It’s Sunday, six o’clock in the evening, and my husband John has just left for the airport. This week he’ll be working in Lucknow, India.

As always, I’m feeling that illicit thrill that I always feel the moment he’s gone. I feel guilty too, because I’m already thinking of this evening, and how my secret admirer, Mark, will be here to watch me record the first of the week’s videos for John.

I don’t know if he’ll be here, of course, but I feel sure he will. I take out my secret mobile phone, the old one that I now use exclusively to communicate with Mark. Not that I’ve switched it on this past week when John’s been home, but it’s there. I tremble slightly as I think of hearing Mark’s voice again. I can still remember as clear as anything how he ejaculated just from me saying how I wanted him to kiss my breasts and suck on my nipples. I blush as I remember my moment of madness as I leaned out of the window just over a week ago and grabbed his stiff cock, only for it to go off immediately.

I shouldn’t have done that, but one thing keeps leading to another. I don’t want to cheat on John, but I suppose I already have, a little. I don’t know why. It’s not as if I’m not completely satisfied with John. I still have my husband’s taste in my mouth, since he had a few minutes to spare between packing and leaving for the airport.

“You’re amazing,” he told me afterwards, by coincidence the same compliment I received from my secret admirer. “I’m so lucky to have a wife like you.”

“And I couldn’t wish for a better husband,” I replied.

As we kissed at the door, John said, “Enjoy your present.” There was a very definite gleam in his eye.

That’s why I shall wait before I switch the phone on. I want to know what the present is. The big cardboard box has been standing in a corner of the kitchen all weekend. I’ve been instructed not to open it until I’m alone.

I’m alone now, so I slice through the lid with a knife and remove the packaging. I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from crying out with delight, even though there’s no one to hear me. My darling husband has bought me my dream toy. I’ve looked at it occasionally in the sex shop I sometimes visit, but never quite dared to take the plunge.

I remove the contents from the box and spread them out on the kitchen table. My body tingles. I know John expects… Perhaps that’s the wrong word, it makes it sound as if he’s the kind of man who demands things of me, he’s not. But he certainly hopes that I will use it when I perform for him. Knowing me as he does, he’s probably quite sure I will use it. And he’s right.

The sybian comes with a stool and a full complement of attachments. I read the instructions sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea. It all seems easy enough. One or two of the attachments look quite fearsome, but I’m sure I’ll use them all in due course.

The excitement is coursing through my body. Part of me wants to give the thing a test run immediately, but I know that everything is better if I wait. Besides, I want John to see my very first ride, and therefore I want Mark to be present to watch, because everything is heightened when he’s there.

Oh dear, I really am beginning to sound like a sex maniac, aren’t I? I don’t think I am, but I am addicted to the thrill of these little games, as dangerous as they are, and even though one step keeps leading to another. I’ve been thinking about this all week, and I know that I’m about to take another step.

First I prepare. I take the sybian, the stool and all of the attachments into the living room. I place the sybian on the floor in front of the bookcase, with the stool in front of it. The laptop goes on the floor too, the camera aimed at the sybian. I check the distance and angle, having to squat over the sybian for that, fighting off a renewed urge to give it a test spin.

I fetch a chair from the kitchen, which I place two or three feet behind the laptop. Then I fetch a tumbler, which I stand next to the chair.

With everything set, I return to the kitchen. One step leads to another, I know that so well. I wish I could stop taking the next step, but I know I can’t. I can’t fight the excitement involved in these games. My head warns me, and my body overrules my head. I make myself some more tea, feeling my body glow as I contemplate the evening.

When I switch the phone on, there’s just the one message, and it’s recent. “When can I watch you again?” So Mark hasn’t tried to contact me while John’s been home. It’s comforting to know he seems to understand and accept the arrangement, to stay away during the weeks when John’s at home.

I feel the butterflies in my stomach, along with the tingle further down that’s impossible to still. I take a sip of tea as I make the call, listening to the tones. It only takes three before he answers.

