I know he’s there, even if he isn’t.

What I mean is that I can never know if he’s there, but he’s so real in my mind that he’s always there when I perform.

Oh dear, I’m not explaining this very well, am I?

It’s like this. My husband, John, spends every other working week abroad. I’ve never had any reason to imagine that he’s been anything other than completely faithful to me, but at the same time I’m a realist. I know that things can happen, that temptation can ensnare. Where does that line come from, the one about the flesh being weak? It’s perfectly true, of course. I’m not naïve enough to imagine that anyone is immune to temptation.

That’s why I began doing it. That’s why I began performing for my husband. Sometimes I can do it in real time, but mostly the time difference prevents that. This week, for example, John is in Singapore. When it’s evening here, it’s the middle of the night there; and when it’s evening there, it’s the middle of the working day here.

But I perform anyway. Every evening I set the laptop up, mostly in the bedroom, but sometimes in other places, and I perform for my husband. Sometimes it’s just ten minutes, sometimes half an hour, but I make sure that every day he receives a video of me performing. I see it like this; if John is busy wanking over me, he’s not likely to seek company elsewhere.

Oh dear, that does sound hard headed, doesn’t it? It sounds as if I’m casting aspersions on John’s ability to withstand temptation. That’s not the case. I enjoy performing for him, and I love the e-mails I get back telling me how turned on my husband was by my performance. It keeps the spark alive. The nature of the exchange is such that I become less a wife to John and more a… a camgirl. Does that sound terrible? It’s not; you should try it. Whenever John comes home it’s like we’ve only just met. He can’t wait to have me, and I can’t wait to have him.

Take this evening, for instance. It’s Tuesday. I can’t tell you what I do for a living, but believe me, it’s been a day and a half. That’s another great thing about doing this; it’s a fantastic way to unwind.

It’s nine o’clock when I place the laptop on the foot of the bed. This is by now a routine. Not the bed necessarily, but the time. It’s always nine o’clock when I begin. There’s a reason for that, just as there’s a reason why I’ve cracked the window open, which I’ll get to in a moment.

Tonight I’m naked, save for a pair of silky black knickers. Normally I pay a lot of attention to what I wear, but this evening I just want to get down to business. I get on the bed and angle the screen. I’ve done this so many times that I know exactly what the best camera angle is.

I hit record and lean back, legs spread. I slide a hand over my stomach and in under the hem of my panties. Well, I did say I wanted to get down to business.

I make sure my head is resting on a good height of pillow so that I can keep an eye on the recording. I watch as my hand moves underneath the silky fabric and let out a sigh. “I’m so horny,” I announce. “But of course you know that. You know how turned I get, thinking of you watching me.”

I also know that John has a serious underwear fetish. I know how turned on he gets when he can’t actually see my pussy, only the movement of my hand inside my knickers. Maybe I move my hand a little more than I need to, but why not? I’ve let my fingers find my clit straight away. Yes, I really am horny and ready for business. I need this after the day I’ve had.

There’s no need to tell John exactly what I’m doing. I know he’ll be thrilled just by the look of my panties as the fabric shifts with every twist of my hand. “Oh!” I moan. “I really am so horny. I’ve been thinking about you all day. I’ve been imagining you holding your stiff cock, stroking it while you watch me.”

I watch myself, the outline of my hand beneath the black silk. I don’t have to do much, and all I want to do right now is concentrate on my clit. I can see that John will be able to see my nipples, which have hardened. My face too, right at the back of the image, but he’ll be focusing on my crotch.

My hand moves, and I watch intently. I look good, even if I do say so myself. I can see myself as I am seen, and it turns me on. I rub my clit a little harder and let out a new, elongated moan.

“Have you got your cock out?” I ask. “Are you stroking it as you watch me?”

It doesn’t matter that there’s no reply. Everything I want to be true is true, in my imagination. I move my hand faster, applying more pressure to my clit. I don’t really need to say anything, and I moan softly for a little while, but it doesn’t hurt to say things out loud, does it?

“Are you wanking your hard cock? I’ve been thinking of you all day, wanking your big hard cock. I’ve been so excited thinking of what I’d like to do with it, and what you’d like to do to me.”

