked it. "From now on, bitch, I want you to be a slut for me. Do you understand? Will you be Beth's dirty slut?"

"Yes! As dirty as you like. I want that! I want it, Beth. Please! I need to come!"

Laughing, she squeezed hard on his balls, and he cried out. He was trembling all over, she could feel it against her body, and just like that he was coming, begging her to wank him as the cum oozed out. But she had no intention of stroking his cock. Instead, she just kept fucking him as his orgasm ruined all over the duvet. He was complaining bitterly, but she didn't give a shit. Her only response was to slap his arse hard, three times in a row, and to fuck him still harder.

"Did the slut lose control?" she asked. "Did he get too excited and come all over my clean duvet? I ought to make you lick that up, you dirty bitch! Maybe I will."

He groaned in response, whether in despair or arousal she could not quite tell. She wrapped her fingers around his sticky cock, which was still as hard as before, and resumed stroking it. "I hope you don't disgrace me like that when I have a guest over, fucking my pussy while you watch. If you do, I'll make you lick up his cum. But I bet a slut like you would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Please... please..." She kept pounding her glorious new toy into her husband's arse, and she kept wanking his weeping cock, silent now but for the slap of flesh on flesh, and the squelch of his cum-wet cock in her fingers. And when she sensed his second orgasm close, she took her hand away again until he was almost weeping with need.

"Are you my bitch?"

"Yes!" he whimpered. "I'm Beth's bitch! I'm Beth's bitch! I want to watch you fuck other men! I want to lick their cum out of your cunt! I'm your bitch!"

"Good boy!" She put her hand back on his cock and this time, as she continued to fuck him, she stroked him fast and hard until he came again, this time with considerably more joy, but at equal cost to the duvet.

II. Influence

Never be faithful to your husband, or do you wish to be a bore?

Sir William Carrington, Advice to Wives, Maxim 4

i. Matilda's New Friend

Matilda's mind had been racing for weeks now, ever since she had heard Beth's rather tame pegging fantasy. At first, she had amused herself with picturing Beth Brookes wearing a strap-on cock, but before too long the image changed to that of herself wearing one. It would look good on her, she rather thought, but at the same time she didn't particularly want to waste it shoved up a man's hairy arse. It would look far more fetching, she decided, gliding in and out of a tight, youthful pussy. And Matilda was an admirer of youthful pussies. Not that she was gay. She'd been married for twenty years and had four children to prove it. But it was a truth she had never bothered to deny, at least not to herself, that she found women just as attractive as men, and often more so. And as the kids grew up, and Tobias grew more, well, middle aged and boring, her fantasies had increasingly turned to the pursuit of pussy. It was both confusing and disturbing to discover that her elder daughter, Harriet, was approaching the age, shape, and comeliness that would, kinship apart, have made her prime fantasy material.

Into this maelstrom of frustration and fantasy had stepped Isobel Carrington. The way Maria and Anna had talked about their new neighbour had intrigued Matilda, and she had immediately resolved to meet her. She was only three doors down, on the other side of the street, so it didn't strike her as at all 'forced' were she to knock on the woman's door and introduce herself. The woman, every bit as gorgeous as she had been described, had been friendly and welcoming, and Matilda had the distinct impression that she was somehow expected, though she didn't see how that was possible. But within twenty minutes, they had been chatting like old friends and Matilda didn't even mind (that much) that Isobel was seven years younger and equally glamorous.

That had been a couple of weeks ago, and they had each visited the other's house a couple of times since. On the last visit, she had been introduced to Isobel's niece, the dark-haired, olive-skinned Olivia. Now, Olivia's youth and beauty she was envious of, but at the same time she could scarcely tear her eyes from the girl who was, in a completely objective way, as hot as proverbial fuck. If Isobel had noticed her staring, she said nothing.

Today, Isobel was visiting her. It was a Wednesday afternoon in February, cold and grey, yet Isobel was dressed in a light, cream jacket over a short-sleeved blouse and an elegant, thigh-length skirt and as cool as she looked, she betrayed no hint of being cold. Matilda, wearing a cardigan over her own blouse, even though the central heating was cranked up, tried to affect a matching air of nonchalance. She made them both coffee and they sat at the kitchen table, sipping it as Isobel admired Matilda's rose garden (which the kitchen overlooked). Of course, the roses were not yet in bloom, but it was a lovely garden, even so.

"Tobias at work?" asked Isobel.

Matilda's husband had his own business. Something to do with landscape design in Oxford, she wasn't much interested. They didn't need the money, not really, but it kept him out of her hair and stopped him being too bored. She nodded, no more interested in the question than Isobel was. "I'm on my own most of the day throughout the week," she said.

"Don't you ever think of getting a job?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Sounds tedious." She frowned. "Don't you work? I assume, since you're free on a Wednesday afternoon, that you don't."

"As a matter of fact, I own a company," said Isobel. "Over in Witney. Well, joint own it really with a cousin of mine. We have employees to do the actual work. I go in a couple of times a week, to show interest."

"And what does your company do?"

"Web design of... various sorts."

"I don't really have the head for technical stuff like that."

"I actually do," replied Isobel. "We set it up on our own initially, Julia and I, with help from daddy's wallet, I don't deny."

"Wallets are my favourite thing about fathers," grinned Matilda.

"Fathers do have their uses." Something about the way she said this was odd, but when Matilda shot a querying look at her, she just smirked. "Now then, tell me about the Bored Housewives Club."

"You know about that?"

"I heard the term from my neighbour."

Matilda harumphed. "Annie's such a prattler!" she said.

"Pretty though," said Isobel. "I know her sort. All sweet, kind, and innocent until they get between the sheets. I bet she's an animal in bed!"

That made Matilda laugh. "I really couldn't say. But to be honest, all my fellow Bored Housewives surprised me a bit last time we met. Those women have some kinky stuff going on in their heads, if not in their beds."

"Does that include you?"

"Maybe." Matilda attempted coyness but couldn't really pull it off.

"Oh come on! I can read it in your eyes, Tilda! You weren't born to be a domesticated pussy... cat. You were born to be a wild tigress or a..." she grinned, "a cougar!"

"Oh, I like the sound of that! But what about you, Isobel Carrington? Am I permitted to enquire about your sex life?"

"Permitted? I positively encourage it! Though, since I moved here, I've been more in the domesticated pussy category myself.

"You mean you haven't found the right man, yet."

"Who says it has to be a man?" She caught Matilda's eyes with such a smouldering gaze that the older woman blushed and looked away. "What's the matter?" she asked, leaning forward to place one hand on Matilda's knee. "Is my niece more to your tastes than her decrepit old aunt?" When Matilda made to protest, Isobel pressed a slender finger to her lips. The gesture, or perhaps the mere touch of the younger woman, sent a shiver of desire through Matilda. "I see how you look at her. And I don't blame you! Olivia is really very sexy. But I like to think I'm sexy, too. Don't you agree?"

"Very sexy," admitted Matilda, though her voice came out hoarse and whispery.

"Now then," said Isobel, returning her hand to Matilda's knee, but this time sliding it higher, up the older woman's stockinged thighs and under her skirt. "Do you want to be a domesticated pussy for the rest of your life, or should we set free that wild, wild cougar."

Matilda gulped, and all she could manage to say was, "... cougar."

"Thought so," grinned Isobel, and leaned in to kiss her.

It was not that Matilda had never kissed another woman before, but that it had been many years since she had done so, and probably never one as sophisticated and as beautiful as Isobel Carrington. It began as a light, whispering brushing of the lips, but then Isobel stood up and, taking Matilda's hand, guided her to her feet also. Then she took her in her arms and Matilda felt Isobel's bosom crush against hers as two pairs of lips parted, and two mouths came together. She closed her eyes, caught between the daring of what she was doing and the sheer bliss of kissing another woman again at last. She was inhaling Isobel's heady perfume, luxuriating in the heat of her body, drowning in the hot liquid of arousal. Isobel broke the kiss only to whisper in her ear, "I want you, Tilda."

Matilda groaned, and the more so when Isobel pressed an urgent hand to her breast, driving hard against it as she went in for a second kiss. She could taste the coffee on her breath and on her tongue, bitter and sweet all at the same time. Her own hands moved down to Isobel's shapely arse, squeezing it through the sheerness of her skirt. Again Isobel broke the kiss and again she whispered. "I want to fuck you, Tilda. I want to taste your cunt until you come in my mouth!"

"Yes!" breathed Matilda. "Yes, fuck me!"

Isobel stood back and the two women looked at each other, eyes smouldering, each pair as blue as the other's. They could almost have been sisters. Matilda shucked off her cardigan, embarrassed by its unerotic presence, but then waited passively while Isobel unfastened her blouse with eager fingers. As it fell open, and as she used both hands to push it off, Isobel devoured Matilda's breasts, licking and sucking at the flesh visible above her lacy bra (thank fuck she had worn one of her sexier ones!) Matilda was panting by now, barely able to think let alone act. But by some instinct, she fumbled behind herself for the clasp of her bra and managed to unfasten it even as Isobel continued to worship her breasts which, as a woman in her forties, she was still inordinately proud of. The bra fluttered to the floor between them, and Isobel fixed her lips over one elongated nipple, suckling it and swirling her tongue around it. Matilda's skirt was next, and that was soon pooled about her feet leaving her naked in her own kitchen, but for her flimsy knickers, all that now stood between Matilda and some kind of paradise.

