“I take it that your previous experience proved satisfactory, since you’re back.”

The man on the other side of the desk leaned back, placing his hands behind his head. On my previous visit, a month ago, I’d felt him undressing me with his eyes. Now I felt that he was remembering; the way he’d squeezed my breasts and my buttocks, pressed himself against me so that there could be no doubt as to the nature of his demands.

I nodded, allowing a dry cough to sit in for active affirmation.

“May I ask, was there anything about the experience that disagreed with you?”

About having a hood pulled over my head and being groped by multiple hands; having my knickers pulled down and my arse spanked over and over; about being held down and fucked hard, over and over; about having my mouth used so many times that four weeks later I could still taste the flood of semen on my tongue?

“No, nothing.”

“Excellent.” The man was staring straight at my cleavage, just as he’d done last time. It didn’t take a mind reader to work out the direction of his thoughts. “And was there anything you particularly enjoyed?”

About having my nipples pinched; being given bite marks in the unlikeliest of places; my holes being vulnerable to penetration at any moment; being no more than a fuck doll for a whole host of men, so many that there was no way of knowing how many they were?

“It was all very memorable.”

“Excellent.” But the man seemed a little disappointed, as if he wanted me to elaborate on the sordid details. “Now, do you have a more specific request this time around?”

“Such as?”

He leered at me, or rather at my cleavage. “Some special kind of fantasy or roleplay, perhaps?”

“No, none in particular.”

Again he looked as if I’d failed to live up to expectations, but he didn’t express it in so many words. Instead he pulled out one of the drawers in his desk and produced some stapled together sheets of paper. “Then I suggest a Fair Game contract, as before. Is that agreeable to you?”

“Yes.”

My mouth was dry and I gave another little cough as the man penned in a few details before pushing the papers across to me.

“As you can see, the contract becomes effective immediately and has a duration of forty-eight hours. If this is not acceptable to you, it can be modified accordingly.”

“No, that’s fine.”

“Husband away again?” It was as if the man could see straight through me. Then I realized that he knew that I couldn’t be Fair Game for forty-eight hours without John being away.

I took note of the safeword, but didn’t bother reading any of the small print before signing my name on the dotted line and sliding the papers b-back t-to the man.

Having finally heard her falter, the little stutter in the narration that I was yearning to hear, I pressed pause, wanting to savour for as long as possible the sound of Meghan delivering the words I’d purposely written for her.

She read the story in a voice very different from the way she normally spoke, in a deep, hoarse quasi-whisper, an affectation I felt made the words I’d written sound even filthier than they were. But what made the recording especially delicious was the low hum in the background that accompanied Meghan’s reading. It spoke of sensations that must take their toll eventually, and in the meantime… Well, the way she’d suddenly stumbled over her words, that was an effect I hoped to hear much more of, and what I’d hoped for when I’d made the suggestion.

~

We were standing by the door. It was time for me to take my leave. Meghan was looking like the cat that got the cream, which in a way I suppose she had. It was then, before I had time to bid the couple farewell and step outside, that her husband John said one of those things people say. “I… We don’t know how to thank you.”

What I should have said was something like, ‘The pleasure was all mine.’ Instead… Instead I was right back where I’d been when Meghan and I had first met, having an idea lurking in my head that I was expecting to be turned down, but giving voice to the preposterous thing anyway. “I do have an idea… I mean it’s probably… too much. But… it’s an idea…”

“You’ve still got a little something,” Meghan said. She was speaking to her husband. One of her fingers swiped the corner of his chin, then worked its way into her own mouth; the cat’s final taste of cream. Then she turned to me. “Spit it out. I doubt we’ll be shocked.”

After what had transpired during the evening, that seemed a fair bet, but you never can tell. I collected myself. “If I were to write another story,” I said. “In the first person. And Meghan was to read it while… Record herself reading it and… Well, in somewhat special circumstances. As an audio story.”

I realized that I was speaking to John as if his wife wasn’t there, but Meghan wasn’t put off by that. “These special circumstances…” she said, and then once I’d told her. “You really are a perv. Isn’t he, John?” She made it sound like the height of aspiration.

“It does sound rather stimulating,” her husband replied. “At the very least it would be an interesting experiment.”

Somehow that settled it. This time I wrote the story in the space of one day, without Meghan’s presence, but by now she was in a sense ever-present in my thoughts. She recorded her audio within the week and e-mailed the file to me. I didn’t listen at once, though I wanted to. Something urged me to let the anticipation grow, until the bubble burst and I could no longer resist hearing her speak the words I was placing in her mouth.

~

Finally listening to the audio, I wasn’t sure what I enjoyed the most; Meghan narrating the indecent situation I’d placed her in, or the special circumstances, the ever-present buzz accompanying husky whisper. I pressed play to continue.

