"And what are you?" my husband asks, command in his voice as he slams his cock into her slick cunt.

"A dirty fucking whore," my boss whispers, her eyes pressed tightly shut. A room full of strangers leans towards the low wooden stage to try to hear.

"What was that? I didn't hear you."

The sheen of sweat across his rippling chest glistens in the bright stage lights.

"I'm a dirty fucking whore!" my boss cries out, her bust bouncing as my husband roughly fucks her from behind, her hips gripped tight in his strong hands as he slams her again and again down onto his thick cock.

I shift on the hard plastic chair, adjusting the bullet vibrator in my thong so it nestles more closely against my clit. These chairs are really uncomfortable. I briefly imagine the proprietor hauling them out of a skip outside an underperforming inner-city secondary school, throwing them in the back of his aging estate car.

"Damn straight you're a dirty fucking whore. And what happens to dirty fucking whores?"

"They get fucked."

"Good girl." My husband slaps my boss's round pink ass and doubles his tempo. "Now you're going to be a good dirty fucking whore and take my hot load in your whore cunt in front of all these people."

"Oh fuck yes," she whispers.

He grunts as he empties himself into her, unloading an entire ball sack full of hot jizz into her willing pussy, then spins her around and bends her over. The twenty or so men and women -- and myself -- watch transfixed as he spreads her bare cunt lips with his finger-tips, and his hot semen trickles out of her, slopping onto the wooden floorboard between her bare feet.

It's been an interesting few weeks.

* * *

It started, as these things often do, with a kiss.

"I'm going to miss you, Eric," I say as I hug him and kiss his cheek.

"I'll miss you too," he smiles, "God knows I wish I could take you with me to Initrode, but don't worry, I'm sure Kathy will be great. She certainly comes highly recommended by the Centech board."

I smiled, but I had my doubts. Eric was a great boss, letting us shine when we did well and protecting us when we screwed up. We returned his loyalty with our own and his reputation for delivering projects on time and under-budget spread across the whole company -- and outside it, to our competitor Initrode.

But my fears about his replacement were well founded. Every high school and sorority and dorm and office has one -- the queen bee, the alpha bitch. Kathy walked into the office on her first day and it was clear she was not going to tolerate anything even resembling disagreement from her new lackeys.

Long dark hair carefully coiffed, charcoal pantsuit and my God, the 80s called, and they want their padded shoulders back.

We rubbed each other the wrong way right from the start. She announced a major new initiative to leverage learnings and streamline storyboarding. I took her aside after the meeting and let her know that streamlining storyboarding had been tried and was not popular with her boss. She -- in as many words -- said 'never question my judgement again.' It only made it worse when I was proven right.

From that point on she had it out for me; I got sidelined when it came to good projects, bonuses and promotions. Anything that went wrong in the team that could plausibly be blamed on me, was. She was just so spiteful about it all-- even telling me off for taking too many toilet breaks, or wearing a skirt that was too short, or heels that were too sexy, or lipstick that was too red.

I was starting to look for 'a diagonal promotion' in another company when the Summer Ball rolled around. My husband dressed flawlessly in a black dinner suit, white dress shirt and diamond-shaped bow-tie. I wore an ankle-length black cocktail dress that clung to my curvaceous hips like a latex catsuit.

We turned up the the venue, a beautiful 19th century conservatory in the grounds of an honest-to-God Great House. As we were stepping out of our Uber, just the other side of the manicured French-style gardens, a Duke and Duchess were settling down for the night.

We swept into the venue, I on my husband's arm, and almost immediately bumped into my boss. Her date for the night was a young-looking entrepreneur with short dark curly hair, a strong jaw and a soul patch. I noticed her eyes widen as she looked from me to my husband as I introduced him, and she got an almost predatory look on her face, like a lioness spotting a lone gazelle.

After we politely excused ourselves he slipped one hand just below the small of my back, where the curvature of my ass begins, and leaned in to whisper in my ear, "Was it just me, or did your boss just eye-fuck the shit out of me..."

I grin, "It must be your imagination husband dearest. It's high time you came to terms with your latent cougar fetish."