Again, Isobel stepped back, this time to eye Matilda up and down, drinking in her near-naked body, lush and mature. She evidently liked what she was looking at, because she licked her lips as she devoured the sight. "What a goddess you are!" she breathed.

Matilda willed herself to keep her hands behind her back, never succumbing to the instinct to cover her breasts. Instead, she threw her shoulders back, thrusting her bosom at the younger woman. "Let me see you!" she breathed, feeling bolder than bold.

Smiling a knowing smile, Isobel shrugged off her jacket, folded it neatly, and laid it on the kitchen table. Her blouse was translucent enough to reveal a black, lacy bra underneath, and the firm, inviting breasts they contained. She paused to clear away the coffee cups, which struck Matilda as an odd thing to do in the circumstances, but then she unbuttoned her blouse, in no hurry whatsoever, but clearly enjoying the hunger in Matilda's eyes as she did it. Good God, every inch of the woman was perfect, from her manicured eyebrows to her bob of blonde hair, from her ice-blue eyes to her honey-coloured skin. It went without saying that, when she finished unfastening her blouse it was to reveal a flat, perfectly-toned stomach, and a navel that made Matilda want to fill it with expensive wine and sip from it. She folded the blouse with every bit as much care as she had folded the jacket and laid it on top of it before turning back to Matilda, whose pussy was drooling with anticipation.

"You are so fucking gorgeous!" she stammered.

Isobel's only reply was a wry smile. She probably heard compliments like that all the time. She kept her eyes on Matilda as she unfastened and unzipped her skirt. She did not let it fall, but stepped out of it, one leg at a time, and repeated the meticulous folding. "You like what you see, then?" she asked at last.

"I don't think I've ever wanted anyone or anything as much as I want you right now," breathed Matilda.

Isobel nodded, as if agreeing with a self-evident statement of fact. She unfastened her bra, took it off and threw it, almost casually this time, on top of her mounting pile of clothing. Her breasts were delicious, not too small, not too big, but divinely firm and capped with hard, pink nipples. And she knew how perfect they were, the bitch. Matilda could tell this from the way she stood, and the confident, almost arrogant smile on her beautiful face. "There, now we're even," she grinned. "I want you to lie on the kitchen table. You can use my clothes as a pillow."

Matilda was too surprised to answer. She had expected to lead Isobel up to the bedroom, or at least into the living room. And to be permitted to use the carefully-folded clothes as a pillow seemed almost incongruous. But she was in no mood to refuse Isobel anything she asked, so she climbed on to the table (was that why Isobel had removed the coffee cups?) and lay on her back, bosom heaving. She put her head back on Isobel's bra, blouse, jacket, and skirt, which put her in a position whereby she had to bring her legs up and apart so as to plant her feet on the tabletop. This, of course, exposed her pussy and brought it close to the edge of the table. Isobel, that infuriatingly self-satisfied smile still playing at her lips, stood facing her and, without so much as a by-your-leave (as if she needed one!), took Matilda's knickers in both hands and rolled them down. She pulled them over her feet and casually tossed them over her shoulder. It was a dismissive gesture as if to say, 'my clothes need to be taken care of, but yours are so much rubbish'. Now she stood, looking down between Matilda's legs.

"I want to see your cunt. Spread it open for me."

Again, Matilda was unwilling to deny Isobel anything, so she reached down between her thighs and parted the petals of her labia with thumb and forefinger. She was extremely wet and, though she didn't take her own eyes off Isobel's face, rather fancied her pussy must be glistening.

"How pretty!" exclaimed Isobel, eyes feasting on Matilda's sex. It was hard to tell whether she was being complimentary or patronising but then, Isobel usually spoke in that ambiguous way. She licked her lips again then gathered up Matilda's clothes and laid them on the floor. The bitch was actually going to use them as a cushion for her knees! The sheer arrogance of the gesture made Matilda's pussy tingle all the more. If this woman asked her to fall down on her face and worship her, she doubted, in this moment, she would have the least inclination to refuse. Indeed, Isobel Carrington was worshipful. But right now, it was the younger woman who went down on her knees and did so in an act of worship all her own. Yes, that was it! She was about to worship Tilda's pussy.

Matilda spread her thighs still wider and soon felt Isobel's breath, quick and hot, on her labia. She continued to hold herself open as she felt the first flicker of her tongue on her sensitive flesh. She gasped as electrical sparks went off in her head. It had been too, too long since she had felt a woman's tongue in her cunt!

"God, yes! Lick me, you dirty bitch!"

A long swipe of Isobel's tongue began at her arsehole and ended with a deft flick of her clit, making her gasp again. Then a series of quick probes of her clit preceded Isobel's pointed tongue delving into the liquid depths of her cunt, fucking her with quick, stabbing motions that soon had her writhing as if she were being fucked by a wet, pink cock. Then Isobel nibbled at her labia and probed at her arsehole before returning her full attention to her clitoris. For a long minute, maybe two, she worked it over, sucking it, licking it with the flat of her tongue, probing it with the tip, until Matilda was losing the power of speech together with any meaningful control over her thrashing body.

"You bitch!" she murmured. "You bitch! You bitch! You bitch!"

Isobel showed no mercy. Two slim fingers slid into Matilda's sopping-wet cunt as she continued to flick away at her clit. She thrust them in and out, in and out, never ceasing to attack her clitoris with her skilful tongue. Matilda's body was arching, her thighs quivering, her head spinning.

"Come... Want to come... Want to..." Her words fell away into incoherent moans as the ecstasy of Isobel's tongue and fingers built up from the pit of her stomach and through her entire body. "Make me... make me... do it to me... Oh, Izzy, fuck me!"

Isobel pursed her lips and sucked Matilda's clit into her mouth, where she now attacked it with the tip of her tongue in rapid, aggressive flicks, each one setting off fireworks in her head. And all the time she continued to saw her fingers in and out of her cunt. For a long moment, she teetered at the brink of orgasm, then toppled over it.

"Yes! Yes! Do it! Oh, fucking yes!" she screamed as wave after wave crashed over her, turning into a trembling, thrashing mess. And still Isobel was licking and finger-fucking her, both during her orgasm and after it, and through into a second, and a third, and a loss of count. She inhabited a Universe of coming, where there was nothing else but orgasm and nobody else but Isobel and her own voice ringing in her head, some incoherent string of nonsense as she came, and came, and came.

By the time Harriet came home from college, Isobel was long gone, and Matilda re-dressed and (mostly) re-composed, though the memory of Isobel's tongue would linger near the forefront of her mind for days to come, and never truly leave her. She greeted Harriet with a motherly peck on the cheek, and the same for Ryan when he returned. By the time Tobias came home, she was a wife and mother again. That was a blissful feeling, to be part of such a loving, happy family. Blissful, but not enough. Not nearly enough. She had experienced the magic of Isobel Carrington, and she wanted much, much more.

ii. The March Assembly

When four Bored Housewives reassembled at the beginning of March, it was to be at Matilda's house. Tobias and Ryan were at work and Harriet was at college, so they had the house to themselves. Nevertheless, Matilda always like to centre their get-togethers in the kitchen, because it felt cosy, there was wine and coffee close at hand, and it had that lovely view of her rose-garden. The others seemed to like it too. Maz had dubbed it "Tilda's Coffee Shop", and the name had stuck. Of course, it had even more resonance for her now as the place in which she was first fucked by Isobel Carrington. She had a huge jug of coffee percolating away by the time her friends started to roll up, a gargantuan, fully-stocked barrel of biscuits, several bottles of semi-decent wine, and a fuck-ton of weed.

The four of them sat around the kitchen table, gossiping. Twenty minutes in, and nobody had raised the matter of Anna's challenge. She thought Annie herself would have mentioned it by now, but she hadn't. So she coughed, to gain their attention. "I don't know about you lot, but I seem to remember that last time we got together, Mrs. Stewart here issued a challenge. Or had you all forgotten?"

"I did do that, didn't I?" grinned Annie, trying to look innocent.

"Well then? I'm sitting here fully expecting a round of very juicy details, and all I'm getting is boring, fucking gossip!"

"Do I take it," said Beth, "that you have something you wish to report? Some salacious encounter with a schoolgirl, was it?"

The others laughed, but Matilda affected to look smug. "Not a schoolgirl," she said, "but a full-grown, and incredibly sexy, woman."

That silenced them, though only for a second. Their laughter immediately gave way to questions of the 'who, what, when, where, how' variety. Matilda held up a silencing hand. "As for the 'who', let's just say it was a woman who has only recently moved into the neighbourhood, not naming any names..."

"You fucked my next-door neighbour?" exclaimed Annie. "You dirty, fucking whore!"

Matilda smirked at her. "Naming no names, I said," she answered with a wink. "And I believe it was Maz who asked where... Funny you should ask, actually, because Maria my dear, your coffee cup is in pretty much the exact location where she licked my pussy."

A lesser woman might have prissily repositioned her cup but, to her credit, Maz looked more impressed than disconcerted. "She fucked you on the kitchen table?"

"Fucked me good and hard!" boasted Matilda.

"You unutterable slut!" complained Annie. "I know you said you fancied girls, but I never thought you'd actually do it!"

