Brenda was having her usual lazy Saturday afternoon; in a while, she would meet a couple of her girlfriends for tea. John would be home from the office late tonight but she would have his dinner waiting as always. She was a loyal wife but oh so bored! She browsed the lingerie section of the big department store looking for something special to give their evening a little added spice. John had been sleeping early in recent months and she often tossed and turned with restless and unfulfilled desire. Although she'd fantasized about being with another man, she had never dared to try.

A lacy black camisole took her eye and she fondled it and loved the silky texture - $120: she could afford it but why pay? Often and often she had slipped items like this into her bag and walked out - there was a special thrill to it which was habit-forming. She certainly didn't fit the profile of a shoplifter: an older lady with a patrician demeanour. Glancing around, all seemed clear. The store clerk was busy with another customer and so she discretely dropped the camisole into her bag and nonchalantly made her way toward the elevator. Nobody had seen her, she was quite certain of that. She reached the ground floor and strolled to the exit: but, just as she passed through the doorway, a firm hand gripped her arm and a man's voice said:

"Madam, I believe you have an item in your bag that you have not paid for!!"

A terror seized her, and a warm trickle of urine gushed involuntarily. "Oh I must have forgotten!" she cried.

"Please come with me," he said. And he took her to a small office. There he made her open her bag and he took out the camisole: he asked for her driving license and noted down the details. "This is a serious matter," he said, "the store has a zero-tolerance of shoplifting and I am bound to report you to the police and press charges, do you have anything to say?"

She panicked and tears ran down her face: John was a scrupulously honest man and the idea of him getting a phone call from the police station saying that she had been arrested for stealing was unimaginably awful. "Oh! Oh!" she cried, "Please, please overlook it this one time, it would ruin my marriage if my husband found out!"

He looked at her in a considering way. She was in her late forties and quite trim for her age: she had lustrous auburn hair, white skin and light brown eyes. Her breasts were full and her stomach looked quite slender; he took in the broad hips and a nice inviting bottom with well-shaped legs. He pictured her wearing the camisole and realized that it would not cover that generous behind!

"I will give you two choices," said he. "Either I call the police or..." he paused.

"Yes? Yes?" she sobbed, "anything but the police!"

"...or I shall take you to my private quarters for punishment."

He was a little younger than her, above-average height and in good shape. Ordinarily, she would have found him attractive and even carried an image of him in her mind for a future fantasy - but at this moment she was petrified and trembling.

"What do you mean by punishment?" she blurted out.

"Well," he said, "it depends, I would give you a choice there. For some, it would be a good spanking, while for those who cannot take pain, it would be a humiliation. All I could guarantee is that you'd not be physically harmed in any way and an hour from now you'd be able to go back home and there would be no more said on the matter."

She felt indignant and she wanted to ask what he meant by humiliation, but she remained silent, looking desperate and scared. He nodded his head: "But, really, I think the best way is to do this officially," he said, and reached for the telephone.

"No! No! Wait!" she cried, desperate.

He raised an eyebrow: "Yes?"

"I, I don't want the police," she said in a low voice.

He stood up and opened the office door. "Very well, come with me."

She followed him through the shopping crowds to the elevators. Inside, he took out a bundle of keys and inserted one beside the words "Penthouse Offices," the car stopped, and the door opened onto a dark corridor of the deserted floor.

"Since it's Saturday, we shan't be disturbed," he said, ominously, and led her through a huge door into a sumptuous office with oak paneling, grave pictures of former company dignitaries lined the walls and a huge Persian carpet covered most of the floor. The blinds were drawn and it was dark, but he switched on a small, green-shaded standing lamp which stood beside a huge desk with wide bookshelves behind.

He took a seat behind the desk and motioned her to stand in front of the desk. He laid the camisole on the desk in front of her. "What have you to say?" he asked in a judicial voice.

"I am very, very sorry," she whimpered, tears starting again, "and I shall never, never do it again."

"I am glad to hear that," said he, "however it is necessary that you should be punished." He reached behind and took a wicked-looking cane, made from thin, yellowing bamboo from the bookshelf: it looked ancient and stained.

She gave a small scream. "Oh no, don't hurt me!"

"You choose to be humiliated instead?"

She murmured, "I just can't take pain..."

"Then you have to promise to do exactly as I say and if you hesitate you shall be soundly caned on your naked bottom!"

Hearing the words "naked bottom" she shrank inwardly because of the implications - to this point there had been no suggestion of any sexual element in the 'punishment'. She shivered and nodded her head slightly.

"Good, then remember, no hesitation!" his voice was harsh. "Take this camisole, the cause of all your misfortunes, the washroom door is over there. I want you to take off all your clothes ...yes, all of them ... and put on just the camisole. No panties, no bra; just the camisole, is that clear?"

She felt a totally unexpected tingle in her groin at these words and, though still very apprehensive, she realized that she was getting excited.

"When you have 'dressed',” he continued, "come back here and stand in the same place. Go now, and remember, no hesitation... or it will be the cane."

She walked across, went inside, closed the door and locked it. She sat on the toilet and put her head in her hands - she dared not hesitate, so she undressed completely and drew the camisole over her shoulders - if she pulled the front down it just covered her, but she was very conscious that her generous rear was fully exposed.

She looked in the mirror and, seeing all the tear marks and smudged makeup, used some tissue to clean herself somewhat; then, with all the turmoil inside her, she slipped the lock and stepped out into the room, pulling the camisole awkwardly down in front and walking to the spot in front of the desk. The thick carpet gave a very sensual feel to her bare feet.

