I don’t know how we got to this point in our relationship but the truth is –

Well, let me just start by explaining, about me, about my husband and our relationship.

It all started about five years ago. We met on a single’s holiday to Turkey. It was one of those arranged group holidays and we kind of hit it off from day one. We had the same sense of humour, cracked the same jokes, drank the same kind of beers and cocktails and liked the same sort of food and activities. One thing led to another and with only five days of our holiday left we found we liked the same kind of sex too. We certainly made the most of it.

By the time we got back home, we had exchanged contact details and we started seeing each other. I was from the good old City of London and he was from the Norfolk countryside; a farmer. That’s what people do in the flatlands of Norfolk. They get up at the crack of dawn, farm the land, read books on farming and drive tractors before they crash into bed at dusk.

Exciting isn’t it?

I’m from London. I work as a projects officer. I travel to work on the tube, often getting squashed by people on all sides of me with hands and elbows pressing into my buttocks and breasts. I work hard and play hard. My colleagues and I often go for drinks at the end of the working week before catching the tube home to my wonderful pad in North London. I’ve even fucked one of them once when I got a little too drunk and asked that he take me home. He did. He never left that night but I made him promise to never speak of it. I meet all sorts of people in the pubs and clubs that I frequent with friends. Occasionally I become wanton and lusty and often find myself craving clubs that deal out punishment often while being tied by my hands. I have to say, I love the feeling that bondage instills in me.

I’m not a raving nymphomaniac, far from it, but when the urge hits me I have to satisfy my needs. There are no two ways about it.

So why would I get hung up on a guy from Norfolk? What made me want to see him once I got back from holiday? Well, he was very considerate, he was good, he was attractive, he made me smile and so we entertained a few dates. Six months further down the line he proposed and I was so happy that someone wanted me – I said yes.

Then the main problem hit us square on. I felt foolish, like a naive schoolgirl.  I wanted to live in London, he wanted to stay with the farm. Six months of stupid arguments are quite a long time for anyone to endure. But the more time I spent visiting his farm the more I got to like it. It was a breath of fresh air to live in the countryside and I started spending more time on his farm than in my flat. And the sex was still good. At least I was getting it which is more than can be said for a lot of people.

I even had this crazy idea that a farm would be the best place to experience bondage and spanking as it wouldn’t matter how loud you screamed. Farmhouses were also big, enough place for a room dedicated to the dark arts. Norfolk became attractive to me.

I nearly got caught out one weekend when he texted me that he was on the train and coming down to stay the weekend with me. The first thing that went through my head was ‘what the fuck! No.’ it was a Friday evening and I had arranged a quiet weekend at home. In truth, I had arranged an unquiet weekend at one of the BDSM clubs close to where I live. I couldn’t wait to turn up there in my leather gear and get paddled. I craved it. I was already dressed in the basque when his text came through. Those words hurt the most, already on the train, there was no talking him out of it. I got undressed, dressed in some casual clothes and went to meet him at the station.

We made love. Quiet, uneventful, casual, love! Yes, he was so tender and loving. Too much, actually. My mind kept jumping to where it should have been that night and it wasn’t with him. But, it was only one weekend, there would be others. I told myself – it’s not the end of the world.

Then he proposed. I said, yes. The wedding wasn’t a complicated affair. I never wanted that and besides my parents had died early in my life and my only sister was away with the fairies somewhere in Australia. We never communicated and I don’t know why. I gave up my job and moved into the farmhouse. I was his wife; a kept woman.

The farmhouse was serene for most of the time, lonely for others. I spent a lot of time doing chores that farmer’s wives do. In between the masturbation sessions that occurred daily. Yes, sex had gone downhill slightly. Tiredness had set in and the occasional weekends that we spent in London was now a distant memory. The use of dildos and vibrators that could attach themselves to the bath, shower cubicle or doorframe and bedposts became everyday activities.

I started making bread, chutney and jam and started to become a real farmer’s wife.

We made love twice a week. A far cry from the fifteen times on a weekend when I visited him or he visited me. Most of that was my doing though. I just loved sex. He loved lovemaking.