"I'd forgotten how much I love pussy."

"Hm, I'm a little too addicted to dick," said Maz. "Still..." She looked pensive.

"Dick's nice," said Matilda, "but they say a change is as good as a rest, after all. Anyway, that was what I've been up to since our last get-together. Who wants to go next?"

Before anyone else could speak, Beth regaled them with the story of how she had pegged her husband, and how much he had liked it.

"Are you sure Ash doesn't mind you telling all your friends about it?" frowned Maz. "I can't speak for the others, but I'm not sure I'll ever look at him in quite the same way again!"

"Ash will mind what he's told to mind," said Beth firmly. "I'm still training him, of course, but he's beginning to learn who's the boss. In bed and out."

"Wow! You are giving off some real dominatrix energy there, Mrs Brookes."

"Maybe I'll revert to Willis, and he can do the same," she countered, which made everyone laugh.

As the hubbub died down, Annie raised her hand. "I'd like to go next," she told them. "If nobody minds."

"I can hardly wait to see what Shy Little Annie has done to compete with Mistress Beth," laughed Matilda. "They say it's always the quiet ones, so I'm hoping you've been a truly bad girl."

"Funny you should say that," laughed Annie, "because whether I have or not, I managed to convince my husband that I had. As you know, things between me and Will have been bordering on chaste for years."

"Did you ever find out if he was cheating on you?"

Annie shrugged. "Not beyond flirting, I think. And that brings us full circle, back to one Miss Isobel Carrington, because my Will finds her most fascinating. Probably doesn't know she's a rug-muncher," she added, arching her eyebrow at Matilda, who stuck her tongue out in response. "I've got to know Isobel a little since our last gathering, though she certainly never mentioned fucking my friend!"

"She's probably more discrete than I am," said Matilda. "Anyway, I never actually claimed it was her, now did I?"

"I mean, you kind of did. But never mind. I like Isobel, though she always conveys the idea that she's my distant superior in every way. Not by anything she says or does, she just has that air about her, the stuck-up cow."

"That's a big part of what makes her so damned sexy."

"So you do admit it was her?"

"Fuck off!"

"Whatever. Anyway, we were chatting last week, and I happened to mention to her how gently Will treats me, as if I were a glass vase he might break."

"Is that true?" asked Maria.

Annie nodded. "And that does not turn me on, ladies, it just doesn't. I want a man to show me who's in control, and I don't want that to be little old me. I said the same thing to Izzy and, to my surprise, she told me that was what she wanted from a man, too."

"She said that?" challenged Matilda, taken aback. Everything she knew about Isobel (admittedly not that much) was that she was always the one in control. The idea that she would submit to a man did not fit comfortably in her image of the woman.

"She did. I've no idea whether it's true, or whether she was just saying it to open me up. And, truth to tell, I don't have her down as the submissive type. She's quite strict with her niece, and I always took her for a no-nonsense lady-boss. You know she's the chair of her own company?"

"No!"

"Web design," said Matilda, determined to reestablish her credentials as the Housewife most closely tied to Isobel Carrington.

"Yes, it's called 'Codex Web Design'," said Annie. "And she looks the part of a tough, ball-busting businesswoman, with those steely, blue eyes, and sharp jackets, and that commanding, gravelly voice..."

"Jesus, Annie, it sounds like you're the one who fancies her!"

Annie blushed. "Maybe if she had a dick," she admitted. "Anyway, she said, 'Annie, if a man wants to make me melt all over his cock, he'd better be fucking mean to me. In bed, anyway.'" And she suggested I try to push Will into being meaner. You know, nag him or tease him or whatever, to make him angry."

"I can't quite imagine Will being angry," said Maz.

"He's pretty placid most of the time, but I've been married to him for over twenty years, and I know what buttons to press. So I did. In the end, I pushed him over the edge by belittling him. He hates that, and it hurt my heart to do it, but I saw the light go on in his eyes, and I knew I had him. I smirked at him and asked if I was annoying him. He wouldn't admit it at first, but in the end he cracked. I said, 'What are you going to do about it?'. He said he ought to put me over his knee and spank me so..."

"He spanked you?"

"Oh yes, he spanked me! And then he fucked me. And I had the best orgasm I've had in fucking years!" She shivered. "I keep replaying the whole thing in my mind, and every time I do, I get tingles in all the right places. I'm getting one now, if you want to know."

"I'm not sure I do!" said Maz.

"I do!" said Beth, looking at Annie with something akin to admiration, or it might have been lust, Matilda wasn't quite sure. "Good for you, Annie! I knew you had it in you."

"So," said Matilda, "that means three of us have been satisfied, one way or the other, since our last little get-together. That just leaves Mrs McNish. How about it, Maria? Have anything juicy for us?"

Maz drew a deep and heavy sigh. "I know you think I'm going to say I chickened out and did nothing, but I do have a story to tell, actually. "I mean, we all have the same stories don't we, the four of us, or at any rate they all start the same. Raising kids is bad for the libido, and I have four of the fuckers." She grinned. They all knew how much she loved her children, so nobody was shocked by the statement. "And, having his own business, Josh works long hours a lot of the time, so even when he's at home he's usually tired and often irritable. We still have sex, actually, but it's mostly at weekends and on bank holidays," she said with a grim smile. "Usually, if I get bored, I go over to Vicky's house." They all knew who she meant by Vicky. Victoria Peterson lived at Number 18, across the road from Isobel, and had known Maz since the Year Dot.

"Both she and Richard work from home nowadays. You all know Richard's a bit of a hunk, and I like to flirt with him. Only when Vicky's there, though, so it's done in good fun. Still, I don't mind admitting, he's firmly in my wank bank, and he's given me a good few imaginary orgasms in my time."

"Does Vicky know that?"

Maz half shrugged. "She knows I fancy him. We're good friends but not so close that we share our masturbatory fantasies. Or rather, we weren't."

"What?"

"Don't tease us, Mazza!" complained Matilda. "Dish the fucking dirt, girl!"

"Well, a while back, over the Christmas holiday, Vicky confided in me that Richard actually does fancy me. She said it in an offhand way, and I didn't really respond, but after last month's session, I asked her about it. And it wasn't just the discussions we had; I've started having these dreams..."

"What kind of dreams?" interrupted Beth, with suspicious eagerness.

"Were they dirty?" prompted Matilda.

Maz frowned. "Not exactly dirty," she said. "Not even erotic, really, though they had a sort of erotic undertone. It's hard to explain."

"I think I know what you mean," said Beth. "I've been having dreams like that myself."

"Me too!" said Annie. They all looked at each other. Matilda, to whom such dreams were nothing new, scoffed at the implied idea that something profound or spiritual was going on.

"So we all have sex dreams," she said. "I'm more interested in hearing what happened to young Maria."

"Well, the dreams left me in a bold enough mood to press Vicky and she said that, yes, she was serious. They'd been talking about me, and she'd challenged him to tell her what he really thought about me, and he admitted he'd fantasised about having sex with me. Sensing a bit of an opportunity, I made a joke about how we should get together for a threesome, just to test the water."

"You slut!" said Annie, appalled and impressed at the same time.

"What did she say?" asked Beth.

"She said, 'Oh, I think Richard would very much enjoy that'. That was all. She didn't say she'd enjoy it, or that we should make it happen, but she didn't laugh it off, either. I spent the next week or so thinking about it. Was it something I'd really do? What about Josh? Would I tell him about it, or cheat on him? Of course, I didn't really think anything would come of it, so it was all hypothetical anyway, but I did have a few tingly moments imagining it.

"Anyway, the next time I went over Vicky's house, which would have been a couple of weeks ago now, the two of us sat around chatting (Richard was out somewhere), when Vicky pipes up, 'You know when we were joking about threesomes? Were you joking? It's been on my mind a bit since you said it.' I laughed and said I'd been half-joking, but she wasn't settling for that. She asked again, more pointedly this time. She said, 'What I'm trying to get at is, if we were actually up for a threesome, would you be?' Fuck me, I nearly choked on my chocolate hobnob!"

"Fuck!" agreed Annie.

"Vicky Peterson?" marvelled Beth. "Who would have thought it?"

"Not me, anyway," said Maz. "She said she'd discussed it with Richard, and he was more than open to the idea of trying it. I said I didn't like the idea of cheating on Josh - I do love my husband, ladies - but she said, and my jaw nearly dropped off when she said it because my mouth was so wide open, she said, 'If it's any consolation to him, maybe I'll let him fuck me to keep things fair!"

"So, I left there still not sure how serious she was or how serious I was. Should I tell Josh? Did I dare to? The more I thought about it, the more I wanted it. Or, anyway, I knew I wanted to fuck Richard, I wasn't at all sure I wanted my old friend Vicky to be present when it happened. I wavered about that, actually. Sometimes the idea horrified me, sometimes it turned me on. But then, last Wednesday afternoon, I got a text from her, which basically said, '3some is on 2day, if u want it. Come over.'

"So, I had to decide what to do, there and then. I went up and showered, put on something tight and revealing, still telling myself I wasn't going to go through with it. I was still telling myself that when I rang the doorbell. Vicky answered it, dressed even sluttier than me. She looked pretty hot, actually, and really, really up for it. As I went into the hall, she kissed me. She never does that. It was fairly tame, but she'd never kissed me on the lips before.