“Hello.” He sounds nervous, as always.

“Hello,” I say, making my voice soft and hopefully slightly seductive. “I’ll be performing this evening at nine.” In all honesty, I probably sound as nervous as him. “I want you to come.”

He gives a little chuckle, so I know he’s understood the double entendre. It’s the first time I’ve heard my secret admirer laugh. “I’ll be there,” he says. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He sounds a little more self-assured in spite of the nervous tension in his voice. Maybe that’s good, maybe it will lead to goodness knows where. I take a deep breath. I need to make things clear in no uncertain terms. “I’ve made arrangements,” I say. “There doesn’t seem much point in you lurking outside anymore.” Mark draws in breath, and I rattle on. “I’ve placed a chair in the living-room, just inside the French windows for you to sit on. Shortly before nine, I want you to enter by the French windows, undress completely and sit down on the chair. By the chair is a receptacle for you to use when you ejaculate. I don’t want you to make a sound. It’s very important that you don’t make a sound. Once the performance is over, I want you to get dressed and leave the same way you came. Is that alright for you?”

I hate the way I couldn’t resist the tag question. It makes it sound like a negotiation, which it isn’t. But Mark says quietly, “Whatever you say.”

His quiet acceptance of the terms makes me soften a little. “I hope you’ll enjoy the show. I’ll try to make it special for you.” Special for Mark rather than for John; what’s becoming of me?

“It’s always special,” he says, which makes me go hot all over.

“See you at nine then.”

“I’ll be there.”

As soon as the call’s broken, I wonder for the umpteenth time what I’m doing. Then I capitulate. There’s no way of stopping this now. I return to the living room and check the positioning of the sybian, the laptop and the chair, rearranging them slightly. With time on my hands I pick out clothes and prepare a lunchbox for work tomorrow. As always seems to be the case these days, the most mundane of tasks is accompanied by a hot flush of excitement, my body knowing that heightened pleasure is never far away.

At half past eight I change. John has a clothing fetish, so I’ve decided that this first time on the sybian, I will wear nothing but a loose fitting, calf length dress. By that I mean nothing underneath, and I will keep the dress on. Everything will be concealed but my face, which will reveal the effect this new toy has on me. I remember the video I sent John of just my face as I pleasured myself, and how he delighted in the expressions of rapture, culminating in my “orgasm face”, as he likes to call it. I hope this will be similar.

I purposely stay away from the living room until the stroke of nine. When I enter, Mark is seated on the chair, stark naked, exactly as ordered. He smiles at me.

It’s the first time I’ve seen his face, and it’s nowhere near as menacing without the hoodie. There’s a shock of blonde hair, and eyes that look kind, rather than piercing. He’s not conventionally handsome or muscular, but perfectly acceptable, with his young body and very kissable mouth. Moreover, he is already swollen with anticipation. I put a finger up to my lips, urging silence and he nods.

The thrill of it overwhelms me. My legs almost buckle as I walk across to the laptop. This is wrong, all wrong, but I can’t help that. I have discovered needs I never knew I had.

This evening I have decided not to do any preliminary talk. Having started the recording, I move back to the sybian. I’ve prepared the machine with just the clit pad to begin with, before I’m better acquainted with it. When I climb aboard, my dress conceals the sybian itself, just as it conceals my body. I position myself and lean forwards, using the little stool for support. I’ve placed the controls on it, and now I tentatively set the thing in motion – if that’s the right word.

I watch myself on screen, feeling the ripple of soft vibrations. Yes, I think John will like the sight of me when he sees this. But the awful truth is that I’m more concerned about Mark, who is directly in my line of sight, just above the screen. He’s looking at me as if I’m the most beautiful, most desirable woman on earth, and how can I resist that?