Fuck, I’m horny. Horny enough to be surprised at myself. I give my clit a brief rest, so that I can slide two fingers inside myself and feel the physical evidence of my arousal. It won’t take much this evening, I can tell. The only thing I have to decide is if I want to really go for it, or draw things out a little.

I pull my hand out from under my knickers, then sit up, making sure my face is on screen, so that John can see me sticking my fingers into my mouth and sucking on them. “Would you like a taste?” I ask. “Silly question. Of course you would. You’d love to taste how turned on I am, wouldn’t you?”

I turn and crawl across the bed, pulling out the drawer in the nightstand and bringing out a dildo.

Did you know you can have a dildo made that is an exact replica of your partner’s cock? I didn’t, at least not until quite recently. John found it a bit embarrassing, but he loves it that I can have that part of him with me when he’s not home.

I get on my stomach, facing the laptop and angling the screen a little. I want nothing but my face to be visible, even though I slide one hand underneath myself, in under the hem of my panties, so that I can continue rubbing myself. I rest on my other arm and look straight into the camera.

“Mmmmm, yeah!” I hum. “Mmmmm… Mmmmmmm… Ooooh… Mmmmmm… Oh yeah!”

I’m seeing my face, but not really seeing it. I know more or less what I look like. I have watched these videos afterwards, after all. I know John loves watching my face as I pleasure myself. So I rub myself for him, knowing that I can’t help what I look like, but knowing that John will love watching what he calls my “pleasure face”.

I give a great sigh, and another. I notice that I’m biting my lip, then my mouth falls open. “Aaaah!” I gasp. “Oh… Mmm…” Then another sigh and a little moan. “Aoh yeah! Oooooh…” Then a drawn out moan.

As I rub myself, my moans grow louder and more intense. If I wanted to I could bring myself to a climax in next to no time, but I don’t want that. John would like that, just seeing what he calls my “orgasm face” and nothing more, but it would make for a short video. Fuck, I am horny this evening.

I pull my hand out of my panties, adjusting my body so that I stroke just the outside of the silk, turning the heat down a little.

“Wank that big hard cock!” I breathe. “Wank it!”

I bring the dildo up to my mouth and lick it, from the bottom to the tip. I drag my tongue around it, kiss the head, draw my soft, moist tongue round the whole thing. I stare into the camera and slide my lips over the head.

Doing this has the advantage that I don’t have to speak. I don’t mind doing the dirty talk, but as you might have noticed, I’m not very sophisticated with it. John loves it when I use this dildo, because it is him, albeit at one remove. Me? If I’m totally honest I like some of my other toys better. I don’t mean to suggest that my husband is lacking, but I’m the kind of woman who’s excited by size. Maybe that sounds bad, but I just am. I have toys that are bigger, that satisfy that side of me, and I like them better.

But I like this dildo plenty. John and I both do. He likes to see me perform with “his” cock when he’s not there, and for me it’s as if some part of him is here with me. I don’t need to say anything, it’s enough for him to see me play with “his” cock, to slide my lips down it, to suck on it as I stare into the camera.

As I do, I push my fingers back inside my panties. Humidity greets me. It’s as if my pussy is asking why I stopped earlier. I tease my hole with a finger, which makes me sigh and moan and hum as I keep on sucking on the dildo. For good measure I slurp loudly. I don’t have to, but John loves it when I do.

I relent a little. I may not be good at dirty talk, but I can’t keep quiet all the time, can I? I slide my lips off the dildo, looking into the camera and seeing my own glazed eyes stare back at me from the screen. “It tastes so good!” I breathe. “I get so horny sucking on your big cock!” My fingers move to my clit and I work my pelvis. John can’t see this, all he can see is my face. I giggle. “I’m not going to ask if you’re turned on now. You love it when I’m your little cocksucker, don’t you?”

My lips slide back down over the replica of John’s cock. My clit is swollen. Blood has rushed to my groin. I work my mouth briskly on the dildo, moaning on each downstroke. This will be a quick one. Just a quick one tonight.

I rub myself hard as I slide my lips off the dildo. I have just one more thing to say. I stare into the camera. “I want you to come,” I breathe. “I’m gonna come hard, and when I do, I want you to come in my mouth!”

I stick the dildo back in my mouth. I can feel the climax building as my fingers continue their work. I look at the screen, but I don’t really see anything. All I know is that I’m coming closer and closer. I try to work my lips on the dildo, but I’m losing concentration fast.