"'Richard's upstairs,' she told me. 'He's been waiting for you.' And he was. He was lying on the bed, still dressed, and he didn't say anything but watched us both with very hungry eyes. Vicky started taking off her clothes, so I did too. It was all a bit awkward and embarrassing actually, but Richard seemed to like having two women strip naked for him. What man wouldn't? Once we were naked, we lay on the bed, one either side of him. Vicky unzipped him and took his cock out. He was already hard, and I just watched my old friend suck her husband's cock. After a bit, she kind of offered it to me so I... sucked it."

"You slut!" said Annie. "You absolute slut!"

"I did feel like a slut, actually," admitted Maz, "but I do like sucking cock, and Richard's is, well, delightful. I thought he might come in my mouth, and that would be that, but while I was sucking him, Vicky was unbuttoning his shirt and jeans. Next thing I know, all three of us are naked on the bed, kind of kissing and fingering each other, and I'm getting awfully wet, not to mention hot and bothered. We took turns sucking him off until, when he had his cock right down Vicky's throat, he invited me to come and sit on his face. Jesus, that man knows how to work over a pussy! I came in his face, I don't mind admitting, but he still didn't come. What a machine!"

"Holy fuck!" commented Matilda. "This is so fucking hot!"

"Once I'd come down from my orgasm, I lay next to the two of them while Vicky worked on his cock. After a bit, she looked up as if she'd only just remembered I was there. She asked me, 'How'd you like to sit on this?' and pointed his cock at me. I didn't say anything, I just nodded. He lay there and she held his cock upright while I straddled him and sank down on it. And I was torn between severe embarrassment and absolute turned-onedness, because there I was riding Richard Peterson's lovely cock while his wife sat next to me, playing with his balls and watching me fuck him. It didn't last long, actually, because she'd already brought him pretty close to the brink, and I was both relieved and disappointed when he started coming. I didn't get a second orgasm, but I did get a fanny full of cum, and a deep sense of shame and elation, which I've been pretty much carrying with me ever since. So there you go. That was my sexual adventure."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" said Matilda, genuinely blown away by Maria's story. "I have to admit, ladies, that all three of you have surprised me. You've all gone further than I thought you would, if I'm being honest. I've evidently underestimated you."

"I think we've all underestimated each other," said Beth.

"But what now?" asked Annie.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Maria's fucked her best friend's husband in front of her, Beth's pegged her husband, Tilda's fucked Isobel Carrington, and I've convinced my husband to spank me. Is that it? Do we take it further, or is that mission accomplished? Because I have to tell you, I'm only at the 'whetting of the appetite' stage."

"Me too!" agreed Matilda. "I'm definitely up for more adventures, especially of the lady-love kind."

Beth shrugged. "I suppose we all have a dot-dot-dot at the end of our stories. How about we just say, '... continued next month', and see where we've got to next time we meet?"

"April the Fifth," said Annie, "my house."

"Does, er, does anyone else have a wet pussy?" asked Matilda.

"I think it's safe to say we all do," grinned Beth. "And I'm going home now to take care of it. Good luck, ladies. May your adventures continue."

III. The Unworthiness of Anna Stewart

When it comes to a husband, make your choice: Be his mistress, be his whore, be his mother, or be his slave. But never regret your choice

Sir William Carrington, Advice to Wives, Maxim 1

i. Deliberate Provocations

Anna was unrelenting. Whenever she felt the mood on her, and that was often these days, she would start to nag and mock and goad her husband. It had come to the point where he recognised what she was doing and why, but it worked, nonetheless. As soon as he got her alone in the bedroom, he would put her over his knee, pull down her knickers, and spank her until her arse was red. She would squirm and squeal, secretly loving every minute of it. And once he was sufficiently hard, and she was sufficiently wet, he would bend her over the bed, drive his cock into her cunt and fuck her roughly, though in silence. She wished he would tell her what a bad girl she was, how much she deserved her punishment, and how much he enjoyed spanking her, but he let his actions do the talking, and that seemed enough, at least for him.

"Are you going to stop disrespecting me?" he asked her one day. She was lying face-down on the bed, arse glowing and pussy streaming, while he stood in front of her, cock sticking out of his jeans.

"Why should I, you fucking pussy?" she demanded. "You're barely a man! You couldn't get another woman if you tried, so I can treat you how the fuck I like!"

She was still talking when he drove his cock into her mouth. This was new. Especially because he didn't stop there but kept pushing against the back of her throat. She gagged, but still he didn't stop. He slid his cock down her throat and started fucking it, grabbing her hair by both hands as he did so. She couldn't speak, could scarcely breathe.

"How do you like that, you dirty bitch?" he demanded. "How do you like having your throat raped, like the slut you are?"

She tried to gurgle a reply. On the one hand, she was certain she was going to choke to death, but on the other, she was so turned on she thought she might waterlog the bed with her pussy juices, and with her drool, which was running down his cock and on to the bed. Perhaps recognising that he had gone too far, Will drew his cock back out of her sore throat, and she gasped for air.

"You bastard, you could have choked me!" she spluttered.

But if she expected contrition, she was disappointed. "Shut your whore mouth, slut!" he said, and actually slapped her across the face as she started to rise. "You will not speak to me like that! If I want to fuck your throat, I'll fuck your fucking throat. And if I want to choke you, I'll fucking choke you. Do you understand me, slut?"

Now this was a side of her husband she had never seen, and she had to say, much to her surprise, she liked it. "Yes, Will. I'm sorry, Will."

"That's better." He waved his cock in her face, like a sceptre of command. "Now do you want this? Do you want a good, hard pounding?"

And in that moment, something came over Anna, a sudden, terrible notion. And once it was in her head, she could not get it out again, especially because the idea vibrated through her body and ended up in her dripping-wet pussy. "I... I don't deserve to be fucked, sir," she said, her voice hoarse from the abuse to her throat.

That made him pause. He frowned, suddenly perplexed, as if the rules of the game had changed and nobody had told them him it. In essence, that was true. "You... you don't want me to fuck you?"

"I do want you to fuck me, but I don't deserve it."

He considered this. "You're right, you don't deserve it. You don't deserve me at all, actually. I really ought to go out and fuck other bitches. Maybe I should tie you to the bed while I'm gone, so you don't get up to any mischief."

"Yes! You should do that, Will. You deserve the best, and I'm a worthless cunt."

"A worthless cunt, yes," he agreed. "But right now even your mangy cunt will do, so get down on the floor like a good bitch. On your hands and knees."

She was eager to comply, and did not need to be told twice. She got on all-fours on the bedroom floor and, still fully dressed, Will knelt behind her. He took her naked hips in his hands, digging in his fingernails as he clutched them tight, and steered his iron-hard cock into her pussy. And he fucked her. And it was the best fuck Anna had ever had in her life. It didn't take him long to come, but before he did so, she had soared through three successive orgasms. By the time he erupted deep inside her, and withdrew, she was spent. She slumped to the floor, half conscious, and was barely aware of the sound of the bedroom door opening and closing as her husband left her to it.

ii. The Inner Glow

Anna felt like she was lit by an inner glow throughout the following week. There was no immediate repeat performance, and Will didn't really talk about it, as if he were ashamed of how he had behaved. She didn't goad him over the next few days, sensing that he needed time to process what he had done. But she was also very loving towards him, and could not do enough to make him happy, cooking his favourite meals, greeting him when he came home from work with a smile and a kiss, acting in short like some kind of nineteen-fifties style Stepford wife. He seemed to appreciate it, though, and she was content (for now) to show him how obedient she was, and how much she loved him.

There was one complication in her life, however. Jamie had noticed Olivia from the moment she moved in next door, and had at no point stopped noticing her, much to Jemima's derisive amusement. Worse, Olivia was returning the interest with, well, interest, and they were beginning to spend time together. It was a complication only because Anna's friendship with Isobel had been evolving with some rapidity, and she was worried that a romance between her son and Isobel's niece might add an unwelcome dimension to that friendship. Not that Isobel seemed to mind; She thought they made a cute couple and was amused to see them together.

Jemima's attitude towards her brother and Olivia was less supportive, however. Anna had noticed her usually shy and kind-hearted daughter aim jibes and sarcastic comments at Jamie whenever the subject came up. On Saturday afternoon, while Jamie was out playing rugby and Will had had to go into work, she took the opportunity to probe Jemima about it.

"You don't approve of Olivia, I take it," she said.

Jemima curled up her lip. "Do we have to talk about her?" she snapped. "It's all I ever hear about from Jamie. Do I have to hear it from you, too, mom?"

Anna held up her hands. "OK. OK. I was just asking. What's wrong with her anyway?"

"Wrong with her? Nothing's wrong with her, is it? That's the problem. Olivia's so pretty, and so stylish, and so witty and charming and sexy." She made a vomit gesture. "Olivia Hendry, God's gift to men."

"So, you're jealous of her?" probed Anna, certain that she would regret the question.

"Why? Are you saying she's prettier than me? Or that I want Jamie to fancy me?"

Anna fought hard not to roll her eyes. "I'm not saying either of those things, sweetheart. But you'd hardly be the first girl to be jealous of a slightly older, sexy-looking girl, you know!"

"So you think she's sexy too!"