His eyebrows rose, "Cougar-- but she looks not a day over--"

I just smile coyly and look around. Two long wings extend from either side of the central domed room of the conservatory, the whole space open, the neoclassical columns are hung with green draperies. Exotic and lush plants in bamboo planters give each of the round tables a little privacy, while still offering an unimpeded view of the head table on a raised dais.

We take our seats where the name tags indicate, and to my consternation not only have we been seated at the same table as my boss -- the whole team is together -- but she is just the other side of my husband! We're seated one-two-three on the far and most private side of the table, where we won't have to turn our heads to see the speeches. I'm not sure what will happen next, but I'm confident this won't end well.

We sit and conversation is awkward to start off with as everyone gets to know each others spouses, but as the food starts to arrive, the conversation, and the wine are flowing freely.

As the meal draws to a close and one of the senior PA's is onstage introducing the first speaker, my husband brushes my leg with his hand. I glance over at him and he briefly glances down. I follow his gaze and swallow an involuntary cry of surprise; my boss has her hand on his leg, and is rubbing his thick and hard cock where it presses against the thin fabric of his trousers.

No one is looking at them -- all attention is on the speakers at the front -- no one except me that is, so no one except me notices my husbands hand slip into her lap, under her napkin. No one except me notices the breath catch in my boss's throat and the sly smile playing across my husband's lips.

He takes his hand back as it becomes clear the speeches are drawing to an end, and my boss, feeling the flush across her cheeks fans herself with her napkin.

My husband stands. His arousal bulges in his trousers, inches from my face. I imagine his cock springing out, thick and hard and glistening with precum. He's so close I could lick the tip.

The music's starting. He offers me his hand to dance. One of the wings has a live swing band a the far end, the other side of a dance floor. My husband takes my hand and leads me out across the floor.

"So?" I ask him.

"So," he says, a smile playing across his lips.

"I saw her... Are you going to...?"

"Yes," he says firmly.

I suddenly imagine her on her knees, my husband with her hair in his fist, fucking her mouth with his big dick, slobber slopping onto her shirt.

I step in close, feeling him pressing against my belly, his arousal firm and thick through the thin fabric of my dress. I put my hand on his hip as we move to the music, lean in and whisper in his ear, "Don't be fucking gentle."

I can feel him grin next to me, "Baby, you have no idea."

We dance, chat, relax, drink, and finally it's time for taxis home.

As I slip into the back of the Uber Lux next to him I ask, "So when are you going to do it?"

He just smiles and hands me a pair of earbuds. I slip them into my ears and he passes me his phone. There's a movie cued up ready to play, and the frozen frame shows only the inside of my husband's strong right hand.

I lean back and tap play. My husband just sits quietly, the hint of a smile playing across his lips as he carefully watches my face.

It's hard to work out what's going on at first as the phone is moving around, then suddenly I'm seeing up my boss's skirt. I realise it's been placed on the floor between her legs, as she leans forward, planting her hands on one of the wooden shelves that rise in tiers above me, heavy laden with cleaning products, mops, cloths, spare linen.

As I watch, I see my husbands hands enter the frame, caressing my boss's hips as he slowly eases her dress up over her ass. The hard white light from the bare bulb in the ceiling hits her, and I see she's wearing no underwear under her dress, just her pussy, bush neatly trimmed down to stubble.

I can see my husband's cock now. That unmistakable slight leftward bend. It's thick and hard and throbbing with arousal as he grabs her ass cheeks with his hands and parts her cunt lips with his thumbs, easing himself into her.

She gasps as my husband's thick dick starts to slide into her slick pussy, stretching her wide to accomodate his girth. As promised, he's not gentle, and once the tip in he slams the rest home with a grunt, one hand over my boss's mouth to stifle her cry as she suddenly finds herself filled with his huge member.

"Oh God," she says, "you're so big. I feel so slutty getting fucked in this cupboard. Do you think I'm slutty?"

I can see my husband's thick dick as he starts to thrust into her. The little ridge on the underside slick with her cunt juice as he slams forward again and again, gripping her hips, his balls slapping against her red and swollen clit.

"I think you're a dirty fucking slut. And I think you like being told that."

In answer she just growls in arousal.

"I think you know deep down you're just a whore who loves getting fucked and used by strong men who know what they want and take it from you."

"Oh," she moans.