I clench my lips round the replica of John’s cock as I come. I’d be crying out otherwise. Instead I’m moaning at the back of my throat. As I do, I could swear I hear a grunt through the window I’ve left ajar.

I take a few seconds to get my breath back, then I look into the camera. “Yummy! I love it when you come in my mouth and give me so much to swallow.” I pause. “That’s it for this evening, but tomorrow there’ll be a special performance in the living room.” I blow the camera a kiss and stop the recording.

I don’t always watch the recording before I send it, but tonight I do. I need to make sure that there’s no other sound on there. I’m sure I heard a grunt from outside when I came, but there’s nothing on the recording. Relieved, I type an account of my day and tell my husband how much I miss him before attaching the video and pressing send.

This evening I have a small glass of wine before I go to bed. I sit in the living room in just my still wet panties and think about things. To be perfectly honest, I could go another round, but decide it’s better to save up for tomorrow, now that I’ve promised a special performance. Yes, performing for my husband is exciting, but I have a dirty little secret too.

The thing is that I’m not just performing for my husband. I have a secret admirer too, one who stands outside the window, a peeping tom, watching me. He’s not always there, but most evenings he is, and even when he isn’t, he’s always there in my imagination. Tonight he must have been very turned on to grunt audibly like that. I mean I could be imagining things, but I’m sure I’m not.

This is going to sound very bad, but the truth is that I’m actually more excited by the knowledge that my secret admirer came imagining me sucking on his cock than that my husband surely will.

Oh dear, this sounds very bad indeed, doesn’t it? But don’t worry, I don’t have any intention of actually cheating on John. Privately, I call my secret admirer Algernon, because I could never actually get physical with a man with such a name.

Does that sound shallow? It does, doesn’t it? It’s like The Importance of Being Earnest or something. But that’s how I know I’ll never cheat on John, even if I enjoy performing for this man, who watches me almost every evening in secret.

Well, not really in secret. He leaves a – What should I call it? – a calling card of sorts. It’s there the next morning. I check before I go to work. There, below the bedroom window is a used condom, containing male ejaculate, and tied with a nice, firm knot.

Does that sound disgusting? I was slightly disgusted the first time it happened. But I had asked. I already suspected there was someone outside, and I asked for a sign – once I’d ended the recording. Now, every time Algernon has stood outside watching me, every time he’s come from watching me, he leaves this – What should I call it? – token of his affection.

No, that just sounds stupid, and I’m not stupid. I may be Algernon’s little wank fantasy, but I’m not stupid. He just takes me literally. “I want your cum!” I breathe, or something like that. I’m Algernon’s little wank fantasy, I tell him I want his cum, and he leaves it for me to find in the morning, like some misguided teenager.

But that way I know he’s been there, and it gets me worked up for the evening. Since I’ve promised something special for this evening, I’m certain he’ll be there again. He knows the time – I’m always punctual – and I’ve told him which room I’ll be in.

So I take the evidence of Algernon’s presence and deposit it in the bin before driving to work. Today things run much more smoothly than yesterday. Besides, work is so much more bearable when I have something to look forward to. I remain professional, of course I do, but at the back of my mind I’m constantly aware that in so many hours I’ll be performing for Algernon again. And John of course. I checked over breakfast. My husband gave my performance a rapturous review and told me how much he’s looking forward to the next one. He told me that he came twice before breakfast watching me. That made me blush a little, though I don’t know why. He imagined cumming in my mouth both times. I e-mailed him back to tell him he’s a dirty beast and that I can’t wait for his return, so that it can happen for real. My nice, fresh knickers were damp before I even left the house.

On my way home, I take a little detour. There’s a shop I sometimes visit. I like it because men are only admitted if they’re with their partner, so the atmosphere is always quite relaxed. I have no idea if or what I’ll buy. Really I’m just after an idea or two, but I come away with a dress. Well, I say a dress, but I could never wear it in public. It’s far too short, and the black fabric thin enough to be transparent. I also treat myself to a new dildo. It, too, is black. It’s very long and thicker than anything I have at home. I don’t actually know if I’ll be able to handle it, but I’m determined to try.