He had a drink in his hand and he was smiling; the smile gave his face a softer look and relaxed her ever so slightly. She felt a trickle running down the inside of her leg and with shame realized that she was becoming more aroused than she thought possible. He continued to look at her, blatantly taking in her entire body.

"Raise your arms above your head!" he ordered.

She knew that this would expose her very intimately to his gaze, but she complied.

He scrutinized her, his eyes dwelling on her full and remarkably well-toned breasts, the nipples pushing the silk outwards; he saw she had a little more belly than he had expected, and the camisole was raised to fully expose her dark russet pubic hair.

"You have a nice pair of tits for your age," he told her, "but I notice one hangs a little lower than the other. That's OK, this isn't a beauty contest. You have a bit of a tummy there, haven't you."

She involuntarily sucked her tummy in. This was humiliating for sure.

"That's better, you'd not want to disappoint me," he smiled. "OK, now I am going to take a couple of photographs - stay like that. " He stood up and walked around her, slapping her bottom and causing her to almost stumble in this vulnerable attitude: she regained her balance, humiliated.

"Nice bum!" he smirked.

Then, to her horror, he produced a small camera and there were several flashes and then he said: "Now, I want you to turn your back to me." She did so and he found her waist quite remarkably slender and her bottom was just splendid - white and almost glowing: his camera kept flashing. "Feet apart," came his next order. Then, "touch your toes!"

She wanted to hesitate; she was so reluctant because she knew exactly what kind of a view she would present to him but she dared not risk the cane, so she touched her toes. He gave her bottom another playful slap, making her stagger, and she heard him chuckle and his camera flashed and flashed. "You know what I can see, don't you!" he said. "You have a truly gorgeous cunt and there is no point in pretending to be bashful because I can see you are flooding all down your leg - I am going to start giving you what you need.” He pointed to the carpet at his feet. "On your knees here," he said, "and do your duty!"

She knew exactly what he meant but she looked at him in a timid yet questioning way. "What do you mean?

"Undo my pants and take out my cock, the rest will come naturally to a slut like you."

She felt a strange mixture of feelings; disgust at such a gross idea yet, despite that, an intensified arousal which she justified by thinking that maybe she could get it all over quickly this way. Gingerly she reached out to his straining fly and drew down the zipper; she released the hook and the pants fell away, revealing grey underwear with an enormous bulge beneath. She took the elastic band in her two hands and drew it down. His very large penis fell into view, totally rigid and knobby: it seemed so huge compared to John's.

She bent forward and timidly kissed the purple head. In her hand she cupped his full scrotum; it felt warm and quite wonderful, and she parted her lips and took the head into her mouth, now becoming thoroughly aroused. She licked and tasted salt and a subtle, not unpleasant musky aroma wafted to her and caused her to engulf the greater part of the organ quite greedily into her mouth. She sucked rhythmically and he gasped and moaned.

"I can tell you have done this with a lot of guys," he said, "you should be a whore, that is your true calling!"

She drew back to say, "No, I have only ever been with my husband until now," then she resumed her sucking, excited, yet hoping to finish him quickly, just as she did for John sometimes when, occasionally, she wasn't in the mood. Only, now, she was.

"What a slut you are, glorious," he gasped, still managing to take some photos. "It is time now for your FUCKING!! Get on your back on the floor and open your legs with your knees way up for me!"

"Please, please NO!" She pleaded, "I can't do this to John!"

"Sorry dear, but you are going to have to 'do this to John', but he will never know so long as you obey me and, who knows, you may be able to bring some new ideas to your bedroom by the time I have finished with you! And that camisole must come off now."

Meekly, then, she slowly shed the camisole and lay on the floor, justifying her growing excitement by the fact that he gave her no choice. She raised her knees and parted her legs. He took quite a few photos but now he seemed to be in a hurry. He stripped off and she could see his firm, youthful body as he came on top of her and pressed the head of his penis between her soaking labia.

He kissed her mouth and pressed into her with remarkable care – she felt her vagina opening wider and wider until there was a slight pain. John had never stretched her like this, and then the thing was inside her, huge and filling her completely; it pressed against her cervix – another completely new sensation. Her hips moved involuntarily, and they started to fuck, his breath rasping with each thrust and his large hands taking her bottom from beneath. She instinctively clasped him to her and felt his chest hair abrading her nipples.

At some point in this coupling, the inter-relationship changed; he became tender and loving and she felt love, or something indefinably similar, in return. She accepted him totally and gave herself to him utterly. They changed positions again and again: now she sat on his cock and rode him magnificently, her breasts wobbling madly; now he took her from behind and used his fingers to magically play with her clitoris; now he had her on her back and, with him on his side and her leg raised, thrust deeply into her even as his fingers stimulated her entire cunt.

Once more on her back, with her knees held high, she felt the crescendo approaching and she realized she was screaming loudly. His breath came in great gasps and his pubic bone struck hers with almost bruising force at each thrust and his heavy balls whacked her rear. Explosively, they came almost at the same instant: she felt spasm after spasm as he pumped his hot sperm deep inside her. Then, everything slowed, and they lay together in a trance-like state, stroking and fondling one another.

“I never knew it could be like that,” she whispered, “all these years as a wife and I never knew!”

“John has some catching up to do,” he replied with a smile. “We must do this again until he does!”

“I know,” she said, “it’s just too good not to.”

Later, it seemed much later, she was on her way home, the camisole in her bag and feeling a little nervous as to how she could avoid John sensing something different about her.

“I’ll have a shower as soon as I get in and then I’ll make the dinner and John won’t notice a thing!” Brenda told herself, smiling as she wondered how he'd like the camisole!