I see one hand slip down between her legs, feeling him thrust into her, his thick dick slamming home into her sloppy cunt, before starting to caress her clit.

"Yeah, tell me what I am to you."

"You're a slut. You're a hole to fuck. A cum-dumpster. A human flesh-light. I'm going to pleasure myself with your body like you're a meaty fuck-toy. Isn't that right?"

"Mmmm," she says, frantically rubbing her clit. He's hammering her cunt quite hard. I can hear the *slap* *slap* *slap* of his balls on her clit clearly on the audio track.

"Say it you fucking whore. I want you to say what you are."

"I'm a fucking whore."

"That's right."

"I'm a human flesh-light. A cum dump. A meaty fuck-toy."

"That's right, and I'm almost finished with you. Your cunt was a good fuck and now you're going to take my hot load deep inside you."

He's not cum yet but already she's cumming. Her dress has ridden up further, and I can see the muscle spasms in her tight toned abs as her cunt clenches around my husband's thick dick.

He drives forward one last time and then he's cumming too. I can see her face as she feels him empty himself inside her. Feels his hot load filling her up to the brim. He pulls out, and I can see hot cum slop out of her for a fraction of a second before it splatters all over the phone and it's camera.

"You've made a fucking mess. You've leaked cum all over my phone."

"I-- I'm sorry."

"Clean it."

And she does. Her pink tongue darting between parted lips as she takes the phone in her hand and carefully licks it clean of every last drop of cum, swallowing it all.

As she hands my husband's phone back I catch her face as she smiles shyly at him, her eyes eager for his acceptance and approval. My husband slips the phone into his jacket pocket but leaves it recording. All I see is black but I can hear them speak.

"I've not been fucked like that in--"

"Ever," my husband suggests.

"Ever," she agrees.

"Now I know what you like, you'll enjoy next time even more."

"Let me give you my number--" She's so eager.

"It's ok, I'll get it from my wife."

I hear a door open and close and then the recording stops.

I blink slowly and look at my husband, grinning like the Cheshire fucking cat. We're home and there's no opportunity to talk about it. We get out of the Uber but then once we're the other side of our front door I don't want to use words, I'm on my knees in front of him and his shaft is in my hand.

I'm taking his tip into my mouth, tasting her and him mingled in the sex clinging to him. I feel him hardening in my hand and in my mouth, and I start to milk him into my mouth, my hand tight like a virgin's cunt around him as my mouth bobs back and forth over his head.

The babysitter's still in the living room but this won't take long, and sure enough he's gripping my hair in his hands, and I feel him spilling himself between my eager lips. I hungrily swallow every last drop of what he gives to me before licking his shaft clean and slipping him back into his trousers.

I push open the door to the living room and our 16-year old neighbour, who we have as a babysitter, looks up from the couch.

"Oh hey," Lydia says, "how did it go?"

"Good, do you want us to make you up a bed, or would you rather we walk you home."

She stretches, almost feline, her young breasts lifting under her tight top, and I know she knows my husband's eyes are on her and she's enjoying it.

"I don't want to impose. It's not far, and I expect you'll want to sleep. Goodnight."

She's out the door and into the night.

"So," I turn to my husband, "what exactly is going to happen next time."

He tells me.

I can't wait.

* * *

"Really? Do I have to?"

"Hold still," my husband's voice is firm as he smears the black and green paint in thick, oily streaks across my face.

Finally he stands back, satisfied. "There."

I look at myself in the mirror: black woollen turtleneck, dark hair tied tightly back, dark navy jogging trousers, and then the camoflage paint covering every exposed patch of skin on my face.

"I feel like a nitwit. Is this strictly necessary?"

"Probably not, but it's pretty fun, besides, I told you about my ninja-girl fetish right?"

I look at him in mock disgust before a smile breaks out across my unwilling lips.

"Let's do this."

* * *

The venue for his 'date' is a private park, set in the middle of a block of Georgian townhouses. He has, through one of his friends, acquired a key. I don't have one, hence the camo paint and ninja getup. He drops me off, and I quickly scale and vault the wrought-iron fence around the outside while he's picking up my boss. I scramble through a thick hedge which scratches at my arms and tugs at my top and then I'm in the park.