Well, I did tell you I’m excited by size. I think most women are. I mean, I don’t mean to be brutal about this, but I’ve never heard of any woman who fantasized about a small prick. This huge dong on the other hand… Well, we’ll see.

(Oh dear, now I sound like a really terrible person, don’t I? There are plenty of really exciting things you can do that don’t require size. Honestly. I know that sounds like a cliché, but I have had boyfriends who did marvellous things with very little. Just think of me as a terrible woman who’s shallow enough to have a fetish about size.)

Anyway, I’ve visited the shop enough times to know most of the staff, and the woman behind the counter gives me a crooked little smile. “You might need some lube with this,” she says, holding up the dildo. “That’s my experience, at any rate.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” I smile, and take her advice, adding a bumper sized tube to my purchases.

Back home I’m too excited to eat much. I busy myself with small tasks, like watering the plants and tossing junk mail in the bin unopened, but time can’t pass quickly enough for me. Come the hour, I shall perform for Algernon and John. The thought is enough to keep me at a low level of arousal until half past eight, when I decide it’s time for preparations.

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. I do feel a little guilty. I feel guilty because a part of me is more excited by Algernon’s presence than by my performance being viewed by my husband. But I can’t help it. The first time I became aware that someone was watching me, it immediately fed into a fantasy I’d had from about the third or fourth time I recorded a video for John. I trust John, of course I do, but things happen, and men can lose all powers of judgement. What if John showed the videos to someone; a work colleague, or work colleagues, plural? He’d do it because he was proud of having such a hot, beautiful, sexy wife, of course. It would be a compliment of sorts, even if it would also be wrong of him. Could I be sure he wouldn’t do that?

It was a worry, but more than that the thought excited me. I began to fantasize about being seen or watched by more than just John. I mean, I would never suggest it to him, far less actually do it (except for Algernon, but it wasn’t as if I’d invited him – he’d just showed up somehow). When I first sensed that someone was watching, I told myself I was imagining things, but at the same time it got me incredibly aroused. John remarked on that video that he’d never seen me act so wild.

That’s why I did nothing to discourage Algernon. On the contrary, once I was sure there really was someone there, I couldn’t help but… not encourage it exactly, but… No, encourage was exactly what I did, in spite of there being obvious risks involved.

Oh dear. Now I sound both immoral and stupid. Well, so be it.

I’ve promised I’ll be in the living room this evening. I position the laptop first. I should really buy a stand-alone camera, but so far this system has worked just fine. I place the laptop on the floor, facing away from the window. It must always face away from the window, just in case some shadow or something should reveal Algernon to John. I open one of the French windows. They open up onto a patio. At this time of year, the light inside is just about beginning to reflect back off the windows. If I were to look, I might catch sight of Algernon, but I never do. I don’t want John to see me and wonder what I’m looking at.

Once that is done, I go to the bedroom, change out of my clothes and into my new purchase. No underwear this evening, just the transparent black dress, which barely stretches far enough to cover the naughty bits when I’m standing. I put on high heels. I don’t care that people say you shouldn’t wear them, that they’re not good for you. As far as I’m concerned, as long as you don’t wear them all the time, it’s alright. Besides, men adore women who wear high heels, and tonight I absolutely and unconditionally want to be adored. I am Algernon’s wank fantasy and I am determined to surpass myself. (I blush at the thought while I redo my make-up, making sure my lips are nice and glossy and blood red.)

I take the lube and the new dildo and one of my old ones, a red one that always feels very comfortable, just to have comfort ahead of this new monster, which is making me a little nervous. I take the items into the living room and put them on the table.

There are still ten minutes to go. I don’t know if Algernon is there already, but I want to make sure I don’t start without him, and spend those minutes in the kitchen, trying to control my nerves and my lust.

At nine o’clock on the dot I return to the living room. I bend over, activate the camera and hit record. I refuse to look at the windows. On the screen I can see my feet in those towering shoes, then more of my legs as I back up. The hem of my dress comes into view, then my stomach, my breasts (swollen nipples are easily glimpsed through thin fabric), and finally my face. This isn’t the greatest set-up, but it will have to do. At least now John can see all of me. I look at the laptop and smile. “Good evening,” I say. “Here I am. Do you like the way I look?”