The man leered again. I was under no illusions as to why he’d made the contract effective immediately. He was looking at me in the way a man looks at a woman when he knows that he can have her do anything he likes, or do anything he likes to her. The only uncertainty was what that meant. Would he have me crawl under the desk, or bend… bend over it? Or did he have some… some other thing, unimaginable to all but the seediest of minds, in store for me?

I was saved by the ringtone. Given the time, it had to be John, and it was. “I have to take this,” I announced. A more considerate man might have left the office to give me some privacy, not this one.

“I just wanted to let you know that I arrived safely and am all checked in,” John said.

The man chose that moment to place the papers with my signature on them in a drawer and push his chair back. “I’m still at the off… office,” I told John. “Some… something came up.”

I barely heard what my husband was saying. The man was on his feet, then he was behind me. John was saying something in one ear, the man breathing into the other. “What was that, dear?” I asked.

“You mustn’t overwork yourself.”

“I won’t dear. I promise.”

The man was still breathing into my… my ear. But now he was touching me, his fing… finger moving in my cleavage, his hand suddenly giving my breast a hard squeeze. My hus… husband was again saying something I didn’t catch.

“I’m sorry, love. It’s a bit… a bit crazy here. I have to go.”

“All right,” John said. “Talk to you later?”

The man’s fingers had moved, they were grazing… grazing a nipple. His hot breath wormed its way into my head.

“Talk to you later. [sharp intake of breath] Love you.”

“Love you,” John said as the man’s fingers closed on my breast. I… I cut the call.

“And that,” the man whispered in my ear, “is why I love… love it… [sigh] … when married sluts avail themselves of my services. And you’re a very special kind of married slut, Meghan.”

I pressed pause again, directly after hearing Meghan swallow audibly. Combined with the way she had begun to falter regularly, and the way her hoarse whisper had acquired a certain irregularity, I felt she couldn’t have turned in a better audio performance.

I say performance, but I was sure it was more than that. The background hum was unceasing, adding a continuous stimulus both to Meghan and to the listener. Even so, Meghan was a performer; she had been all the time, from the moment she pretended she’d expected to meet her husband rather than me, through our conversation in the café, and then the way she’d teased me mercilessly when she sat for me. And the evening when I visited her and her husband to read the finished story, that too had been a performance, and also so much more than that.

~

I’d never heard of Ambler Avenue before, but finding it wasn’t difficult. The street turned out to be one of those two-storied, semi-detached stretches laid out at the height of suburban expansion and optimism, and the houses betrayed evidence of having been subject to home improvements in the not too distant past, though number 14 boasted a front garden that was at risk of running amok.

Being a quarter of an hour early gave me the opportunity to pause for a moment outside and think back, to the very first meeting with Meghan, when she appeared so uncertain and claimed to have gotten in touch with me because she imagined that I was her husband, writing kinky stories under a pseudonym.

With hindsight, I could easily see the holes in her story that should have made me put two and two together, but I’d been too intoxicated by the woman, and as unexpected as every new step had been, I’d willingly suspended all better judgement. The revelation that she knew very well that her husband wasn’t the secret author of my stories should have come as no surprise whatsoever, though it would have been difficult to guess that he, as he had been, was in on the whole thing and fully aware of everything that went on when Meghan and I met, and when she sat as my increasingly lewd muse.

And now here I was, about to read to the couple; the story I’d written with Meghan sitting for me, a story born of frustration and longing to get my hands on her. The fact that the pair had conjured this situation into being themselves did nothing to settle my nerves. Do your worst, Meghan had told me when I started writing, and the nature of the story I’d woven her into was certainly extreme enough to be far from everyone’s taste.

It was John who came to the door. He held out his hand and said, “Martin?” as if he’d accidentally invited sundry persons over at this exact hour.

We shook. My first impression was of a calm, very ordinary man. John was slightly thinning on top and wore spectacles, but he carried himself with authority, even in dress-down jumper and jeans. “Meghan will be down in a minute. Can I get you a drink in the meantime?”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

A space had been cleared in the living room, with a wooden chair facing the sofa. It wasn’t exactly a podium, but it still gave proceedings an absurd air of formality, as if I would be delivering a keynote address to a room full of notables rather than a wildly over-the-top tale of debauchery to just the two people, but if that was how they wanted things, then so be it. Even with the supposedly tongue-loosening effects of alcohol, I hardly knew what to say to the man.

Still, we tried the usual routine, what we did for a living, batting averages in the latest test series, the availability of parking in our respective necks of the woods, and then resorted to a discussion about it being unseasonably mild. It came as a relief when Meghan entered the room, breathtaking as always, today in a low cut blouse, shaped to highlight her curvature, amber swirls bringing to mind flames licking her breasts. The short, black skirt, black nylons and heels I imagined were a concession to my very transparent tastes.