A little twist of the knob in front of me increases the intensity of the vibrations. It’s heavenly! At the same time I neutralize my gaze, pretending to look nowhere, but really taking the time to study Mark’s erection. Though I’ve seen it twice, I’ve never really looked at it. Now I notice that his girth exceeds my husbands, though John is perhaps slightly longer. I smile, making sure to aim my delight at the camera. Size excites me, and Mark’s size is exciting. Looking-while-not-looking at his cock again, I think how deliciously he could stretch…

But, no, I can’t go that far. To distract myself I turn the sybian up another notch, and suddenly I’m in a different world.

I can’t begin to describe the sensations the machine provides me with. Before I know it I’m moaning and moaning. On the screen I can see how my ever-shifting face is a picture of rapture, and how my boobs jig about beneath the dress as I move. John will love this!

But more exciting to me is how Mark’s enjoying it. His hand is moving slowly, stimulating his cock. I understand that he doesn’t want to go too fast in case there’s an accident. But what really excites me is the look on his face. There’s such unbridled lust there that I’m almost afraid he’s going to come across and take me right here, right now.

He doesn’t, and I turn the thing up another notch. This is too much, at least if I’m not going to climax already, and that would make the show much too short.

So I extinguish the vibrations and climb off the sybian. Mark just looks at me, smiling as I survey the attachments. Uncharacteristically, I choose the smaller of the dildos, thinking to save the others for when I’m better acquainted with the machine. Unaccustomed to the machine, I fumble a little as I fix the attachment in place. I climb back on and rub my labia against the head, before lowering myself onto the surrogate cock. None of this penetration is of course visible to Mark, and won’t be to John, but I know my husband will love this, and Mark is staring intently at me.

I start the clit pad again, keeping the vibrations low. Then I tentatively twist the other control. The dildo may be small, but as soon I feel it vibrate and rotate, I feel myself lose any inhibition I have. I increase the speed a little more. In front of me, Mark’s stroking his cock. I stare into the camera as my mouth opens wide to let out a moan. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. I increase the speed of the clit pad. Some madness grips me. I can just about remember why I’m doing this, what I’m supposed to be doing.

“Wank your cock!” I cry. “Wank your big hard cock for me!” I stare at the screen, at my wide open mouth and wild eyes, at the boobs jiggling beneath my dress.

I still can’t describe the sensations. I turn both the control knobs, making both attachments increase the intensity of their treatment of me. I completely lose myself. I’m moaning out loud and screaming obscenities that would make a harlot blush. All I know is that I just about have the presence of mind to remember to scream, “Cum for me! Wank your big hard cock and cum for me!”

But I miss Mark’s ejaculation. My own climax forces my eyes shut as my body shakes and shakes. When I’ve recovered, I just about have the presence of mind to look into the camera and say, “Thank you for the lovely present. I hope you enjoyed the show!” and blow the camera a kiss before more or less crawling across to the laptop to stop the recording.

Mark is already pulling on his sweats, as ordered beforehand. He suddenly looks shy and nervous. On impulse I go up to him and give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you for coming,” I say. “I’m sorry the performance was so short.”

“It was amazing,” Mark replies. “You’re amazing.”

“I’ll learn to pace myself,” I say, thinking that I must learn how to use the sybian so that things don’t culminate so soon. “The next performance will be longer, if you’re willing to come again.”

Mark grins. “What right now?” he says.

The flash of humour takes me by surprise, but I love it. “Cheeky!” I say. “Tomorrow, same time, same place.”

Mark nods, pulling the hoodie over his head. He’s ready to go, but pauses, as if there’s something on his mind.

“Yes?” I say.

“I was wondering…” There’s hesitancy there. “May I touch you?” Barely a whisper.

“Not yet,” I say. “Have patience.”

Mark nods, and then he’s gone, leaving behind a generous helping of seed in the tumbler.

I rinse out the tumbler and place it in the dishwasher feeling a bit faint. What have I said? “Not Yet. Have patience.” It almost amounts to a promise, doesn’t it? A promise of what? That I will let Mark touch me at some point?