She sighed. "It's pretty much the objective truth, don't you think?"

"Do you think I'm sexy?"

"You're asking me if I think my eighteen-year-old daughter's sexy?"

Jemima blushed, which touched Anna deeply. "Scrub that question," she said, "I wasn't thinking. But yes, I am jealous. The bitch is gorgeous!"

"No more gorgeous than you, sweetheart."

"You're bound to say that."

"I'm bound to say it, because it's true."

"Whatever."

Ah, the classic teenage response. And the truth was that Anna had in no way failed to notice how gorgeous and sexy Isobel's niece was. God, she had half a crush on the girl herself, though there was no way in hell she was admitting that to anyone, least of all Jemima. The girl was shy, a bit socially awkward, and insecure about her appearance (what eighteen-year-old girl wasn't?). The last thing she needed was her own mother comparing her unfavourably to the hot girl next door. And if Jemima was jealous that Jamie was paying so much attention to Olivia, who was Anna to judge? She was jealous too, when it came right down to it.

iii. An Indecent Proposal

Anna was sitting in Isobel's beautiful living room, nestled in a comfortable armchair, with a glass of most agreeable red wine in her hand. Isobel was half-lounging on the sofa, elegant as ever, though her short, split skirt had ridden up to reveal an uncomfortable amount of luscious thigh. Anna was not, had never been, into women, but she did admire female beauty (and sexiness) as much as anyone, and could not help but keep surreptitiously staring at Isobel's naked flesh.

"You seem awfully subdued, darling," Isobel told her. "Not at all your usual chatty self. I hope you're not annoyed about my slutty niece trying to seduce your handsome son."

"They do seem to be hitting it off, somewhat," she smiled.

"Hitting it off would be one way of putting it," leered Isobel.

She shook her head. "Well, they're eighteen and full of hormones. We can hardly blame them for doing what we did at their age."

"To be honest, I positively encourage it," replied Isobel. "We're only young and beautiful for so long. It's a crime not to enjoy it while you still can."

"I suppose that's true."

"Speaking of which, how are you doing with your submissive wife act?"

"It's not really an act," said Anna. "And it was going very well until last week." She frowned. "But he seems distracted all of a sudden. He really did immerse himself in the role of masterful husband and..." She paused, blushing.

"And? Come on, spill!"

Anna's smile was coy. "Best sex of my life," she said. She cleared her throat. "I told him I was unworthy of having sex with him, and that he, er, should... I believe my words, in the moment of passion, were 'fuck other bitches'. That really set him going and it was wonderful! But it's been a week and a half now since then, and he's been so distant. Especially for the last few days."

"Ah!" Isobel sat up and perched on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward. "I'm afraid I may have had something to do with that."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

Isobel spread her hands. "I suppose I ought to come clean," she said. "You see, last Sunday I was in my back garden when I saw Will going out to the shed. So I said hi, and he waved back. He was carrying some boxes, and I said, 'I do like to see a big, strong man doing manly things,' or something like that. That seemed to both please and fluster him."

"Yes, I suppose it would, knowing my Will."

"He came over to ask me how I was settling into the neighbourhood, and I said I was very happy here, that Olivia was settling in too, and that I was getting to know the neighbours. I mentioned, though, that it was difficult raising a teenage niece, who lacked a father figure." She coughed. "I said I remembered how much a girl needs some discipline in her life. Then I might have added that I still needed someone to discipline me every now and again."

"God! I can't believe you said that. I can't believe you're admitting you said that to anyone, let alone my husband!"

"Are you mad at me?"

She pursed her lips. "You know, Izzy, it's quite easy to get mad at you, but impossible to get properly angry with you. There's something about you... We don't know each other all that well, yet, but it already feels to me like you do whatever you're supposed to do, and being mad with you about it is as pointless as being angry with a cat for meowing."

Isobel laughed. "We call it the Carrington Gene," she said. "I come from a long line of wilful women. But Annie, I hope we do come to know each other well. I think I'd be good for you, and I know you'd be good for me."

"Is it true you slept with Matilda Ellis? She hinted you had but wouldn't definitively say it was you."

"I certainly haven't slept with her," grinned Isobel. "But I will confess to licking her cunt which was, I have to say, exceptionally tasty."

"Crikey! So, if you're into women, why exactly are you flirting with my husband?"

"Oh Annie! Do you judge me so narrow-minded that I'd limit myself to one gender or another? I find that to be most inadvisable."

"But we can't choose our sexuality, can we? I like men. I can't force myself to like women too."

"You seem to like ogling my thigh," replied Isobel disingenuously.

"Admiring is one thing," muttered Anna. "Lusting after is another thing entirely."

"Really? I don't find that to be true. It's my honest and deeply held opinion that everyone's bisexual, its only where we are along the scale that differs. I'd put myself at, let's say, 60-40 in favour of pussy. Now, you may be 90-10 in favour of dick, or it might even be 99-1, but I'd bet my last pair of knickers that it's not 100-0."

"I don't know. I don't remember ever fancying a girl. Not really."

"Then I put it to you that you are a) fooling yourself and b) missing out on entirely 50% of the world's sexual potential."

"Do you put numbers on everything?"

"I have a background in data," she shrugged. "But this is less about maths and more about instinct. So, here's my challenge to you, Annie Stewart. One night, after Will's fast asleep and snoring away, I want you to think hard about a woman you admire (if it's me, I'll be awfully flattered, but it really can be any woman), and I want you to masturbate while you think of her. Consider it to be an experiment. Have a gay wank, in other words, and see if you can bring yourself off."

"So crude!" laughed Anna, embarrassed but secretly intrigued.

"Will you do it?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Oh, I so want you to do it. But let's get back to Will. You did tell him to fuck other bitches. I don't think he knows whether or not you meant it. Did you mean it?"

"No!" She grimaced. "Except that, in the moment, I did mean it. I don't want my husband to cheat on me yet, at the same time, it kind of turns me on to think I'm so submissive to him that he could be with other women just to let me know how much he's in charge. I don't want him to do it behind my back though. The whole point is that he does it so as to lord it over me."

"In a nutshell, you want to be a cuckquean."

"A what?"

"Look it up," grinned Isobel. "But the question is, sweet Annie, how would you feel about your husband fucking you're incredibly sexy next-door-neighbour? If you say no, then I wouldn't dream of doing it. But if you say yes..."

"You are actually suggesting fucking my husband?" Anna was incredulous.

"That is what I'm suggesting."

"Jesus!"

"Think it over. Talk to him about it. Let me know."

That afternoon, before the kids came home and with the house to herself, Anna poured herself a glass of wine and logged into PornHub. Taking a deep breath, she typed 'Lesbian' into the search engine, picked a thumbnail showing two particularly glamorous-looking young women, and pressed play. Her first instinct was to turn away, but she wanted to give Isobel's experiment a fair trial. Half-an-hour and three videos later, she was surprised to find she had wanked herself to three solid orgasms.

iv. Trying to be Worthy

Anna had wrestled with it for days. Ever since Isobel had posed her outrageous question, she could think of little else. Even in her dreams, she kept hearing Isobel's voice, suggesting she grant her permission to fuck Will. And they weren't nightmares either; On the contrary, she would wake from them with dampness on her thighs and a tingling in her loins. Even Jamie's fast-developing affair with Olivia and Jemima's over-the-top jealousy could not distract her from the question. The answer was impossible, because it changed eternally, depending on her mood. She knew full well that when she was turned on sufficiently, she would agree to just about anything, and that the rest of the time she would be horrified at the idea. But the truth was that she was turned on more and more often these days, and she blamed Isobel for that, though she wasn't sure exactly how Isobel was to blame.

Then, one Tuesday night as she and Will got into bed, something inside her snapped. "Why don't you want to spank and fuck me anymore?" she demanded.

"What?"

"Is it because of Isobel?"

"Isobel? What are you talking about? Did I turn over two pages at once?"

She snorted. "Don't you play the innocent with me, Will Stewart! I know full well you fancy that bitch next door. You're thinking of her instead of fucking me, don't deny it!"

"I do deny it!" He was indignant. "I'd never cheat on you, Annie."

"Even though I asked you to?"

He shook his head. "That was in the passion of the moment. Wasn't it?"

"Yes," she shrugged. "And also no. OK, let me ask a different question." In a moment of inspiration, she slid out of bed, walked around to his side, and dropped to her knees. She unhooked both straps of her nightdress and let the flimsy garment fall, revealing her generous breasts while Will looked on in bemused fascination. "Am I worthy of fucking you, sir?"

Will bit his lip, considering this for a moment. He ran a hand through his thicket of beautiful, blond hair as his eyes roamed over his wife's breasts. "No," he said quietly, "I don't believe you are worthy."

Anna sighed, feigning sadness. "I'm sorry, sir. I try to be worthy but I'm afraid I'm just a worthless piece of shit. I'm a dirty cunt, and I'm not good enough for such a beautiful man."

"You are worthless," he agreed. He threw back the sheets to reveal his perfect cock, thick and hard. He stood up, stood over her. She went to take it in her hand, but he batted it away. "Do you seriously think you're worthy of touching my cock?"

She gulped. "No, sir!"

"Damned right you're not. Unfortunately, you're the only cunt available, right now."

