Each year before Christmas, the Chairman of Charles’ firm held a party for the senior management team at his home. The guest list ran to just over a hundred with wives and partners; a number easily accommodated in their sprawling mansion set in 20 acres of parkland.

I had met Rex and his current wife, Ingrid, at the previous year’s event. Twice divorced, slightly overweight, but oozing power and influence, and very much the alpha male, he exuded animal magnetism.

Entering the ballroom, where the drinks party was being held, I could see Rex appraising me as Charles and I made our way around the room, chatting with various couples. I had dressed in an ivory strapless midi dress, with a scooped front that provided an enticing glimpse of my impressive cleavage. The tight, lace-detailed dress hugged my flat stomach and toned bum. With the dress, I wore light blue satin pumps, with a heel cup, wide ankle strap, and a slender stiletto.

After half an hour or so, during which time I was conscious of Rex’s repeated glances, we found ourselves with him and his wife. I chatted with Ingrid, whilst Rex talked business with Charles. Whilst neither of us made eye contact, I was conscious of him standing close next to me, as I talked with his wife about Christmas plans. I could feel butterflies in my stomach and my pulse racing.

Then, I overheard the men change the subject of their conversation to art; Rex having just purchased a work by a well-known artist. “Not sure if I mentioned it, but Arabella has a degree in History of Art,” Charles explained enthusiastically.

“Does she, indeed,” Rex replied, turning to me with interest.

“Be warned, Arabella, display the remote sign of interest and Rex will be giving you a long and very boring guided tour of his art collection,” Ingrid laughed.

“I would love that,” I responded, smiling at Ingrid. “Art is one of my passions.”

“Then, it would be my pleasure,” Rex confirmed with a charming smile, indicating I should accompany him.

Leaving Charles and Ingrid to mingle with the other guests, Rex guided me from the room, and across the main entrance hall to the dining room. As we entered the elegant room, the walls of which were lined with oil paintings, he closed the door and moved his hand slowly down the back of my tight dress. “Are you a woman of many passions, Arabella?”

“Many, Rex. One in particular, which I pursue at every opportunity,” I murmured, flashing him a sultry look and making no attempt to remove his hand from my backside.

“One should always pursue one’s passions,” he smiled conspiratorially; openly appraising my cleavage, whilst his hand cupped a pert buttock.

“Let me show you my latest acquisition,” he suggested, his hand gently pressing on my rear, so as to guide me. My stilettos clacked loudly on the oak floor, as we made our way across the dining room.

Turning the light on in his study, he locked the door behind us. I felt him press against me, his hand brushing the long blond hair from the nape of my neck. “I envy him in many ways,” he muttered, looking up at the portrait of an eighteenth-century aristocrat, whilst slowly tracing a finger along my bare neck and shoulders.

“How so?” I sighed at his touch. The butterflies were multiplying in my stomach, and I could feel myself getting wet.

“He had almost absolute license to take any woman; be that a serving girl for a quick fumble, or another man’s wife as his mistress,” he explained, gently kissing my neck and unzipping my dress.

“No one questioned it; indeed, many expected it, and even admired him for his conquests,” Rex continued, easing my dress from my shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

“And the ladies in his circle?” I moaned softly, in response to his fingers gliding over my taut belly and down to my mound.

“Oh, if they were discrete,” he whispered, his hands moving back up my body, and unfastening my ivory lace strapless bra, “then they could indulge their passions, Arabella.”

“But they had to be discrete, and he didn’t,” I gasped; his hands cupping my full boobs, and his lips brushing over my neck and earlobes.

“Perhaps not that much has changed,” he chuckled, gently circling fingers over my hardening nipples, “some then, and still now, would describe women who indulge their passions as sluts.”

Continuing to circle my nipple with one hand, he slid the other down and into my matching ivory lace thong. “Are you a slut, Arabella,” he enquired neutrally, slipping a finger into my soaking pussy.

“A complete and utter slut,” I moaned, pushing forward against his digit, which now was knuckle-deep inside me.

“Then I shall treat you like one,” Rex whispered in my ear, before withdrawing his finger and leading me across to the other side of a large, leather-topped, mahogany desk. Positioning me facing the desk, he pushed me down, so that my arse was presented to him as he sat on the green leather chair. Peeling off the tiny thong, he tossed it across to join the rest of my clothes in a pile on the Persian floor rug.

I heard him unlock and open a draw, removing an object and another item, before closing the draw again. Looking behind me, I saw him take the cap from a tube of lubricant and apply it to the object, which turned out to be a solid glass butt plug.

“Turn around,” he ordered, spreading my legs wider and running hands up my inner thighs. Parting the lips of my labia, he leaned forward and began to run the tip of his tongue along my quim.