She came straight up to me and gave me a peck on the cheek. I caught the look in her husband’s eye as she did so, noting that he seemed to interpret this ostensibly innocent action as so much more. Had they done this before or anything like it, I wondered? Did they have an open marriage? So many questions, but it seemed like an unnecessary complication to ask them.

Meghan joined her husband on the sofa. She appeared not to want a drink, at least John didn’t ask if she wanted one. I studied her carefully, remembering the image she’d presented the first time I’d met her. She’d played her part well; the anxiety, the embarrassment. I still couldn’t decide how much of what had transpired since had always been her intention. It had been my suggestion that she sit for me, but had she manipulated me into asking? I couldn’t be sure, I realized.

John placed a hand on his wife’s knee, as if they were more friends than anything. Meghan reached across and took his other hand. “Don’t keep us in suspense any longer,” she said. “We’ve been waiting for this for far too long.” John nodded agreement.

I was glad I’d taken the offer of a drink. Without it, I may well have balked at reading aloud. It was one thing reading snippets to Meghan at her behest while she was sitting for me, quite another to read the whole thing in front of her and her husband, especially given that she’d inspired me to write as depraved a hardcore story as I’d ever written.

For the best part of an hour, the pair of them sat very attentively, but very still, like a tableau. As promised I’d polished and edited the story a little, and also made some small amendments inspired by the events at the final sitting. Reading my fantasies out loud brought it home to me just how extreme they were, and it was a relief to finally be able to say, “The end.”

There was polite applause. A few more people in the room and I may as well have just held a talk on new developments in some obscure branch of medicine.

“Well, darling,” Meghan said. “Did you think your wife was capable of inspiring all that?”

“I never doubted it,” John said. He was on his feet. “Another drink?”

“Please.” I needed another. The fact that the couple looked very appreciative was doing nothing to calm what I now realized was a strange sense of shame. Having nowhere to put the glass that was handed to me, I downed the liquid in one and sat fingering the tumbler, finally deciding to address Meghan as I always did, as if her husband wasn’t present. “How about you? Did the story live up to your expectations?”

Meghan gave a little smile. “Who could have imagined I was such a slut? Going in search of an adventure like that behind my husband’s back.” John had returned to the sofa, and she patted his leg. He, in turn, looked as if she’d just given him a bone.

“It was most invigorating,” John agreed, in turn placing his hand back on Meghan’s knee. He looked at me. “We’ve enjoyed reading your stories aloud, but hearing you read a bespoke tale gave things a new dimension entirely.”

This was better, or perhaps the alcohol was finally dissolving my belated reservations. “So whose idea was it that Meghan contact me?” I asked.

“Both and neither of us,” Meghan said cryptically. “Though at the time neither of us could have imagined it might go anywhere. Not really. I thought it might be fun to see what someone who wrote such stories was like, so we cooked up the story I told you. When you came up with that suggestion that I sit for you…”

“It was more than we’d dared hope for,” John interjected.

Megan leaned across to press her lips against her husband’s cheek, and he squeezed her knee in return. “After that,” she said, “John enjoyed hearing about our little sessions so very much.” Her legs parted a little as she spoke, a very small tease, not unlike her movements when she sat for me. Instantly I wanted her again, wanted her as I wanted her when she was still untouchable and I poured everything into my filthy story. I remembered the way she’d teased me incrementally, each new sitting an extension of the previous one.

“At least there’s no need to ask if you enjoyed our sessions,” I said, losing my lingering sense of social propriety to my own arousal and the alcohol.

Meghan eased her legs a little further apart, her husband giving a new knee-pat, as if to tell her she could respond truthfully. The answer she gave was to smile at me in that way she had, full of mischief and allure, and to drag a finger along her nylons. Then her eyes turned to my crotch, causing my bulge to become a little more apparent than it already was.

John cleared his throat. “The truth is, this has all been so very gratifying.” He gave his wife’s knee a new squeeze. “I feel like I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“Please, don’t mention it,” I said with a little wave, reverting to mechanical politeness.

“And there seems a rather obvious way to pay it.” His meaning seemed as obvious as it was beyond propriety, even before he clarified, “If you’d like to undress Meghan…”

As soon as he said the words his wife was on her feet, moving towards me. I finally let go of the glass, placing it on the chair once I’d risen. Megan had stopped midway between her husband and myself. I walked up to her, delighted to see the same amusement in her eyes as I’d seen when I read aloud to her in my flat.

Looking down, I found myself staring into deep cleavage. I dipped my finger in it before reaching behind Meghan, who pushed herself against me as my hands cupped her buttocks. I allowed myself to give her a good hard squeeze before finding the button and pulling on the zip so that the skirt dropped to the floor. As I resumed squeezing her bottom, now through diaphanous black panties, I could see John over her shoulder unzipping himself and bringing out his frisky equipment as he looked on.