I run my hand over the top half of my body, paying especial attention to my sensitive nipples, and making my veiled breasts dance. “I’ve been thinking about this all day, and I’m already so horny I can hardly stand.” I feel embarrassed. I told you I wasn’t much good at dirty talk, and I’m hot all over thinking about what I’m about to say next. “I’m here to be your little wank fantasy. I want to make you hard.” I give a little giggle. “Though I’d be very disappointed if your big cock isn’t nice and hard already. I want you to stroke your big hard cock as you watch me, and I want you to cum when I cum.”

I can feel myself blushing. The bit about being a wank fantasy was directed at Algernon, though I’m looking at the computer. I never mention John by name, because I don’t want to turn Algernon off uttering someone else’s name.

Oh dear, that sounds terrible, as if I’m thinking more about my secret admirer than my husband.

The thing is, that it doesn’t hurt to perform as if I don’t really know John, as if he isn’t my husband. I have an idea that hasn’t let me down yet, that if you don’t want your husband to stray, then when it comes to sex, you need to be the woman you’re most afraid he’d stray with, if you see what I mean.

So when I perform for my husband, I try hard not to be his wife. The dirty little secret that I’m performing for two men really helps me feel like someone else, someone shameless and dirty.

I walk slowly back to the computer until just my heels and ankles are visible on the screen, then I turn and get down on all fours. The dress is so short that I know that my pussy is on display. I know that when John gets to see this, my pussy will be there, smiling at him from between my thighs, with big, puffy lips. But when I crawl slowly away from the computer, I’m thinking of Algernon equally, of him standing outside with his big hard cock in his hand, how easy it would be for him to slip inside – the room and my pussy.

The thought helps me get further into character. You see, the woman I’m most afraid my husband will stray with is a certain kind of woman. He goes to all these places, and my biggest fear is that he’ll visit some establishment or other. The kind of establishment were there are plenty of slutty women, all of them crawling about on all fours like this, ready to serve any man whose fancy is taken by them.

So I crawl round on all fours, showing myself off from all sides. “Do you like what you see?” I ask. “I hope you do. I want you to like what you see. I want you to get big and hard watching me. I want you to stroke your cock. I want you to want me. I want you to want to do all manner of infamous things to me.”

Where did that come from? I crawl up to the laptop and stare into the camera, licking my lips. “Would you like me to suck you dry?” I turn, poking my arse at the camera as I lower the top half of my body. I reach back, to pull myself open, to display my pussy, which has been waiting for this moment all day. I feel damp urgency against my fingers as I open wide. “Or would you rather have this? Would you rather slip your cock inside my molten pussy?”

Where did that come from? I slide a finger inside, to illustrate, then I turn, clumsily, stare into the camera and suck on my finger, giving it a little lick before asking, “Do you want me? Are you stroking your big hard cock yet?”

Then I crawl away, doing another tour of the room on all fours. I can’t be sure Algernon is out there, but I know he is. He’s so real in my mind that he can’t be anything else. “Stroke that big hard cock for me,” I breathe. “Stroke it! I’m so wet and horny for you, completely ready and willing. I could so use your big hard cock right now.”

This isn’t just talk. I really am so worked up that I’m ashamed of myself. I’m ashamed because I know that if Algernon did enter the room, I wouldn’t be able to resist him. So I force myself to think of John. I crawl back to the laptop. I lean in so that my breasts fill the screen under that gauzy fabric. I tweak my nipples, my sensitive nipples. Hot flushes of desire shoot through me like lightning bolts. I stare into the camera. “I’m so horny,” I moan. “I’m so fucking horny.”

I turn and crawl to the table where I’ve left the things I need. I don’t actually need the lube for the red dildo, but I grab the tube anyway. I crawl back to the laptop, angling the lid, then getting into position in front of it, facing the camera, legs spread. My pussy fills the screen. My moist, yearning pussy. I squeeze out a generous helping of lube and prepare myself. I’m breathing heavily, then I’m moaning softly. Just the act of lubing myself up is making me so horny I hardly know what to do with myself.

I stare at my pussy. Fuck it looks good all slippery and shiny and wet and glistening. Do I have to tell you that I always keep myself completely shaven? The women I imagine John straying with, they are always immaculate down there, in my imagination, so I keep myself immaculate.