I tell myself I can always bring an end to this game if I want to. Mark can’t possibly expect me to deliver on a half-hearted remark. I have a husband, for goodness’ sake. But deep down I know that events have their own momentum. One step leads to another, and another, and yet another. Where will it end?

The momentum is physical. I try to fight it with sound arguments, but my mind is fighting a losing battle. In the morning I find an e-mail response from John. He’s glad I liked the present. He tells me that I looked so wholesome in the dress, and so filthy as my new toy brought me over the edge. I blush. John’s words bring a glow to my body. Already I want to perform for him again, while my secret admirer looks on and I steal glances at his thick cock.

Oh dear, what kind of woman am I? I’m not a sex maniac, but whenever I have an idle moment, whenever my thoughts are not preoccupied with something else, I immediately start to think about my next performance, what I’ll wear, what I’ll do.

I’m being taken over by desires I never knew I had. Events will take their course. I’ve never believed in fate, but now it feels as if an unseen force has taken me by the hand and is leading me to an unknown destination.

Mark arrives every evening to witness my performances. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. I can’t make him out, but then it’s not as if we’ve had any deep, meaningful conversations. He arrives, he sits. I perform, he wanks. I cum, he cums. That’s how it is.

Perhaps it sounds silly to ask what he gets out of it, but I wonder. Why would he rather sit and watch a moderately attractive 30-year old like myself than socialize with the much prettier girls his own age that he knows?

I’m not silly. Obviously, there’s sexual gratification involved; there is for both of us. It just seems like such a lonely thing. I just feel that to Mark this arrangement might almost be no more than a live version of sitting at home in front of the computer, watching pornographic videos.

I’m blushing. Have I just likened myself to the women in porn? No, I may not know exactly what kind of woman I am anymore, but I’m definitely not that kind of woman. I may be Mark’s little wank object, but I’m not… I’m burning up. I am that kind of woman, aren’t I? I may not put the videos out on the internet for all the world to see – just my husband – but the principle’s the same isn’t it? Or is it?

Anyway, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday pass. Mark turns up punctually every evening and watches me as I perform, ejaculating when I urge him too. He doesn’t repeat his request to touch me, in fact we hardly exchange words at all.

It’s Thursday, the day of my final performance of the week. There’s no point in performing on Friday, since John will be home early on Saturday. The previous days I’ve done more than just sit on the sybian, but always finished off with it giving me a fantastic orgasm while Mark looks on and spurts in the tumbler. For my final performance of the week, I always like to do something special, to get John that little bit more worked up when he returns home.

All day, whenever I have a moment left over for idle thoughts, I think about my coming performance. Back home, I peel off my damp panties and the rest of my clothes. There are things to do, of course, but it’s hard to concentrate on them. My resolve has been tested all day; my ability to keep from sneaking off to the ladies’ for a quick… you know.

I’ve already decided that this evening I will wear only black stockings and suspenders, crotchless black panties with a red trim, and high heels. I change into these as soon as I get home and totter about the house in them, like some wanton hussy. My mother always used that phrase as a term of abuse, but now… Someone should tell you when you’re young how wonderful it is to feel like a wanton hussy.

By now I know exactly how to align the sybian (which hasn’t moved all week), the laptop and Mark’s chair.

All I need in addition to these are a bottle of massage oil and the dildo John and I had made, that’s an exact replica of his manhood.

Oh! I change the attachment on the sybian to the most fearsome of them all. It’s big and spherical, like a door knob. I have no idea what it will do to me, but being the kind of woman who’s excited by size, I’m determined to feel it inside me, even if I have to force myself down on it.

I sit virtually naked in the kitchen, sipping tea and asking myself if I really want to go through with what I’ve planned. But ‘want’ has nothing to do with it now. It’s only a question of what I know will be. There’s no stopping anything now.

As usual, I stay away from the living room after eight. I don’t know exactly when Mark arrives, but I know that when I enter the living room on the stroke of nine, he’ll be sitting there in the chair, an expectant, appreciative look on his face, and his thick manhood pointing at the ceiling.