I no longer cared much about how this situation had come about. If the phone call during the final sitting at my flat hadn’t told me where his mind was at, this certainly did. I ran my hands up Meghan’s back and over her shoulders before my eagerness caused me to fumble unduly with the buttons down her front. She stood there, oozing impatience until I finally slid the blouse off her shoulders so it too dropped to the floor. The bra matched her panties perfectly, her nipples showing visible signs of anticipation through the fabric.

I ran my fingers across her enticing bosom, giving an extra little rub as my fingertips encountered those wonderfully full nipples. John took a sip of his drink, not touching his cock, just watching with a certain look in his eye. What was it he’d asked me over the phone at that final sitting? “Is she making you want to fuck her brains out?”

My hands returned to Meghan’s buttocks. This time I grabbed her harshly, pulling her into me, making sure she could feel the full extent of my arousal. I did want to fuck her brains out, the way the men in the story had. I wanted to do it for all the teasing she’d done, however enjoyable it had been. And if her husband was on board with it, if he wanted to watch his wife on the sharp end of my stiff cock, so much the better.

I fondled Meghan’s buttocks all the harder, grinding myself against her front, seeing John’s excitement mount while his wife was doing her best to appear unperturbed, as if this was just another day at the office. It was very clear to me that John would be on board with any design I had regarding his wife. And though Meghan was doing her usual thing of it being possible but by no means certain that she wanted what she wanted, I fancied I knew her well enough by now to fully appreciate her performance.

~

A slight twitch brought me back to the here and now. Removing my hand from my trouser front I decided that further reminiscences were for later. There was a more recent performance to concentrate on.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I asked.

The man chuckled, releasing his grip on my… my breast and resuming his seat behind the desk. Looking straight at the part of me he’d just mauled, he growled, “Do you know what the best of all this is?”

“I imagine you’re about to… to tell me.”

He leered, in that way he had. “The best thing about this is that for the next forty-eight hours, I, or my men… my… my… men, get to [heavy exhalation] fuck you whenever we like, wherever we like, knowing full well what a horny little… slut you are.”

It was the kind of assertion that under any other circumstances would demand a riposte. But how could I contradict the man when a month ago he and his men had penetrated me multiple ways and multiple times. Just sitting there I could [sigh] feel the taste of them in my mouth and recall the… the sensation of sliding my… my fingers between labia thick with… [oh!] thick with multiple loads of… of [deep inhalation] creamy cum.

The man was still looking at me, in that way he had… that way [sigh] that told me I was nothing to him but an object of amusement, [swallow] a source of gratification. “So the only question of any importance right now is if I should… should fuck you now, or leave it until you’re least… least expecting it. What do you think, Meghan?”

My mouth was dry, my pussy wet. [gulp] He was a bastard, and so were his men. [sigh] And I was so very… very wet.

When I still said nothing, the man smirked. “Your nipples certainly seem to have an appreciation of the situation.”

It was true. Finding my tongue, I said, [gulp] “Would you like to see them?”

“It’s nice of you to offer,” the man said. Then he grinned, as if an idea had… had suddenly come to him. “Perhaps I should arrange a dinner party,” he said. “I’m sure my men won’t mind the late notice. I may ev… even invite some women. [gasp] You’ll wait at table, of course. Topless, [sigh] since you’re that way inclined.”

“Of course,” I’d said, before I… I realized it. Then, easing into the spirit of the thing, [sharp inhalation] “Would I have any… any other… other duties?”

“You’re Fair Game,” the man shrugged. “I don’t know if it… it… counts as a duty, but as you know [swallow] my men are hardly likely to… to keep their [sigh] hands in order. Or [uh-uh!] their cocks.”

“I see,” I said, not knowing what else to say. My throat constricted, but down… [oh!] down below I felt a fierce trick… trickle. [gasp]”

“You must expect to be… be [swallow] spanked if you don’t perform your tasks [gasp] adequately,” the man… said.

“And will I be… be rewarded if… if I perform them well?”

At this the man laughed. “I’m sure you can imagine what kind of reward [ah!] a woman like you can [oh!] expect. Especially when everyone discovers that you’re wearing… [sigh] wearing crotchless panties?”

A long and deep moan alerted me to the fact that Meghan was unlikely to last until the dinner party actually came to fruition, let alone the full length of the story. Not that I’d expected her to. I checked the timer, determining that the low, unrelenting buzz of the vibrator wouldn’t be too long in bringing business to a close. Wanting to draw things out a little longer, I paused the recording, recalling the image that I saw before me so often, and that in its own small way had informed the new story.

~

Meghan gave me a look that told me to hold my horses before glancing over her shoulder. Seeing that her husband had his dick out, she pulled away from me, resuming her place on the sofa and reaching out to hold the erect piece. She wasn’t looking at him, but at me as her legs slowly parted. Only now did I see that her panties were not only transparent but crotchless, red trim framing her delectable folds. Recalling my semen shooting out over her labia, my cock twitched. Still looking exclusively at me, Meghan began moving her hand up and down.