"Perhaps... forgive me, sir, but perhaps there is someone worthier than me. I want only to please you. I crave your beautiful cock with every ounce of my soul. But you ought to fuck someone worthy."

"Like... like who?" He was running his hand up and down his shaft as he spoke. This was turning him on as much as it was turning her on. She could feel her pussy juices trickling down her inner thigh.

Looking up at him, Anna took a deep breath and, not quite able to believe she was saying this, told him, "You should go next door and fuck Isobel. She is worthy, I know she is."

"You want me to fuck our next-door neighbour?"

"No, sir, but I think you ought to. Please! And perhaps, when you come back, you can make use of my dirty cunt. Just as an afterthought. Please, sir!" And to her horror and her delight, Will turned his back on her and started to get dressed. As soon as he had left, Anna lay back on the bed. Spreading her thighs and closing her eyes, she forced herself to think about Isobel Carrington's shapely thighs. And masturbated.

The opening of the bedroom door woke her, hours later, from her post-orgasmic sleep. She opened bleary eyes to see Will on his side of the bed, getting undressed. She wanted to ask the question whose answer she dreaded, whatever it was.

"Did... did you fuck her?"

Will nodded, but however much she pressed him for details, he was admitting nothing. But once he was naked, and turned back to her, she could see he was hard again.

"On your back, bitch, and spread your slut legs."

Breathing hard, Anna did as she was told. She had made herself come hard earlier, but that was hours of blissful sleep ago, and she was ready to be fucked. Without another word, Will climbed on top of her and, not pausing for a moment's foreplay, drove his cock deep and hard into her hungry gash. She whimpered as he fucked her, whispering, "Oh yes, sir. Thank-you, sir! Thank-you for fucking this unworthy slut!"

v. The Next Challenge

As soon as Will had left for work, and the kids for work and college, Anna threw on a T-shirt and jeans and hurried next door, hoping against hope that Isobel hadn't gone into work that day. Not only was she at home, but she seemed to be waiting for Anna and greeted her with the most self-satisfied smirk she had ever seen. She felt a tingle in her pussy at the thought of all that smirk implied. Isobel closed the door behind them, and ushered Anna into the living room. Anna settled herself into the armchair while Isobel poured them a glass of whisky apiece.

"Well?" demanded Anna. "What happened?"

"Hasn't Will told you?" asked Isobel innocently.

"Oh, he admitted he'd fucked you. Then he fucked me, good and hard. But he refuses to tell me a single thing about how it went. You'd better tell me, Izzy. That's the bargain. You get to fuck my husband, but you have to tell me all about it."

Another smirk as Isobel handed her the glass and took a sip from her own. She was wearing a green, silk blouse and a pencil skirt in black, which accentuated her ridiculously shapely body. "Before I tell you anything, I want to know whether you rose to my challenge?"

Anna felt herself blushing, much to her anger. "You mean the lezzy wank thing?"

Isobel laughed. "I can tell by your blushes that you met the requirement."

"I did," admitted Anna, unable to meet her friend's gaze.

"Well? Which specific woman did you fantasise about?" Anna muttered an inaudible reply. "What was that, I didn't quite hear you."

"I said I fantasised about you, you bitch, as well you know!"

"Oh, how flattering! Was I delicious? Did you come?"

"I did come, if you must know. And I was only fantasising about you, because I assumed you were fucking my husband at the exact moment I was wanking. Satisfied?"

"I am, but not as much as you were, seemingly."

"You really are very pleased with yourself, aren't you, you smug bitch?"

"Usually," smirked Isobel. "Shouldn't I be?"

"I would be," she admitted. "But now I want you to tell me about fucking my husband."

"OK, I'm getting to it. So, my phone buzzed late last night. Olivia was in bed, hopefully asleep, when I read the message, 'It's Will. I'm at the door and I want to fuck you.' Forceful if not subtle, I thought, so I tiptoed downstairs, dressed in nothing more modest than an outrageously sheer satin nightie, and let your husband in. I took his hand and led him into this very living room and, speaking low so as not to wake my innocent niece, I demanded to know what the hell he thought he was doing. I told him exactly how inappropriate I considered his text message to be, and how outrageous of him it was to turn up on my doorstep in the middle of the night, demanding sex. I told him he ought to be ashamed of himself, cheating on his wife, and expecting me to betray my good friend. I told him he was behaving appallingly, and that he had no respect for you or for me or for any woman. And that was when he slapped me across my face."

"Will slapped your face? I can't imagine him doing that to any woman!"

"Slapped it hard. Almost made me come, right then and there."

"Then what happened?"

"He kissed me. It was very forceful, too, tongue in the mouth, hands over my tits, then round my throat. It was so hot! He never said a word, and neither did I. He tore my nightie off, then stood back and admired me while I posed naked for him. You haven't seen me naked yet, Annie, but even if I say so myself, I'm a bit of a cock-stiffener. And the proof of that came when he unzipped his trousers and took it out. What a monster! You lucky bitch! I nearly swooned."

"I doubt that, somehow."

"Still, it makes my mouth water just thinking of it. How on earth do you keep your hands off it all day? Seriously! I'd be riding it to cum-town three times a night and six on Sundays. Girl!"

"So, he took his cock out. What did you do?"

"What do you think I did? I fell to my knees before my new god and took that glorious cock into my mouth. Oh, it tasted good! I love the feel of a good, hard cock nudging the back of my throat while I swirl my tongue all over it. I thought maybe he'd come in my mouth, but no. He sat on the sofa, right here, threw me over his lap and gave me a right, royal spanking. I swear, my arse still lights up the room when I take my knickers off, it's so red and shiny! I could just sit right here and wank myself off to the memory of it."

"Please don't!"

"Well, you say that now, but we'll see. Anyway, once he felt I'd been properly punished (though I hadn't, truth to tell, because I am a very naughty girl!), he had me sit on his cock and ride him then and there, in my own living room, on my own bloody sofa! The nerve of the man! It didn't take many minutes before I was creaming all over him and he was shooting his cum up my fanny. He pulled out, offered me his cock to suck clean, tucked it back in his trousers and left without a word."

"So how long did all that take?" Anna was deeply flustered, but she was also curious.

"Less than an hour, I should say, from face-slapping to cock-cleaning."

"Hm, I wonder where he went afterwards then. He was gone for hours."

Isobel laughed. "Maybe he found another bitch to spank and fuck. Lucky cunt."

"I don't know. This is not at all the Will I know. I can't believe he actually went through with it and did those things!"

"He's an animal," said Isobel, with a low growl in her throat. "You just need to train him, and he'll be your personal, real-life master. Don't waste this, Annie. I reckon this could be the key to a thousand orgasms and a truly nympho lifestyle."

"Sounds... nice."

"Sounds fucking awesome to me! Are you ready for your next challenge?"

"I get another challenge?"

"You do! Next time he fucks you, I want you to imagine him fucking me. I want you to picture me naked, with my cunt dripping all over your husband's cock. And when you come, I want you to be screaming my name. Reckon you can do that?"

"You're a fucked-up, perverted bitch, you know that?"

"Thank-you!" smirked Isobel. "You really do know how to compliment a girl."

IV. The Curious Quartet

Society exists to deny us pleasure. Piss on society

Sir William Carrington, On Society and Religion, Maxim 2

i. Maria's Double Life

Maria McNish felt she was living a double life. To most observers' eyes she was a bored and boring housewife, a dutiful mother, an upright citizen (whatever the hell that meant). But ever since that afternoon with Victoria and Richard, she felt both ashamed and excited. Despite having told her fellow Bored Housewives about it, and feigning bravado in front of them, the truth was she wanted to forget it had ever happened. At the same time, she wanted it to happen again. Soon. And then often. She was haunted by guilt (and dreams that were growing ever more erotic) as much as she was haunted by desire, and it felt like the two opposing forces were tearing her in half. She couldn't bear to know how much Josh trusted (and loved) her, and how much she had betrayed him.

In the end, she could take it no more. They were lying in bed one night, just talking as they often did, when Josh gently asked her what was wrong. "You've not been yourself lately," he said. "I feel like there's something you're not telling me."

She sighed, deep and heavy, knowing that she couldn't keep it a secret from him any longer. So she told him about the BHC, and she told him about Vicky's proposal. "I laughed it off at first, but it was actually exciting to think about. Can you imagine it? A threesome?"

Josh's look was serious, but she didn't see any anger or disapproval in his eyes. "You should have told me," he said, "though I get why you didn't. So? Did you go ahead with it?" The best Maria could do was nod and pray that it didn't make him hate her. He was silent for an uncomfortably long time.

"Are you mad?"

"Am I mad that you had sex with our friends? I certainly ought to be, Maria."

"You only call me Maria when you actually are mad with me."

"Or when we're talking about something serious. And this is serious, after all. What was it like?"

"What was it like?"

"Yes, what was it like? How did it make you feel?"

"I mean, at the time it was exciting, and sexy, and really, really hot. But I've felt awfully guilty ever since. I know I shouldn't have done it but, well, you must admit things have been a bit flat in recent years, bedroom wise."

He considered this for a while, and the look of repressed pain in his eyes tore at her heart, but in the end he said, "Yes, they have. And that's my fault, at least mostly. Sometimes, I forget that you're not just my wife, that you're a woman, too, and a damned sexy, gorgeous one at that. Did you come?"