Not only does my pussy look fantastic, it sounds delicious when it’s all lubed up. I slide two fingers inside, thinking that if the noise doesn’t make John crazy with desire, I don’t know what will. Can Algernon hear? I don’t know, but he can see. With that in mind I get back up on all fours and wiggle my arse as much at the camera as at the French windows. “I’m such a naughty girl,” I breathe, because that’s what I am, displaying myself both to my husband and to my secret admirer. I know exactly how my shiny pussy must appear to them. “I could really use a big hard cock right now,” I breathe, thinking that if Algernon takes that as an invitation, I really will be in trouble, because there’s no way I’ll be able to say no.

“Stroke that big hard cock,” I urge. “Look at my hot, hungry hole.” I repeat the trick of leaning forwards so I can reach back and open up. “Don’t you want to fuck it? Don’t you want to stick your big hard cock in there?”

I giggle. I really am horny tonight. Slowly I crawl away from the camera. I’m not good with dirty talk, but something possesses me. “I really am a dirty bitch,” I breathe as I move back towards the table. “I’m so horny. I feel so dirty. I need something in my wet cunt right now.”

I never use the c-word. What’s happening to me?

I grab the red dildo and back up, crawling backwards towards the laptop, the camera. I stick my arse in the air, rest my head sideways on the carpet and reach back. “Look at my juicy cunt,” I breathe. (The c-word again. But I never use it.) “Don’t you want to fuck it? Don’t you want to stick your big hard cock in me?” I need to be careful. I nearly used the plural, ‘cocks’.

When I said that my red dildo feels nice and comfortable, what I meant was that normally it stretches me just the right amount, giving me something to really feel. This evening I’m so wet and slippery that when I slide it in, there’s no stretching, no friction, it just slides right in. I move it slowly back and forth. I want it faster, but if this is going to be special, as promised, I need to draw things out.

“Don’t you wish that was your cock?” I say. “Don’t you wish that was your big hard cock in my hot, hungry hole? Fucking me?”

As I speak, I’m thinking of Algernon. I’m thinking of him out there, with his big hard cock in his hand, wanking as he watches, trying to control himself so that he doesn’t come until I come. And afterwards, he’ll leave a spunk-filled condom for me to find. It’s disgusting, but right now the only thing that would be hotter than that were if he would actually enter the room and take charge of me, stuff his hard cock…

What am I thinking? That can never be. I work the dildo back and forth, hearing the delicious noise as it goes its slippery way, aided by lube and pussy juice. There’s a lot pussy juice. “Fuck me!” I moan. “Take me! Fuck me! I want your big hard cock inside me!”

Fortunately, Algernon seems to understand that this is not meant to be taken literally. There’s no evidence of him being there at all, but I know he is.

I force myself to think of John, or rather force myself to think of the kind of woman he might stray with. Those women no doubt have all kinds of kinky tricks up their sleeves. I keep the dildo buried in my pussy and grab the lube with my other hand. My aim isn’t good, and some of it goes over my buttocks, but enough ends up on my rosebud.

I smear lube over my skin before attending to the smaller hole. Normally I’m a bit dubious about this. I don’t mind a finger or two, but I would never let John stick his cock in there.

This evening… What can I say? This evening I’m a totally different person. There’s so much lube, two fingers slide into my back passage before I hardly know what’s happening. I moan out loud.

I find it hard to work up a rhythm, or even to move the dildo and my fingers at the same time. It probably looks a little ungainly. On the other hand I don’t imagine that either my husband or my secret admirer minds. “Aaaahhhh!” I gasp. “Tell me, which of my hot, horny holes would you rather fuck?” I must be crazy. What if John assumes I will let him fuck me back there when he comes home? What if Algernon takes it as a direct invitation right this moment?

But I can’t help myself. I’ve never felt like this before. “My hot, horny holes want your cock. Both of my hot, horny holes do.” I drive the two fingers right the way into myself. Working the red dildo, I realise that the thing is not going to satisfy me tonight.

Still, I have other plans. I push the dildo right the way in and hold it there, moving my fingers to and fro in my back passage instead. “Which hole do you want?” I breathe. “Which of my hot, horny holes do you want to stick your cock in? They’re both ready and willing. Both ready and willing to be fucked hard.”