I’m expectant too. I love making my entrance, seeing the look in his eyes as he surveys my body. This evening I stride in, wearing just my heels, the stockings and suspenders, the crotchless panties. I feel like a strip club hussy with nothing to strip out of. In the past the thought would have horrified me. Now I revel in the way Mark’s eyes widen as he gets his first sight of me. “Wow!” he exclaims.

I smile and jiggle my boobs as I walk across to the table. His eyes follow me as I take the little bottle of oil. My body is already glowing with anticipation and desire. My nipples are hard, my pussy wet. I take the bottle and continue my walk, behind the laptop, coming to a halt just in front of Mark. “Stand up,” I say.

He has no idea what I have in mind, but he looks happy, as if he senses something special. When he’s on his feet, I turn, standing right in front of him. I hold the bottle upside down and squeeze. A generous helping of oil finds its way onto my rack. (Did I really call my bosom a rack? What’s happening to me?)

“Massage my breasts,” I breathe.

I hear Mark catch his breath. But in no time his hands are reaching round from behind. My nipples swell some more against the palms of his hands as he does as I’ve told him, rubbing the oil into my ripe bosom. His erection nudges my bottom as he stands there. I don’t want to cheat on John, but if I hadn’t crossed the line before, I’ve well and truly crossed it now. For two pins I’d get down on all fours and let Mark take me right now.

No, I must stick to the plan. His hands rub and squeeze and fondle as he massages the oil into my breasts, which burn with a fever I hadn’t anticipated. I feel his hot breath against my neck as he whispers, “Catherine, you’re amazing!”

I grow rigid. I haven’t told him my name. What if he is some creep who’s been… I don’t know… Stalking me…? “How do you know my name?” I ask sharply.

Mark’s hands stop moving. “The sign,” he says uncertainly. “By the front door.”

Of course! The sign. WELCOME TO JOHN AND CATHERINE. The outer declaration of marital bliss and fidelity. Yet here I stand in my husband’s and my living room with my not-so-secret-anymore admirer’s hands on my breasts, unable to do anything other than deliver some more oil. “Rub it all over!” I breathe. “Make me ready to perform!”

I’m more than ready as it is, but feeling Marks’ hands slide across my sensitive mounds makes me uncontrollably horny. The tension in my nipples is unbelievable. His cock against my bottom makes me want to…

No! I can’t! I have a performance to video. For my husband. “Sit down!” I breathe.

Mark is reassuringly obedient. I position myself on the floor in front of the laptop, making sure that my boobs and only my boobs fill the screen before hitting record.

“Good evening,” I say, sounding more seductive than I can ever remember myself sounding in these circumstances. “I thought you might like a nice close-up of my breasts. My big, shiny, glossy, oily breasts.”

This is an apt description. My boobs look fantastic, even if I do say so myself. Supporting myself with one hand on the floor, I only have the one hand to play with my breasts, but the way my fingers slip around is bound to be huge turn-on for John. With just my breasts visible to the camera, I can afford to look at Mark, who smiles at me. I smile back. He already has his hand round his cock, moving it slowly as he watches me.

“My big, slippery, oily breasts,” I say. I try to pinch a nipple, but my fingers slide right off. “Wouldn’t you like to play with my shiny, slippery breasts? I bet you would!” I slide a hand across the objects in question, squeezing them, teasing my nipples with little circular movements of my fingers.

“Have you got your cock out?” I ask. Then I giggle. “Of course you have. Sitting there stroking your cock with your eyes on my big, slippery, sensitive breasts.” Mark smiles at me with eager eyes. I stare at his cock. How I love the lust in his eyes, being his little wank object. I want to say so, but can’t.

Instead I roam my breasts with one hand, seeing them glisten still with the oil. “What do you want to do with that cock?” I ask instead. Then I giggle. “Oh I know what you want to do with it!”