"I did," she said solemnly.

"You make it sound like a terrible trial," he said, smiling at last. His smile lifted a weight from her soul, and she returned it.

"There was something so incredibly hot about it. Not about cheating on you, I didn't enjoy that part of it at all. It was more the idea of fucking Vicky's husband while she watched. That was an incredible feeling. Incredible!"

"I never imagined Vicky would be like that. Richard, yes, but Vicky!"

"It's not actually something I expected of her, either. But now I have to ask a question. You definitely don't have to answer, and it's not something I'm really in a position to ask, but... Well, Vicky told me that Richard has fancied me for a long time, and it made me wonder... Do you fancy Vicky?"

He turned those serious, grey eyes on her again. "I've always thought she was really pretty," he said. "I can't say I've ever fantasised about her, though I can imagine that might change now!" he added with a grin. "But I..." He hesitated, lost for words.

"But you wouldn't kick her out of bed?" she suggested.

"I wouldn't," he agreed.

"Are you really not mad with me? You've every right to be."

"I suppose I ought to be," he said, "but to be honest, the thought of it kind of turns me on a bit. I think it's from knowing Vicky was there. It makes it not so much an affair, if you know what I mean."

"That's exactly it!" she said. "I don't want an affair, Josh, I swear! I just wanted a bit of excitement. But I should have told you about it first."

"How about we agree that you tell me in advance next time."

Maria's eyes widened. "You're saying you'd allow there to be a next time?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. It's got me a bit... excited."

Understanding, she slipped a hand under the covers and reached for him. His cock was rock hard! She purred as she wrapped her fingers around the shaft and stroked him with a slow, lazy rhythm. "Why, Joshua McNish, I do believe you're turned on by the thought of your wife with another man!"

"Maybe I'm thinking about Vicky Peterson," he countered.

"Oh! Now suddenly I'm turned on."

"Really?"

She felt his cock lurch in her hand. "How about this? How about you think about fucking Vicky while I watch. How does that sound?" His only answer was a groan, and she sped up her strokes, sensing his mounting excitement. "Maybe I'd even guide your cock into her pussy. Maybe I'd play with your balls while you were driving your dick in and out of Vicky's tight slit. How about that?"

"God, yes!" He was breathing hard, and her hand was pistoning up and down her husband's cock.

"Or maybe while you're fucking Vicky, I'll be sucking Richard's cock. And when you spurt up the bitch's gash, he'll be pumping his cum into my mouth!"

That did it. With a strangled cry, Josh was coming. He pumped thick, white strands of cum all over her hand and his own stomach and chest.

They lay beside each other, breathing slowing by degrees, the last drops of cum still dripping from his cock.

"You dirty boy," she told him. "Coming at the thought of Vicky Peterson."

"Don't!" he said. "Oh God, that was so hot."

"And if I suggested we turned it into something more than a fantasy?"

"What?"

"I'm talking about a wife-swap. Would you do it?"

He was silent for so long, she thought he must have drifted off to sleep. Then, almost out of nothing, he said, "You're seriously suggesting we wife-swap with our next-door neighbours."

"I'm offering it as a possibility," she said.

"That's what I thought you were saying," said Josh. "You dirty, dirty bitch."

"I love you, Joshy."

"I love you, sweetheart."

ii. Dinner with the Neighbours

Maria had had several chats with Vicky in the past week, either in person or by text, and everything was finally arranged. It was Friday evening, and as she presented her four children with their traditional Friday-night pizza, it soon became evident that neither she nor Josh were being served any.

"How come you're not eating with us, mom?" asked Belinda. Of her twin nineteen-year-old daughters, Belinda was the serious, studious one, though not without a sharp tongue or a wicked sense of humour.

"Your father and I are going out to dinner," she said.

"Oh? Where are you going?"

"Probably some seedy hotel to have married-people sex," laughed Natasha, the other twin, the never serious, always sassy one, though she matched her sister for sharpness and humour alike.

"Excuse me? If you must know, we're going to a restaurant with Vicky and Richard."

"Very nice," said Belinda. "In that case, I may go round next-door myself and spend some time with Dani."

"Ooh, Dani!" teased Natasha. "Belinda's in love with Dani Peterson. She's so gay for her!"

"Fuck off, Nats!"

"Language! Honestly, Belinda. Natasha. Can't you at least behave in front of your impressionable younger siblings."

"I'm not impressionable," said Max, eighteen now and, at least in his mother's eyes, handsome. "I never listen to a word they say."

"He doesn't," confirmed Natasha. "He's too stupid to listen to his superiors."

"Kiss my arse, Nataranka," jeered Max.

"Children, please!" protested Maria. "Can't you at least pretend to be normal, polite young people? Honestly, it comes to something when the youngest child in the house sets the best example."

"Hear that, Katie?" challenged Max. "Mom says you're a girlie swat."

"I said no such thing, actually!"

"It's OK, mom," said Katie who, though the youngest, had a maturity she sometimes despaired of in the older girls. "I'm very comfortable with being the grown-up."

"Suck up!"

"I really hope you're not going to behave like this while we're out."

"Of course not, mom," said Natasha with a grin. "We only do it to wind you up. When you're out, we're all perfect angels. Belinda is a lezza, though, whatever she says."

"Your sister's sexuality is a matter for her, not for you. Now please shut up about it." She did wonder, though, whether Natasha wasn't right about her twin sister. Belinda was devoted to her female friends, especially Dani Peterson and Clara Brookes. Not that it proved anything, and not that it mattered anyway. Belinda was, though she would never admit it out loud, her favourite child.

"Even so, I'd better go next door with her. Be her chaperone, you know. Don't want her getting up to her lesbian perversions while the folks are away."

"You really are an annoying brat," Maria told her.

"Thank-you, mommy. That means a lot to me."

Josh heaved a sigh of relief as he got into the driver's seat and Maria climbed in beside him. "Thank God for that," he said. "Those kids are going to turn me prematurely grey!"

"They're good kids, really."

"They are," he admitted. "But I swear to God!" He pulled out of the drive, edged the car up Banbury Road, and stopped it again outside Number 4, next door. He gave a single toot of the horn, which was superfluous, because Richard and Vicky were already coming out. Richard looked dapper and handsome, in a shirt and tie (Josh always refused to wear ties), and Vicky was all dolled up in an LBD and high heels. Maria herself didn't like to wear LBDs, because she was too busty, and had gone instead for one of her figure-hugging green dresses that Josh loved her in so much. Anyway, Vicky looked pretty sexy, and Richard no less so. He chivalrously opened the backseat door for his wife and helped her in, before coming around to enter from the other side. He looked a bit nervous, Maria thought.

"We booked a table in Oxford for eight o'clock," Maria told them by way of greeting.

"Lovely!" said Vicky. "It's been far too long since I dined out."

The drive over to Oxford was only about twenty-five minutes, but the conversation throughout the journey was stilted and a little awkward. The Petersons knew by now that Josh knew about the threesome they'd enjoyed with his wife. And he knew they knew. Only nobody wanted to be the one to bring it up. So they chatted about banalities as best they could.

Dinner was exceptionally good, however, and much wine was drunk. In between dinner and dessert, it was Vicky who finally broke the unspoken pact of silence. Only slightly slurring her words, she said, "So, Joshua, a little bird tells me you wouldn't kick me out of bed."

Josh coughed and coloured. "You're a beautiful woman," he told her.

"And a sexy one," added Richard. "Don't forget 'sexy'. She likes that."

"I do like that," she confirmed.

"Very sexy," agreed Josh, glancing at Maria in a desperate search for assistance.

"And I'd like you to know," Richard told him, leaning forward in a spirit of tipsy conspiracy, "that I would not hold it against you if you were to become intimate with my very sexy wife. It's only fair, my friend. It is only fair."

"Because you became intimate with my wife?" A tense silence followed, which lasted for the longest three seconds in Maria's life, before Joshua grinned and added, "I mean, no sane man would kick that sexy piece of ass out of bed, would he?"

"He certainly would not," agreed Richard, slipping a hand under the table to squeeze Maria's thigh.

"Is he... is he fondling your leg?" asked Joshua.

"I'm afraid he is."

"It's OK. It's OK, because Mrs Peterson here has been stroking my thigh for the last couple of minutes and I can't deny... I can't deny that I like it. These Petersons are very forward, aren't they?"

"They certainly are, my darling. They are clearly into thigh-fondling, as who isn't?"

Vicky giggled. "You know Mazza, I shouldn't be a bit surprised if our two heroes aren't hard as wood under the table."

The conversation was brought to a halt by the arrival of dessert, but as soon as the waitress had left, Vicky leaned forward. "Tomorrow afternoon, my girls will be out." She giggled before clarifying, "By which I mean my three daughters, not my tits."

"Maybe your tits too," added Richard, hopefully.

"Maybe my tits too," she agreed, downing the rest of her glass of wine. "Anyway, I wished to extend to the two of you, my esteemed and beloved neighbours, an invitation to come and visit us at Chez Peterson, where hospitality will be extended."

"I think that would be rather lovely, actually," said Maria.