“He’s more excited than he’s letting on,” she announced suddenly. “For years he’s got me to pretend I’m the sluts in your stories, that it’s all for real. He gets me to tell him how it felt to have other men using me.” She turned her head. “Isn’t that right, darling? You just love imagining your wife being a fuck toy to other men, don’t you?”

“From what I’ve seen, I don’t think he’s the only one excited by that,” I said, voicing my thoughts before I’d had time to vet them properly.

Meghan shot me a glance, using her free hand to stroke the sheer fabric covering her mound. “How many men were there in that story?” she asked.

I realized that I had no idea myself, not exactly. “Fifteen or so,” I guessed. “But I can’t say how many times they all…” I faltered.

“Pumped me full?” Meghan suggested, adjusting her hand, lightly touching her labia with delicate fingers as she turned to John, where her right hand was still moving up and down at a steady pace. “Did you hear that? Your darling wife pumped full multiple times by fifteen men.” She paused. “Fucked everywhere!”

The words were spoken with relish, and they had their effect. With a loud grunt, John exploded. His sperm shot straight into the air, falling back onto his jeans. Meghan kept pumping his cock while her husband continued to grunt, only stopping when it sounded as if he might be short of breath. She stared down at his jeans. “Such a mucky pup,” she said, before licking her hand clean of what semen had landed on it. “I think you need to make yourself decent again.”

“I think you’re right, dear,” John said, looking apologetic as he got to his feet.

Meghan waited until he’d left the room, then said, “I think it’s time you undressed for me, don’t you?”

She had her dispassionate gaze on, an incongruous aspect for a beautiful woman sitting with legs apart, exposing her vulva with no hint of embarrassment. Not that I was in a mood to contradict her. It took virtually no time at all for me to strip off and stand naked before her. It wasn’t the first time I’d disrobed for her, of course, but it was the first time I’d felt confident that I would have her. It made all the difference.

Meghan patted the place to the right of herself, the one her husband had just vacated. “Take a seat!”

I didn’t need to be told twice. Meghan lifted her right leg, placing it across my thighs. Her legs were now as wide open as they could be, and I did the thing that came naturally to me, reaching across to slide a finger in her slit and locate her nub. She reciprocated, taking my stiff cock in her hand. “Is that how you see me?” she said.

“What?”

“A total slut, lusting to be lewdly taken by total brutes.”

“You wanted it hardcore,” I told her.

“Oh, I’m not complaining. I was just wondering how you see me.” Her hand was moving up and down. I let my finger slide, teasing her entrance.

“Perhaps I see you the way you presented yourself.”

Meghan rubbed a thumb across my glans. “The fantasy was all yours.”

“So how close did fantasy Meghan come to real Meghan?”

Meghan gave a little squeeze. Pre-cum oozed from me. She rubbed her thumb across it. “What is this? Fantasy or reality?”

“It feels very real to me.”

Meghan gave another little squeeze of my cock. “Perhaps you’ll wake up tomorrow and it will all have been a dream.”

“A very congenial dream.”

She tinkled a laugh. “What a peculiar word.”

“What would you call it?”

Moist lips pushed up against my ear. “Wet,” she whispered. “A very wet dream.”

I crooked my finger, teasing her entrance. The rim was slippery. I followed the trail. Just the tip of a finger inside. “Wet,” I murmured. “That’s a much better word.”

Meghan’s tongue teased my ear. “Perhaps real Meghan wouldn’t mind being treated like fantasy Meghan.”

“Perhaps?”

“Perhaps.”

I eased my finger a little further inside her. In reply, Meghan circled her fingers round the base of my cock, giving a little squeeze.

~

Recollection of that evening tended to give my hands a life of their own. The pressure on my groin was not yet fatal, but potentially so and I wished I had some way of distracting them until the time came. It was a toss-up whether I preferred remembering Meghan’s words or hearing her voice uttering the words I’d placed in her mouth. In the moment I fancied the latter.

I didn’t know what to say any more. I could indeed imagine [Ah!] the kind of reward I might [sigh] expect. [Sharp inhalation] No doubt it consisted of a multitude of [gasp] hard cocks and a… [gasp] a copious amount of hot… hot [Oh, oh, oh, oh!] creamy cum sliding… [gulp] sliding [swallow] down my throat.

This time Meghan waited a while before continuing to read. The hum of the vibrator and her heavy breathing working in tandem to maintain the level of excitement. The hoarse whisper had acquired an edge of desperation. I heard her swallow loudly. Then she continued, the words tumbling out of her at ever greater speed, so much so that a casual listener might find it hard to keep up.

The man was looking at me as if he wanted to swallow me whole. “At a guess I’d say that you’re [gasp] well up for anything [sigh] that might happen.”