I’m shocked by my own words. I can’t believe I’m saying it, far less meaning it. If Algernon were to cross the threshold right now and put his cock where my fingers are, I wouldn’t say no. If John were here and wanted to fuck my arse, I’d let him. How can that be?

I’d better stop this now. I pull fingers and dildo out and flip myself over, adjusting the screen so that I only see my own face and breasts there. “And because you’re such a naughty boy and I’m such a dirty girl, once you’ve fucked me, I want to suck you dry.”

I give the dildo a quick lick. The lube smears my blood red lips as I slide them over the thing. Then the taste fills my mouth. All that pussy juice. It’s the taste of insatiable lust. I clench my lips round the dildo and use both hands to cradle and fondle my breasts, to rub my stiff, attention-seeking nipples through the gauzy fabric.

That’s not all that seeks attention. My pussy wants more, and how can I deny her? But first I remove the dildo from my mouth and look straight into the camera. “After you’ve fucked me, I want your cock in my mouth. I want to suck all of my juices from your cock and keep on sucking until you fill my mouth with your spunk and let me swallow it.”

There, that should keep both Algernon and John satisfied as I pick up the laptop and carry it to the table. I position it so that the camera’s facing an armchair, which itself faces the French windows, which I studiously avoid looking at. I sit in the armchair, but discover that the screen angle is wrong and adjust it. I stick the tube of lube and my new, long, thick dildo beside me before parting my legs, watching the screen as I put my pussy on display.

Exactly how messy and slimy is my pussy? Even more amazing is how gorgeous I think it looks. John will like that when he sees it in all its full screen glory. Algernon doesn’t have that benefit, but I feel sure he can see anyway. Just in case, I breathe, “Look how slimy and messy my cunt is!” (Ooops, the c-word again, but it just keeps slipping out.) “Look what a horny slut I am, opening my slimy, slippery, juicy cunt for you.” (Did I just call myself a ‘horny slut’? Well that only goes to show what a state I’m in.)

Perhaps I need to concentrate on something else. I rub my oily pussy a couple of times, then grab the tube. More lube goes on my pussy, there’s more rubbing. My clit is big and swollen. I glisten with the stuff, right the way down my thighs. John will be getting a good eyeful of this, but my mind is on Algernon. “Look at my slimy, juicy cunt,” I breathe. “Stroke that big, hard cock of yours. Wank that stiff cock and imagine sliding it into my hot and horny hole. Fuck, my cunt needs filling.”

I blush slightly at my own vulgarity, but at the same time I know that there’s no room for false modesty. With my mind’s eye on the wanking Algernon, I grab hold of my new toy.

The woman in the shop advised me well. If I wasn’t this lubed up, there’s no way I would be able to fit my new toy inside me. Even now it’s a battle, and I more or less have to use force to get the tip of it inside. I can virtually feel all kinds of chemicals rushing round my body, preventing pain. All I feel is huge excitement, because I am after all a woman who is excited by size.

I do battle while I groan and gasp. Bit by bit the monster toy edges further into me. Finally there’s a little bit of give. I splash some more lube down there before looking at the screen.

What I see almost scares me. I have absolutely never been this stretched out by anything in my life. But damn, I look good with that thing inside me. I move a little, so that I’m not quite facing the camera straight on. My husband’s not to know, but I’m hoping this will give Algernon a better view. I want him to have a good view of my slimy, juicy, lubed, stretched out cunt. Yes, C-U-N-T, cunt!

I move the dildo back and forth and my head almost explodes. “Fuuuuuuck!” I gasp. But I can’t stop. I fuck myself with that monster, seeing how it stretches my oily cunt, and I just keep crying out, “Fuuuuuuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuck! Fuuuuuuuuuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

I move it faster and harder. It feels like I’m tearing myself apart, but I can’t stop. It’s the most terrible sensation I’ve ever felt, and the most wonderful. “Fuuuuuuu-uuuuuuck!” I wail. And then I’m gasping and moaning and groaning and wailing and screaming and practically dying, or so it feels. On and on I go, fucking, fucking, fucking myself with that monster, staring at my gorgeous, stretched out cunt where it’s displayed in full screen deliciousness.

If this doesn’t stop John from straying, nothing will.