“Fuuuuck,” I moaned softly, my hands splayed on the desk, arousal coursing through me. Continuing to work up and down my engorged quim with his tongue, Rex placed the butt plug between my cheeks and moved it until the glass tip was positioned against my sphincter.

I held my breath as slowly, almost tenderly, he rubbed the lubricated glass against the entrance to my anus. Simultaneously, he reached forward with a finger and felt for my clit.

“Oh, my fucking God,” I whimpered, my eyes fixed on a photo of his smiling wife, as Rex found the swollen spongy tissue and began to circle it slowly but steadily with a finger; whilst millimetre-by-millimetre inserting the plug with his other hand; and, all the while, continuing to lap at my swollen pussy.

In response to Rex synchronising and then gradually increasing the tempo of the three actions, it wasn’t long before my legs gave way and, with a series of increasingly hysterical wails, I came heavily all over his face.

Whilst I tried to regain an element of composure, Rex rose from the chair, took off his dinner jacket and bow tie, and pulled down his trousers and boxer shorts. “Lie down on the desk,” he demanded in a low, even, voice.

Repositioning myself, I looked up at him in silent anticipation. “There is no greater satisfaction than fucking another man’s wife, whilst she screams your name rather than his.” Lifting my legs, he positioned himself, and then nudged the head of his member against my pussy. “And you do want me to fuck you, don’t you, Mrs Jones?”

“I need you inside me, filling me, fucking me, using me,” I pleaded, looking up at him submissively. With a smile of arrogant satisfaction, he responded by burying himself to the hilt inside me. My eyes widened, and I gasped with shock at the sudden force of the invasion.

After the initial penetration, Rex began to take me with a series of deep, rhythmic thrusts; his eyes fixed on my large breasts, bouncing with the shock of each drive of his cock. Wrapping my long legs around his waist, my stilettos raking his back, I synchronised the movement of my hips and pelvis with his. To the background accompaniment of the string quartet playing in the room full of his guests, the study was filled with my moans and his pants of exertion.

After what seemed a blissful eternity, he slowed, stopped, and pulled out. Pushing my legs down, he lifted me and pulled me to my feet. Then, breathing heavily, he sat back on the chair, his shining cock rising proud from under his belly, looking at me expectantly.

Straddling him, I positioned myself with legs folded and my stiletto-clad feet hanging off the edge of the chair. Then, raising myself up, I reached down and took hold of his sticky member. Slowly, I impaled myself on him, emitting a low cry as his thick shaft stretched and filled me.

Placing my hands on his shoulders, I began to grind myself against his pelvis. “Oh God, yes, Rex, you feel so fucking good deep inside me,” I sobbed, digging my fingernails into his shoulders; the feeling of the plug filling my anus and, separated by a thin membrane, his cock filling my pussy, was almost unbearably exquisite.

As I rocked to and fro with fluid gyrations, he kneaded my full firm boobs, taking each of my rock-hard nipples into his mouth and grazing at them with his teeth. “Does your darling wife ride you like this,” I taunted him, my eyes drawn to the formal wedding day photo of them both, which held pride of place on the antique regency side table behind the chair.

“Of course she doesn’t; my wife isn’t a slut,” Rex panted, “but you, Arabella Jones, despite outward appearances, are a dirty little slut.”

“Then treat me like one,” I goaded, making eye contact with him. In response, he gripped my hips and, pushing up into me, pulled me backwards and forwards with a remorseless determination. My eyes on his, my boobs rippling with each vigorous rotation, I let out a series of loud cries as Rex took me closer and closer to climax.

His cock and the butt plug both wedged deep inside me as Rex ground me furiously against him, I lost all control. My eyes wide with shock, and my mouth open in a silent scream, I looked deep into his eyes as I came with a series of uncontrollable spasms, whilst he smirked with smug satisfaction.

Keeping him pinned against the chair whilst the fog in my brain cleared, I leant forward, placing my hands on the back of the chair and pressing my heavy mounds into his face. Slowly at first, I began to ride him again. Increasing the pace, I mounted my husband’s Chairman with smooth, determined movements, causing him to let out a string of low guttural moans of lust.

“Cum for me, Rex,” I purred in his ear, his breathing shallow and fast as the tension built in his loins.

“I can’t…” he rasped, tensing. Locking onto his glazed eyes, I drove myself against him. “Oh fuck, I’m coming, Arabella,” he cried desperately, his cock twitching and sending a mass of cum deep into my belly.

Rex slumped in the chair, his chest heaving and sweat pouring from him. “There is no greater satisfaction than fucking another woman’s husband, whilst he screams your name rather than hers,” I smiled triumphantly, running a finger over his cheek.

“Touché, Mrs Jones, touché,” Rex laughed wheezily, watching me climb off and go to recover my clothes.