He was staring at my breasts again, where my nipples were as obvious as they could be, outlined in detail. There was no point in… in [Aaah!] pretending. “I’ll… [deep inhalation] I’ll do it.”

“Of course you will,” the man growled. “You’re [gulp] Fair Game. You don’t have a… a choice. The only question left to be decided is what, if… [sigh] if anything I’m minded to do to… [gasp] to… to you before you [Oh!] leave this office.”

Another trickle [Oh, oh!] leaked… leaked… [series of gasps] …out of me. Suddenly I felt [Aaah!] that I’d be unable to [gasp] function if I left the office without… [Oh!] without… [Oh, oh, oh!] without… [Mmmmfffff]… without him [gulp] fucking me.”

There was more heavy breathing, Meghan clearly trying to collect herself. Looking at the timer made it clear that the denouement wasn't at all far away. I made a decision. However torturous it had been, the delayed gratification I’d experienced when she sat for me had also been a sweet pleasure. To experience it now, all I had to do was press pause. The moment I did so, my mind wandered, making the trek back to Ambler Avenue.

~

“Well this looks cosy.” I looked up to see John fully dressed. He must have changed, because there was no sign of a stain on his jeans. He sat down on the chair in the middle of the room, eyeing his wife and myself as if observing a peculiar specimen he was minded to write a paper on. It was a strange sensation. I supposed he was enjoying himself, though his composed exterior meant that supposition was all I had.

“Martin and I were just discussing the story,” Meghan told him, which was a stretch. “What was your favourite part, darling?”

John scratched his head. “I think… When Meghan was on all fours and all that sperm was dripping out of her after taking… How many men was it?”

I had no idea, and it was my story, but Meghan said, “By my count it was twelve, but I could be wrong.” She gave me a little tug. “Can you believe it? My husband so excited by the thought of twelve men taking his wife from behind one after the other and leaving her dripping with sperm.”

“Oh I can believe it,” I said. “I imagined it just looking at you.”

Meghan gave me a little squeeze, moving her hand up and down as if she was rewarding me for my words. I understood where she was coming from. A light had come on in John’s eyes. I pushed my digit inwards, letting Meghan’s moist warmth engulf it a little more. I remembered pouring all of my frustration into the story, the way I’d wanted what I couldn’t have. Now I could have it, and with her husband’s connivance.

But it was Meghan who made the move, gripping my wrist and pulling my hand away. Using both of her own hands, she held herself open, staring at her husband. “Tell me, darling! Do you want to see the spunk of another man flowing from my pussy?”

Behind the spectacles I fancied John’s eyes were glazing over a little. “Yes!” he breathed. “You know I do!” His hand came to rest on his crotch, giving a little squeeze. Recovery, I imagined, had been swift.

I was kind of getting the hang of this now. I got to my feet, wanking my cock as I looked down at Meghan. Turning my head to look at John, remembering his words on the phone, I said, “I could really fuck her brains out right about now. Do you want that? Do you want me to fuck your wife’s brains out?”

John had the look on his face of a man in the grip of some shameful madness. “Please!” he said.

He was practically begging. I felt myself seized by my own kind of madness. I turned back to Meghan, who was still holding herself open. “What about you?” I said.

With perfect poise, Meghan said, “Whatever makes my darling husband happy.”

“Please fuck her!” John said. “Please!”

I had my cock in my hand, aiming it at Meghan. She’d teased me so much, and now I had, if not the upper hand, then at least something resembling it. “Tell me you want it,” I demanded.

Looking straight at her husband, Meghan said, “Please fuck me, Martin.”

“Beg for it,” I told her. “Beg me to fuck your brains out!”

“Just do it, Martin!” John exclaimed, his eyes locked on hers. “Stick your cock in her! Fuck my wife’s brains out!”

Forcing myself to stick to my guns, I fixed Meghan with the sternest gaze I could. “Say it!”

Still with her eyes on her husband, Meghan relented. “Go on then,” she said. “Fuck me, Martin. Fuck me hard! Fuck my brains out!”

As soon as she said it, I was on top of her. I drove my cock into her with all the force at my disposal, every ounce of frustration I’d experienced at my flat when she flaunted herself knowing I couldn’t or wouldn’t touch her. It was an absolute derangement, resulting in harsh, ruthless thrusts.

“Yes!” John cried behind me. “Fuck her, Martin!”

Meghan gasped, her hands somehow reaching my buttocks so that she could pull me into her.

“Yes!” John exclaimed. “Oh yes! Fuck her! Fuck her hard!”

I kept on thrusting, feeling Meghan’s moisture increase every time my cock struck her cervix. She was smiling, but smiling straight past me, at her husband. I didn’t have the upper hand as I’d thought. I had become the couple’s plaything, and that made my feelings even more ambiguous, the only way of relieving the tension being to thrust even harder, as if I was trying to churn Meghan’s juices into butter. “Oh! Oh!” she cried. Then she was looking straight at me. “Do your worst, you fucking animal! Do your worst!”