Still staring at the screen, I spy movement out of the corner of my eye. I scream in fright as I see a figure, standing just inside the French windows dressed in sweats and a hoodie, with the hood tied so tight round his head, all I can see are his piercing eyes.

Instinctively I understand in a flash that the thuggish looking man standing in my living room is Algernon – except that he doesn’t look like an Algernon. But I can’t have John realising that I’ve just screamed in fright. So I scream again, a glass-shattering scream, followed by, “Fuuuuuuck! I’m a horny bitch! Fuuuuuuck! I’m a horny slut! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

The young man still looks a little frightening, but now that I understand it’s Algernon, my only worry is that he will want to fuck me, and that I will yield. He has his cock out, of course he does, and he’s wanking it the way I always ask him to. I can’t keep my eyes off him, but I try not to make it obvious that I’m looking at him, for John’s sake.

“Do you like watching this horny bitch fuck herself?” I manage to gasp. “Wank your hard fucking cock! See me stretch my cunt out! Do you like that?”

Algernon gives a curt nod. Having him there, being able to see him is miles better than any of the other times, when I’ve known he’s there but have had to imagine him. Okay, I would never have imagined this thug, but I’m too far gone to care.

“Fuck! Fuck Fuck!” I breathe, stuffing myself with that fat toy, watching as Algernon beats his meat watching me.

I can feel myself tighten, though how that’s even possible with this monster inside me, I don’t know. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I gasp. And then it really does feel unbearable. I’m screaming as I wrench the thing out of myself. My pussy contracts. Pulses of pussy juice are suddenly staining the upholstery and the carpet.

And yet I know I’m not done, that there’s something bigger waiting. I stuff the dildo back inside, having no idea how I manage it. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I cry, seeing Algernon’s hand as a blur, as he works his hard meat watching me stuff my juicy, lubed up cunt with that monster dildo. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

I tighten again, and this time I know it’s the big one. “Fuck yeah! Fuck yeah!” I scream. “Fucking come for me! Come for me! I want you to fucking come for me!”

Then there’s just one loud inarticulate scream as I pull the dildo from my dilated cunt, only for spurt after spurt of pussy juice to shoot from me. The earth really does seem to move as orgasmic wave after orgasmic wave rolls over me, I’m aware that Algernon has ripped the condom off his cock. There’ll be no little latex parcel for me, just an excess of semen as spurt after spurt shoots out of his hard cock onto the floor.

He stares at me intently for about fifteen seconds before adjusting his sweatpants, and then he’s gone.

I just about remember to kill the recording. I don’t even have the strength to blow a farewell kiss first, remaining where I am, utterly exhausted, for a good fifteen minutes. Then I stumble into the bathroom to clean myself up before sitting down to play the video.

Only now do I become aware of how close I came to squirting all over the computer. There are puddles of fluids on the table, and stains on the carpet, but only some slight splashes on the keyboard and the screen.

Somehow I feel utterly divorced from the person I see on the screen. I know it’s me, but I can’t actually believe I behaved like that. Let’s just say I did a much better job of behaving like the woman I fear my husband straying with than I ever thought I was capable of. More importantly, there’s nothing to give me away, or rather to give my dirty little secret away. If Algernon grunted when he came, I was screaming loud enough to drown him out, and at the end, when I only had eyes for my secret admirer, I was obviously so out of it that it just looks as if I’m incapable of concentrating on the camera.

I e-mail John, just typing a short note this time, telling him that he’ll understand why I’m in no fit state to write more when he watches the clip.

After that, I go in search of carpet cleaner. My own mess doesn’t matter that much. John will be able to see me causing that. But lashings of male ejaculate just inside the French windows? No, that has to be dealt with.

You will no doubt think me very wicked, but since I’ve confessed this much, I might as well tell you the worst. As I work hard to eradicate every trace of Algernon, I wonder to myself if I will just be satisfied with knowing he’s watching me perform for much longer. He may not be the man I’d imagined. He may not even be someone I’d normally ever think of as a sexual partner (not that I think of other men as sexual partners; I am happily married, after all). But having seen him there, wanking for me and coming the way I always ask him to…

Even as I force the idea away, I know it will return. It will keep me in the mood all day tomorrow, so that in the evening I’m ready to perform all over again.

I know he’ll be there, Algernon, even if he isn’t.