Overhead the city lights wash out all but the brightest of stars, but it's still a beautiful evening, the air clear, the moon bright and blue in the sky. All around me the townhouses stand, monolithic and patchily illuminated. Behind each window a different scene plays out: in one, a family dinner, in another, a man working at a computer, in a third a couple watches TV.

I wonder what might be happening behind the closed curtains I can see. Who's fucking. Who's cumming. What kinky secrets lurk in the English bedroom?

The park is dark, with small dim lights illuminating the pathways like fireflies, but the moon is bright and once my eyes adjust I can see clearly.

I hear them coming, his low rumble, her laugh and giggle. The scrape of a key in a lock, the creak of a wrought-iron gate. Like a shadow I slip into a nearby bush, reaching into my pocket for my binoculars.

They pass so close to me I can smell her perfume, hear the rustle of his trousers. He walks to a clear space, set back from the path and a little secluded. I can see him spreading out a blanket on the grass, then lighting small candles in little glass lanterns. I hear the pop of a bottle being uncorked, then the trickle of sparkling wine into glasses. I hear the whisper of light fabric as she slips down onto the mat and then the clink of glasses.

I can see them clearer now, both propped up on one arm, leaning into each-other to whisper into each-others ears. She's leaning into him, wearing a low-cut top and tight jeans with dressy sandals.

I watch as he puts his glass down and then starts to caress her body, running his hand down her neck, down her hip and slipping it between her legs, rubbing her through the thick fabric of her jeans. She kicks off her sandals and rubs him through his trousers.

"No!" Suddenly I hear her laughing cry.

My husband leans in and whispers something to her, and I see her look around, then slowly slide down the rug until she's straddling his legs. I have a perfect view now as she unzips him, and takes him out and starts to blow him, right there in the park.

In full view of anyone in any of these houses who might look out their windows, or go for a midnight stroll, she takes my husband's thick dick in her mouth and starts to hungrily suck him off.

As she licks his girthy member, tasting him on her tongue, she grows more and more horny and the nerves and embarrassment that tensed her shoulders start to fade. Her muscles seem looser and she's bobbing her head over him, his hand resting loosely on the back of her head.

She stops and looks up at my husband, he's asked something of her. She seems reticent but he leans in, persuasive. She looks around carefully and then strips off her top. The night is dim, but I can clearly see her bare breasts, full and round in the moonlight, nipples hard and dark in the cold night air.

She starts to suck him again, more turned on than before. My husband will be telling her about maybe someone watching from a window, enjoying the sight of her, what a whore she was letting him enjoy the sight of her bare chest, what a slut, sucking dick in public.

She looks up at him again. He's given her another order, and this time she takes little persuading at all. She stands, unbuttons her jeans, and strips them off. She poses, completely naked, turning slowly to allow him to see her. The cold night air caresses her bare body, the moonlight cascading over her pale skin like liquid silver. He told her to wax herself bare and smooth before coming tonight, like a slut should be.

"Touch yourself," is what he will tell her, and she starts to caress herself, the moonlight glancing off the curve of her hip, her bust, her wrist as it slips between her legs. She starts to move, sinuous, to the beat of music only she can hear.

Now feline, she's on all fours, crawling predatory towards him, kissing him on the lips, her bare body in the grass like some wild force of nature: some fae or dryad or succubus. She straddles him, and he slides easily into her.

She starts to ride him, not getting herself off, but putting on a show for him and her imaginary audience. Feeling the gaze of hypothetical observers in the houses all around caress her body, feeling their lust for her as if it were a physical thing.

Finally it grows too much for my poor husband, and he bucks his hips, throwing her off into the dewey grass. She lies on her back as he towers over her, pinning her wrists to the soft earth either side of her head as his massive member enters her glistening cunt.

He starts to fuck her, roughly, pounding her pussy with his dick, each thrust making an audible smack that rings out across the park. She starts to moan, not caring who hears, and then louder, wanting people to hear, begging my husband to fuck her harder, calling his name.

He pulls out and with rough strong hands flips her over onto her belly. He's on his knees but he doesn't come to her, just grabs her hips and lifts her up and slides her onto his cock, rigid as a steel bar. She gasps at the sudden violence, but the gasp is caught into a moan as he starts to hammer her pussy, gripping her hips tight and slamming her down again and again onto his rock-hard cock.