It was the thing she’d told me when I began writing the story. Then it had been purely in respect of the fantasy, but this… In a frenzy my hands moved as if of their own volition. I was pulling her hair with one of them, the fingers on the other digging into her neck while I pounded her as hard as I could.

Meghan’s eyes seemed to roll back inside her head. Her pussy was so wet I had visions of a tidal wave suddenly flooding the neighbourhood. Behind me, I could hear John. “Please cum inside her! Please fuck my slut of a wife as hard as you can and cum inside her!”

It was the only thing left to me. I was in too much of a frenzy to think about doing anything but thrust and thrust until the inevitable happened, my grip on her tightening as her grip on me tightened. I was panting hard, biting into her ear lobe as my cock steeled itself in readiness. “Oh, darling!” Meghan croaked. He’s going to cum in me! Tell me…”

Her words faded into a delicious moan. I sensed rather than saw that John was moving. Then he was crouching, his face up close, watching my savage cock ramming into his wife as liquid oozed out of her. I grunted, feeling myself shoot past the moment when an eruption might have been averted. I grunted again. “Get ready to take my spunk!” I panted.

“Yes!” John exclaimed. “Pump her full! Pump my wife full!”

Meghan’s eyes rolled again. I was shouting. “Here it comes! Here it comes! Ugh!” A ferocious spasm sent my semen jetting into the woman. “Yes!” she croaked. “Yes!”

“Yes!” John cried excitedly. “Yes! Cum in her! Cum in her! Cum in her! Oh yes!” You’d have been forgiven for thinking it was he who was ejaculating.

I relaxed my grip and pulled back a little. Immediately Meghan turned her eyes on John. “Do it!” she gasped. “Do what you know you want to!” Her husband obeyed immediately. I pulled out of Meghan to give him free rein to lick his wife’s spunk-filled pussy. She in turn cried out, “Oh yes! That’s so filthy! Lick my pussy, darling! Lick me!”

She was right. It was filthy. I watched with a sense of enchantment as the husband stood there on all fours like a dog, lapping at his wife. Meghan reached down to open herself up. The creamy white substance slid slowly out of her while John worked his tongue against her clit. There was an air of depravity about Meghan now that I felt a man could never get enough of.

I stared hard at her engorged nipples, at her parted lips, at the tongue that came out to circle them as she locked eyes with me. Her breathing was heavy, intensifying. She didn’t announce her climax, but just let it happen, her stunning body tensing and shuddering before collapsing into inertia.

~

It was some performance, and more besides. With a certain distance to events I could see how, even in the heat of the moment, Meghan had never quite stopped actively putting on a show. And how would such a consummate performer approach the moment on an audio recording? There was only one way to find out.

As far as I knew the contract didn’t specify that I mustn’t do anything, only that things could be [sigh] [Aaah!] done to [Aaaah!] me. So I [swallow] stood up. The man watched me closely as I took hold of my skirt. [Gasp] [Oh shit, I’m so close!]

The doorbell went. I pressed pause muttering darkly under my breath before stomping off to the hall, half expecting to find Jehovah’s Witnesses on the doorstep as some kind of divine karma, and turned the handle.

“I was passing,” Meghan said. “I didn’t think you’d mind me dropping by.”

For a moment I was taken aback, then I said, “Funny, I was just thinking about you.”

The woman smiled. “Nice thoughts, I hope.”

“That depends on your definition of nice.”

We didn’t hug. We hadn’t greeted each other that way on her previous visits and it seemed strange to start now, even though the no touching rule was clearly a thing of the past. Meghan made her own way into the living room. She was in all black today; skirt, stockings, top, and carrying a beaker of coffee which she placed on the table before sitting down on the settee, crossing her legs. “So what’s the verdict? Did I do your story justice?”

“I was just in the middle of it.”

Meghan looked as if she didn’t believe me, and considering how long I’d left it before listening, I didn’t blame her. Looking around she said, “Where’s the laptop?”

“Wait here and I’ll get it.”

Alone in the kitchen I reminded myself that Meghan and I had only the one thing in common, as far as I knew. If she was here, there was surely some kind of ulterior motive, the nature of which was clear, if the exact details weren’t. I didn’t know where she worked, but I felt sure she wouldn’t be ‘just passing’ on her way from there to home. My experience of Meghan told me that whatever I might expect, in all probability the reality would turn out to be both different and better, so the only sensible thing was to carry the computer through to the living room and let events play themselves out.

Meghan appeared not to have moved since I’d been gone, except to cross her legs. Now she turned her head and said, “Why don’t you play it back from the beginning?”

“You know how it goes,” I replied, eager to get to the grand finale.