Tender kisses and slow sensual sex is alright. A woman needs that now and then, but not all the time. Not when you crave a good hard fucking from behind. He never spanked me. Well, that’s not entirely true, he did spank when I asked him to but it was such a gentle slap. It didn’t provide the energy for you to get into it. I only asked the once, though he did do it once more when we were in the shower together. That was unexpected and I enjoyed it but the force was just too weak.

My body was showered with kisses from head to toe, breast to breast, nipple to nipple and my pussy was covered in sweet kisses and the gentle lapping of his tongue before he eased his cock into me to make sweet gentle love. It all consisted of nice slow, long strokes and ended in a satisfying grunt, for him. For me, well, I think you know my feelings by now.

Of course, he gave me orgasms; lots of them as it happens, but they weren’t as intense as Mr Dildo and Mr Vibe and he certainly didn’t pay my little brown ring any attention at all. It is such a contrast to Mr Dildo who just loves that hole.

We’ve been married for three years and yesterday he suggested we should try for children, ‘little ones’ as he put it. I sighed and looked out of the window as his enthusiasm bounded around the kitchen like a collie dog in the middle of a pack of sheep.

I thought of my bath time, the masturbation sessions on my bed or against the shower room walls, the slow fucks on the sofa in the early evening before he falls asleep and I end up doing the cooking, my occasional trips to London, the Amazon man that visits every Friday, the vicar’s wife that wants me to help her with Palm Sunday and George that runs the local pub.

I thought of the shattered stillness of our lives and the further restrictions on my sex life. I thought -  NO!

So, the truth is –

I’m not all that happy. I’ve done things I shouldn’t have done. I’ve lied to him and I know that’s wrong. But what’s a girl to do!

Like a game of Cluedo, it all started with Mr Dildo, in the shower room. I got accused of not rushing out of bed one morning to help him with something that was unimportant to me. I was questioned as to why I spent so long in the shower. I didn’t answer him truthfully, I told him that I loved the hot water on my skin and I had lots of things to wash; my two larger than life breasts being the most important.

The truth is – that Mr Dildo sticks to the shower room wall very well indeed and is more than satisfying. The number of times he prodded at my anus was reassuring and he never once told me how dirty it was or how we should make love instead of fuck. No, Mr Dildo fucked the living daylights out of me.

Things just progressed from there.

Mr Vibe came along courtesy of LoveHoney along with some nice lingerie (for him) and some nipple clamps that I could hang from the door frame. I used to spend a good few hours suspended by them when the urge hit me. I would put them on, carefully, before letting my weight pull my nipples upwards until it hurt. I would play with my pussy on full stretch and revel in those mixed feelings of pain and pleasure. When the time was right I’d drop myself to my knees tearing the clamps off my nipples and pushing my body into a massive orgasm.

Mr Vibe was normally used as soon as my husband had got out of bed for work. I always considered five in the morning to be rather an ungodly hour. But when he left for work, I used to slide my hand into the bottom drawer and pull out Mr Vibe. I used to let him slide between my buttocks with his soulful tune on high before showing him the wet spot between my thighs. Fuck he was horny and he kept on wanting more and more all the time.

Even during the afternoon, Mr Vibe would insist I put some stockings on and stand by the window of the bedroom and let him play with me.

The truth is –

It wasn’t long before Mr Dildo joined in with our little games even on the kitchen table. That was when I got caught. Thankfully it wasn’t by my husband. I was pleasuring myself with Mr Vibe playing on my nipples. I was sitting on the beechwood chairs, my feet on the table and the Mr Dildo up my arse. I didn’t hear the knocking at the front door. I hardly heard the tap, tap, tap on the kitchen window with the noise the vibrator was making. It was the movement out of the corner of my eye that caught my attention. It was Mr Amazon man with a parcel for me.  He pointed to it, and then to me. I had never felt so exposed not even in the BDSM clubs that I used to frequent and when he stayed glued to the window watching me, I had no option but to extract myself from Mr Dildo and let it wobble there as I got up from the chair.

I answered the door in a one-piece T-shirt that did little to hide my shaved pussy or my aroused and protruding nipples.