"It will be made worth your while."

iii. The Stuff of Fantasies

The butterflies in Maria's stomach intensified from the moment she woke up on Saturday morning, despite Josh's rather desperate attempts to calm her down. Even the kids noticed that she was nervous about something, however much she brushed off their inquiries. The invitation was for any time after two (which coincided with Belinda going shopping with Dani, thus presumably vacating the premises of the last of the Petersons' three daughters), and Maria was in a flap about what to wear. In the end, she settled for a green blouse and light-grey slacks, plus understated make-up. Josh, never one to care much about attire, settled for a checked shirt and black trousers. Neither of them knew exactly what the invitation was an invitation to. Vicky had been halfway to hammered when she made it, and for all Maria knew she might have forgotten all about it once she sobered up. She could have texted her, of course, but she was hoping that, even if Vicky had forgotten, they could make their visit anyway.

But Vicky had not forgotten. She was peeping out of the window as they came up her driveway, and the front door opened without the need to ring the bell. Her next-door neighbour was clad in jeans and a chunky sweater, which looked great on her, and also for some reason helped to relax Maria. The two women greeted each other with air kisses, and Vicky led the way inside with Reggie, her German Shepherd, trotting at her side.

"I didn't know if you'd actually remember," said Maria as they went into the living room, an elegantly decorated room with a plush, beige sofa and matching armchairs. In one of these sat Richard Peterson, dressed not dissimilarly from his wife and looking his ruggedly handsome self. He grinned at Maria as she entered, and shared a familiar nod with Josh. "We were all a bit merry at the time."

"Ah yes," said Vicky, "but when I first planned it I was stone-cold sober."

"Planned it? Planned what?"

Maria and Josh settled themselves on the sofa, while Vicky went to the drinks cabinet. "I think we all know why we're here," she answered, pouring out four glasses of whisky, and adding orange to her own and Maria's. She handed them around before sitting in the free armchair and crossing one leg over the other. Reggie sat beside her, accepting her fusses and scrunches.

"Why are we here?" frowned Josh. "Pretend I know nothing."

Vicky smiled at him. "Oh, Joshua! We're here to fuck."

There was something about hearing the word 'fuck' in that context, spoken by the pretty but serious, almost intellectual face of Vicky Peterson, that lit a spark in Maria. She shivered slightly as tingles ran up and down her body. She took a sip of her whisky-and-orange and said, "All right then. Let's fuck."

"Er, I take it we're talking about a... a wife-swap situation?" asked Joshua.

"Well if we were proposing fucking our own wives, you could have stayed at home to do that," observed Richard (not unreasonably, in Maria's opinion).

"So, er, what? I take Vicky back to our house and Maria stays here with you? Is that how it works?"

"Oh no!" said Vicky, eyeing Josh from behind her stern glasses. "You just have to come over here, mister." And she actually beckoned to him with a curled finger. Josh shot a helpless look at Maria, who merely nodded her assent. He stood up, nervously hesitant, and Vicky stood up too. As he stepped across the room, Vicky opened her arms to him and they embraced. He risked a tentative kiss, just a light, fluttering one to her lips, but that wasn't going to do at all. Vicky drew him in tighter and locked her lips to his, one hand grabbing at his arse as she did so.

Richard, meanwhile, slipped from the armchair to slide in beside Maria on the sofa. "Never knew my wife was such a predator, I'll bet?"

"To be honest, I always thought of her as the studious, introspective type."

"And so she is, for the most part," he said. As he spoke the innocuous words, he slid one hand along Maria's thigh, squeezing her through her slacks. "Now then, do you want to watch them first, or shall we join in..."

Maria bit her lip. Already, Vicky and Josh's kiss was deepening as he relaxed into it. She had both hands on his arse, now, while Josh had one hand tangled in her hair, and one pressing into her breasts which, though modest in size, had always struck Maria as firm and rather juicy looking. She gulped, knowing that events were already spiralling out of her control. "Actually, I think I'd like you to kiss me," she told him.

As he moved closer, as he took her in his arms and she melted into his kisses, Maria understood what, until that moment, she had failed to, that 'out of control' was exactly what she wanted to be.

There had been a flurry of falling clothing, a flurry of kisses, a flurry of caresses, until the living room at the Petersons' house was a tableau of hard and soft, urgent and passionate. Before she really knew what was happening, Maria had Richard's hard cock in her mouth, his heavy balls in her hand, and was mouthing him with the appetite of a glutton. She had ceased to be aware, for a moment, of what was happening across the room, because all her senses were taken up with fellatio. A raw-man scent intoxicated her, and a raw-man taste made her mouth water and her pussy moisten. The sound of his suppressed gasps, the feel of his hard shaft and more yielding balls, the close-up sight of his glistening cock became her universe as she sucked and licked and fondled. She almost wanted him to come in her mouth, so that she could guzzle down his sperm, but it was overruled by the needs of her pussy. It was long minutes, though, before she surfaced from her daze of fellatio, tearing herself away from cock and balls alike.

She looked up, like a fish poking her head above the water, to see Vicky sprawled in the armchair, one leg over each of its arms, and Josh hunched down between them, gorging himself on her offered-up cunt. She could smell a quartet of arousal, as she turned her gaze back up to Richard, who was beaming down at her. His cock stood almost upright, glistening with her saliva, the foreskin peeled back from its imperial purple head. And she wanted that cock quite as much as she'd ever wanted anything in her life. Though the thought of a pussy-licking the likes of which her husband was dealing out had a powerful appeal of its own, more than anything, she wanted to be fucked.

She pointed at Richard's cock with one finger as she told him, "I want that inside me."

With a growl, Richard helped her to her feet and had her kneel on the sofa, on all-fours. He got behind her, taking her waist in his two strong hands, and steered himself towards her. She held herself open as he guided his cock-head between her labia and grunted as he drove his cock into her. She was so wet, the full length of it slid inside with a single thrust.

"Fuck me!" she urged him. "Come on and fuck me!"

But he needed no urging. Richard began slowly and gently at first, but within seconds he was slamming into her, spreading her wide with every thrust. Maria looked up to find herself in eye contact with Vicky, who grinned at her and winked. Her neighbour was arching her back to push her slit into Josh's face. Maria could hear the wet sounds of her husband's tongue on Vicky's clit, and she knew how good the bastard was at that.

"Fuck that bitch, Rich!" Vicky told her husband. "Make the slut come!"

Her words caused Josh to look up. He turned to see Richard slamming in and out of his wife, and he paused from what he was doing to watch. If Maria thought it might make him jealous, she was wrong. There was a hunger in his eyes as he watched his wife being fucked by another man, and his cock was all but glued to his stomach, he was so hard. Maria licked her lips, hungry for her husband's cock, but he had other things on his mind. Lying on the floor on his back, he beckoned Vicky to him.

"Come and sit on my dick!" he told her.

With a purr, Vicky slid from the armchair, knelt astride Josh's recumbent body, and eased herself down onto his cock. From where she was kneeling, Maria could see Vicky's labia spread apart as her husband entered the slut. She swallowed hard at the sight of it, and she both envied Vicky and at the same time shared the lust she felt. She met her friend's eyes again, and something passed between them, a sense almost of sisterhood, a thrill of co-conspiracy as each of them fucked the other's husband. Vicky's hips undulated, her small, delicious breasts rippled, her muscles tightened and relaxed as she moved up and down the shaft that was impaling her. The increased urgency of Richard's fuck-strokes told her that he was watching it too.

"Yes, fuck him!" she almost whispered to Vicky. "Come on you dirty slut, fuck my husband, make him shoot his load up your filthy, fucking gash!"

"God, yes!" groaned Vicky. "Yes!"

The fucking was delirious by now, Richard pounding his cock into Maria's pussy, Vicky writhing up and down Josh's cock and grinding her palms into her own breasts. The stench of lust filled the living room, permeating everything with its intoxicating odour. This was gloriously depraved, and it was what Maria had been missing from her life, the abandon of sheer, self-indulgent debauchery. She wanted more of it. And she knew she would not rest until she was drowning in it.

"Fuck me! Fuck me!" she screamed. "I want your fucking cum, you slut!"

She felt Richard tighten inside her, felt the tension in his body, heard his strangulated groans as he pumped his cum inside her, flooding her womb with his hot, creamy load. And as if they were some kind of gestalt, fucking entity, Richard's orgasm seemed to trigger Josh's. Vicky was thrashing and screaming as Josh tensed, gripped her hips hard, and pumped his own load deep inside the woman's womb.

They were a long time coming down, the four of them. Maria's first coherent thought was that there would be an awkwardness between them, an embarrassment about what they had done. But there wasn't. Even Reggie the German Shepherd seemed relaxed about the whole situation and was half asleep next to the radiator. They fell apart, naked and panting. Vicky staggered over to the armchair and fell back onto it, Josh's cum leaking out of her creamy pussy. Josh simply fell back on the floor. Richard withdrew from Maria and sat heavily on his own armchair, leaving her to slump full-length on the sofa. All four of them were sheened in sweat and dripping with cum. Vicky started giggling. The other three looked at her through half-dazed eyes.

"That," she said, "was fucking awesome!"

"Fucking awesome!" agreed Maria.

"Your wife," Richard confided to Josh, "is one glorious piece of ass."

"She is!" laughed Josh. "It's why I married her. But I have to say, Mr Peterson, that your beautiful, sexy wife, is the stuff of fantasies."

"You're both so cute," giggled Vicky. "I'm glad we married you."