Megan flashed a little smile. “Believe it or not, I haven’t listened back to it since I recorded it.”

I sat down, placing the laptop on the table. We were back to our old places, the seats we’d used when she’d sat for me, and I’d imagined her used in all manner of depraved ways by more men than I could count on the fingers of both hands. “I don’t believe you,” I said. “But if…”

“I’m hurt,” Meghan pouted. “Have I ever lied to you?”

She had from the very start, so the question was rhetorical and the answer superfluous. But I quickly realized that there were advantages to playing the whole thing back again. It would mean she sat there longer, meaning that I could gaze at her for longer. It reminded me of the very first time, before I’d seen anything of her body, when virtually everything was still in my own fevered imagination.

Now things were different, of course. I could undress her with eyes that had seen, and that wanted to see again. Meghan returned my stare with a knowing gaze of her own; knowing perfectly well the state of arousal she caused by just sitting there while her voice emerged from the computer’s built-in speakers, reading my words over the background hum, stuttering and breathing, sighing and gulping and moaning.

About half way through she raised an arm, gesturing with a hand. It was the same gesture she’d made the third time she came to the flat, when she decided she wanted to see the unambiguous evidence of my arousal as I wrote.

I shook my head, pleased with her exaggerated look of disappointment. Maybe playing hard to get was the way to go. In any case, I was enjoying myself having her there in front of me as her voice uttered the words I’d put in her mouth, picturing her in the delicate situation she was describing, hearing her arousal increase, even as the Meghan in front of me gave nothing away about what she was thinking or feeling, beyond that hand gesture. My eyes flitted from the spot where the hem of her skirt kissed nylon to where the top stretched tightly across her bosom.

Gradually the recording grew more intense until it finally reached the sequence I had yet to hear.

I pulled my skirt… [Aaaah!] my skirt up. I wanted… [sigh] I wanted [sharp inhalation] to do it slowly, but [Aaaah!] I was eager, [repeated gasps] too eager. My skirt came up… up… quickly. The… [swallow] the man was watching me with [gulp] a look [repeated gasps] [Mmm, oh!] on his face that left nothing… nothing to [Ooooh!] the imagination as the skirt [Aaaah!] came [Mmmm] up past my [Uh!] stocking tops. It came [Uh!] right up, [sigh] showing the man that this… [Oh!] this [Uh-uh-uh!] time I wasn’t… [gulp] wasn’t [Aaaah!] exactly the… exactly the [Uh! Uh!] innocent [sigh].

“Well [Aaaah!] well,” the man said, staring at [Oh!] the nakedness that [sigh] had been hidden under my… [Aaaah!] my skirt the whole… the… [gulp] [Aaaah!] [gulp] whole time. “Anyone would think… think [Aaaah!] you’d come here [Aaaah!] hoping to get fu-fu-fu… [Fucking close! Ooooh! So fucking close!] fucked… [repeated gasps] fu-fucked and sent home with [Oh yes!] sp-sp-sp… [Aaaah! Oooooh!] spunk running down… down [Yes!] your legs. [Uh-uh!] Is… Is that… [Uh! Uh!] [repeated gasps] Is that what… what [Aaaah!] you [Nggghhhh!] want, Meghan? To be… [Uh! Uh!] be… [Uh-uh!] sent home with c-c-cu… [Cumming! I’m cumming! Nnnnnghhhhh! Yes! Yes! Oh! Oh! Oh! Yes!]”

In the flesh she’d just let the orgasm wash over her. On the recording Meghan milked it for all she was worth, really going to town until she came down from the intense high with what sounded like a gentle sobbing. I watched her closely, but she remained inscrutable where she was sitting, studying me closely throughout the whole wild climax, and the possibly tearful aftermath.

Then the hum stopped, and with it the recording. Uncrossing her legs, Meghan flashed me a mischievous look, the kind she did so well, the one that suggested possibility rather than certainty. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“For doing the story justice?”

“For not lasting long enough for anything to actually happen to Meghan.”

“I wasn’t exactly counting on it.”

“All the same…” The woman was suddenly on her feet, those slender fingers gripping the hem of her skirt. The garment rose slowly, gradually revealing first stocking tops and then more and more naked skin until with a final tug, she showed me what I was already suspecting; a complete lack of underwear. “Meghan really does want to be fucked and sent home to her husband with spunk running down her thighs.” She was staring at me as if challenging me rather than tempting me.

“Perhaps…” I broke off, not quite sure of what I was thinking.

“Perhaps…?” Meghan said, still holding up her skirt, perfectly immobile, yet seeming to suggest every possibility imaginable.

“Perhaps we could make a new audio. In lieu of the story not quite getting that far.”

I watched a wicked smile form on her lips. “How thoughtful!” she exclaimed. “I’m sure John will appreciate hearing what happens very much.”