The truth is –

My husband never knew, but Mr Amazon man became a bit of a regular. I joined Amazon Prime and started buying things that would be delivered the next day, on a Friday mostly. Mr Amazon man was a regular delivery man. The second time he delivered anything and after I took the parcel from him, he complained because I was dressed. He asked whether my Dildo was broken. It caused me to giggle and then he started laughing and then I said I’d have to order something for next week and that I would try to not disappoint him.

The next week I ordered something small from Amazon and he turned up at the kitchen window. As luck would have it, I was looking down at him from the bedroom window. When he couldn’t see any debauchery in the kitchen he moved to the front door and knocked on it.

I answered the door in a basque, suspender straps and stockings. His eyesight was certainly having trouble and I think I nearly blew his mind too. I motioned for him to come in and put the parcel on the kitchen table.

It took longer for me to unbuckle and unbutton his trousers than it took to blow him. He tasted delicious though. It was a quick and dirty blowjob where I got what I wanted, a throat full of heavenly spunk and he got to look at a goddess of a woman on her knees dressed in black with her tits heaving as she bobbed on his knob.

He became a bit of a regular, something I’m not proud of because I cheated on my husband, but it was necessary. The quick blowjobs slowly morphed into quick dirty and desperate fucks. He was in the house, in my cunt and we rutted until he splashed his cum inside me; often over the kitchen table. Then he was back on his delivery route. It suited both of us.

I wondered about him though. It got to the point where it was a done thing. He drove up, got out, came inside. I nearly got caught by my husband and that’s when I stopped buying things from Amazon, at least for a couple of weeks. Everything calmed down but my curiosity got the better of me and so I ordered something for delivery on a Friday. He turned up and he looked at me as he handed me the parcel on the doorstep. I was dressed normal, in a T-shirt and skirt, no panties or bra though. He started to turn, to walk away.

I moaned slightly. Let out a wanton sigh.

That was when he surprised me. He turned quickly, grabbed my arm and marched me into the kitchen. He pushed me onto the table. I remember thinking that this was more like it. After struggling with his trousers he thrust his cock into me hard. Fuck, he was horny and seemed desperate for sex. His hands came upon my hair and that’s when I knew. That’s when I knew it was going to be a good fuck.  With my hair pulled back tightly and his cock pounding into me, I climaxed. I half expected him to pull out and stuff his cock up my arse but he climaxed in me.  It was such a shame but I felt exhilarated, pounded, fucked, alive. Fuck, did I feel alive?

I told him as much. I shouldn’t have but I did and now he knew what I liked.

Fridays continued but I left it until every other week, it was an attempt, by me, to build up his urges so that he became desperate.

One night, while out with my husband in the pub, he bumped into me. His lascivious smile turned me on. I wanted to follow him to the loo and blow him in there but my conscience got the better of me and I relented. I went home with my husband wondering how much noise we would have made.

In truth, the vicar’s wife was a total contrast. I never expected her to make advances towards me and in all honesty, I had never entertained sex with a woman, expect in BDSM bars where women made the best Dominatrix’s ever. For some reason, I always found men to hold back a little in case they hurt someone, Femdoms never did that, they just went for it.

The vicar’s wife was no Femdom though. She was as bored as I was. I started helping her out one Sunday and it became obvious that she was looking down my cleavage. I ignored the glances at first but they became more obvious each time. It must have been because I had big tits. After all, Stephanie Watson was also helping us out and she never got a look in.

I felt flattered.  In all honesty, I was over the moon that another woman found me attractive and didn’t want to beat the shit out of my bottom.

So, I started to see how far she would go by taking every opportunity to brush into her elbow or brush her arms or back while passing her in confined places. Each week, I started wearing more revealing tops and once I even put on a short skirt with no panties. I bent over in front of her to arrange the placement of some flowers close to the altar.

She shocked me. She blew me away and I found myself gasping with surprise when her finger slipped inside my pussy.