"Oh yes. Oh fuck. Oh yes," she's bellowing into the darkness as she cums hard, her cunt gripping my husband's cock tight like a fist.

He must have iron will not to cum then (I almost do) because he flips her onto her back, grips her ankles in his strong hands, bends her legs back and fucks her into the ground.

They're looking into each others eyes. She looking up at him over her still-spasming abs, seeing his thick shaft slamming again and again into her willing and sloppy cunt, his face set, his eyes simmering with lust and repressed violence, her ankles gripped firmly in his strong hands. She cannot resist him. Anything he wants from her he can and will take, so she may as well give it willingly. I can see her resolve melting away before his assault.

"Did you want something?" he asks.

"I--"

"What is it?"

"I need your cum. Fuck me until you cum all up in my cunt. Fill me to the brim. I want to feel your seed splashing on my cervix, deep inside."

"Beg."

Her eyes widen, "Please?" she asks tentatively.

"You can do better."

"Please cum in me. Please fill me with your cum. I need it so bad. I can't think of anything else. I couldn't do any work today; all I could think about was your cum in my mouth and in my pussy and all over my face and chest."

He stays silent.

"Please I'll do anything just fill me up. Fill this whore's pussy with your delicious hot load. Fill me up. Fill me to the brim."

A grunt is all the assent she gets and then--

"Oh thank you oh fuck I'm cumming again as you're filling me up. Oh I can feel my cunt milking you dry."

They collapse in a heap next to each other on the blanket, kissing and cuddling. I settle down, knowing it's not over. They stay undressed for now, the evening is mild and I think she's enjoying the feeling of the cool breeze carrying away the sex-sweat that beads her chest and back. They finish the wine and then he starts to pack away the picnic hamper.

"So, what next?" she asks, reaching for her top.

"Not that," he says firmly, picking up her clothes and slipping them into the hamper, "I want you to stay as you are."

"You want me to walk down the street naked?"

"Yes. Completely naked. I want you to feel everyones' eyes on you."

She opens her mouth to object but it's too late, he's already leaving and the only way she can get her clothes back is by going with him... He's left her the sandals, and she slips into them, straightens her back, lifts her chin-- her breasts rising and falling alluringly-- and struts after him.

As she passes me I can smell the sex on her, see the cum as it dribbles out of her cunt and trickles down her leg. As she nears the gate I can see the sodium street lights' orange-yellow glow caressing her smooth soft skin, completely naked in the night air. She's getting quite turned on by this, and her nipples are hard and dark on her heaving bosom.

My husband isn't super sadistic, and he's had his driver bring the car right up to the gate, so she only has to walk a few yards on the street, but it's enough. As he slips into the car after her, I catch a glimpse of her framed in the doorway, her eyes simmering with lust and desire, her legs parted and fingertips brushing her clit.

He's told me where they're going. I take off the worst of the thick and oily camo paint with a makeup wipe and then call an Uber.

* * *

By the time I get to the club, their show has already been going on for a good half an hour. She's on her knees in front of him, pleasuring him with her mouth. Her tight asshole is gaping wide and cum is dribbling out of her, dripping down onto the floor between her heels.

I slip in at the back, rubbing a stubborn patch of camo paint on my chin with my fingernail. As I sit down on one of the hard and uncomfortable chairs, he spins her around, holding her arms behind her back and sliding into her pussy. She has an excellent view of the audience, shrouded in the darkness the other side of the stage lights. They watch transfixed while my husband hammers my boss's tight cunt with his thick cock.

And here I am, watching.

After he finishes inside her he spins her around and lets the audience see, then he helps her down off the stage and gently pushes her in amongst us. Hands reach out and caress her body, squeeze her tits, pinch her nipples. Hands reach between her legs, feeling her gaping asshole, her slick cunt sloppy with cum.

She has her hands above her head, eyes closed, turning slowly, loving the attention-- the reaching hands touching, caressing, pinching, probing, fucking her.

I meet my husband's eyes on the stage and smile at him and he grins back.

I handed in my notice the next day.

To this day I don't think she knew that I knew.

But then, maybe she did...