The truth is –

It was wet. Fucking wet. I had been feeling horny all day through teasing her. I think, deep down, I had built myself up to the expectation that something would happen. I just wasn’t prepared for it. As soon as I felt her finger inside me I let out a louder than normal gasp. It was followed by her voice whispering to me, almost kissing my earlobes. She called me a horny little slut; in a church as well. I looked at the alter and then turned, I spat back about the pot-kettle proverbial idiom to her and she just smiled. Her finger slipped inside me a second time and this time it was associated with a passionate kiss. Luckily, it was just the two of us in the church at the time, but I think she planned it that way. I know I did.

Dorothy blew my mind when she pushed me onto the steps of the altar, spread my legs while she licked the fuck out of me. I came hard on the end of her exquisite tongue with my hand on the back of her head; urging her to complete my first orgasm. It wasn’t long before curiosity got the better of me and we reversed positions.

If you had asked me whether I would be licking pussy in Norfolk a few years ago I’d have said a resounding, no.

The truth is –

My husband doesn’t know any of this. He thinks I spend too long in bed and too long in the shower but that’s it. He still doesn’t know about Mr Vibe and Mr Dildo and how much they mean to me.

He agreed with the number of Amazon gadgets we have in the kitchen, but he never knew that I blew the delivery man or how much I got fucked by him. he never once suspected how much the delivery man made me howl on that kitchen table while pulling my hair.

He was all for me assisting with church activities. If only he knew the vicar’s wife was a fucking lesbian in sheep’s clothing. If only he knew I was too. I never knew that I would enjoy pussy licking so much, but I did. I fucking love it and I will have to invite Dorothy over to the farmhouse so that we can discuss, at length, more church matters. I’ll be buying a strap-on before she comes around though.

But not on a Friday; I think the Amazon delivery man would have a heart attack if he found me and the vicar’s wife on the kitchen table in a sixty-nine.

I don’t know how I manage to deceive my husband so often; it must be all the long hours he works. The late nights, the lack of sleep and the fact that I wear him out with all that lovemaking that he likes to engage in. I have to say, even Dorothy goes hard for my clit, unlike my husband that takes it softly-softly.

The absolute worst thing though is the fact that I visit London; more specifically my friend that lives down there. She’s been a rock to me over the last three years and I’ve been visiting her more regularly. She has a one-bedroomed flat that she bought before she left London three years ago with the money that was earned from her three-bedroomed flat. I visit her for the clubs.

I crave them. I crave the people, the sex, the fact that nobody judges you, unlike the church, except Dorothy that is. I like the intensity of emotion, the feeling of that cane or that paddle, the nipple clamps and pussy clamps that are in someone else’s control, the blindfolds and the gags to stop you screaming. I like the fact that you have a safe word that I have never heard anyone utter in my entire life.

That’s why my best friend in London is Suzie Bennett; Gordon Bennett’s wife. She’s virtual, she’s me and she has her own phone and number, just in case a certain farmer boy wants to ring her. All I have to do is pretend.

The truth is –

I don’t get bothered when I’m in London. My husband sees it as my time and he’s agreed that a weekend away now and then is good for me. You bet it’s good for me.

When I walk into that club with ‘Suzie’ on my arm it’s as if I’m in heaven. I proudly walk around the place and choose my poison from the chalice cup. That’s a cup that has all the vices that are offered written on pieces of paper. I usually pick three out and if I don’t like any of them I choose a fourth. It’s not the way you should play the game but in case you hadn’t already concluded, I cheat!

It’s the only way I’ve survived this loving relationship that I’ve found myself in. Stupid, isn't it.

Today, I’ve chosen some nipple play followed by a good spanking followed by – wait for it, my hands are already shaking trying to open the piece of paper, yes, a strap-on fuck by a Femdom. I hope she makes me lick her pussy too because I quite fancy that if I’m to be honest.

I’m even wondering whether Dorothy would like to join me one day. It would be pointless asking the Amazon man because he gets all he needs on a Friday, but I sense something special in Dorothy, just like she sensed something special in me. I shall have to see how far I can get on the pain front with her when I get her to visit me.

My husband knows little of my friend Suzie. He knows she exists which is why she has her phone. But he hasn’t questioned why I need to see her so often. He doesn’t suspect anything but he will know the truth one day. One day the truth will come out.

I haven’t told my husband yet. Some people would say that I've taken him for a fool. 

But the truth is –

I just don’t want kids