I sit up properly, reaching for the dildo, the replica of John’s manhood. I back up, making sure that my torso is on display, but not my head. I place the tip of the dildo against my stomach, then tease the thing up my body, until I can slide it up between my breasts. “That’s what you’d like to do with it, isn’t it? Put your cock in between my oily, slippery, shiny breasts!”

In front of me, Mark nods, eyes so full of youthful lust it almost hurts not to let him do it. I push my breasts together, holding the dildo in place. “Because I’d like that,” I say. “I’d love to feel your big hard cock between my breasts.” I’m looking Mark in the eye as I speak, and realise that I need to focus, to remember that I’m making a video for my husband.

I take one last good hard look at Mark’s cock before leaning forward to lash at the tip of the dildo with my tongue, suddenly wanting to taste real cock so bad I’m shocked by my own desire. I reposition myself so that my face comes into view. I force myself to look into the camera. “Mmmmm,” I moan, sliding my thumbs over aching nipples as I hold the dildo in place. “I love having your cock between my breasts. I love it so much that I can’t help myself…”

Continuing to rub and squeeze and stroke and pinch my breasts with one hand, I use the other to bring the dildo up to my lips. “I’m so horny,” I breathe. “I want your cock in my mouth right now.”

It takes all of my willpower to keep staring at the camera. As I move my lips on the replica of John’s cock, it’s Mark I want to feel in my mouth. Mark, who’s right in front of me, wanking as he watches me. Mark, who would no doubt be delighted if I were to pleasure him like that. I know it’s wrong of me, but things have progressed so far now that right or wrong hardly seem to matter. “Mmmmmm,” I moan as I slurp on the dildo and wish it was Mark while still, somehow, somewhere in my cheating heart knowing that this is something I must not do – not for real.

I slide my lips off the dildo and tease my nipples with the tip. “Mmmmm!” I moan. “I love the taste of your cock. I know what I want, but what do you want?” I wink at the camera. “Well, I know what you like!”

Turning, I stand on all fours before lowering my body, leaving my behind sticking up in the air. I reach back with one hand and splay my pussy lips, knowing that John will love seeing me do that in my crotchless knickers. “Look how wet I’ve become with your cock between my breasts and in my mouth.”

Of course it’s having Mark there, watching and wanking, that provides the heightened tension and excitement, although I love performing for John, and am excited that he’ll be home soon to do all the things I’ve urged him to do. The reason I’ve positioned myself like this is that I don’t want to face Mark, or the camera. I’m afraid that I’ll give myself away, that I won’t be able to stop myself looking at Mark when I should be looking into the camera.

“Look at me,” I moan. “Look how wet and horny I am. I bet you’re aching to fuck me, aren’t you?”

Am I addressing John or Mark? It hardly seems to matter. I grab hold of the dildo. There’ll be no teasing, not now. “I want your big hard cock,” I breathe. “I want it in me now!” Then I penetrate myself with the replica of my husband’s cock.

The angle isn’t conducive to really hard thrusting, but hard enough. My old self might be a little embarrassed at the noisy way my pussy sucks the dildo into itself, but not my new self. “Fuck me!” I breathe, moving the toy back and forth. “Your cock feels so good inside me!”

That’s better. That’s a direct message to John. I continue thrusting, hearing my juices slurp on the dildo. But I need to give Mark a message to. “I love being fucked like this,” I breathe. “I think about it all the time, about you fucking me from behind, just coming up behind me and taking what you want.”

I moan out loud, thinking of Mark’s thick cock, the way he’s wanking it behind me. “Fuck me! Fuck me!” I moan. If he takes me seriously it will ruin the recording, but I won’t say no.

But Mark is nothing if not reassuringly obedient. There’s not a movement nor a sound from him as I continue working the dildo inside me. I give up on speaking, concentrating on the sensation of my insides closing round the dildo, concentrating on my fantasy of Mark fucking me as I moan with delight.

I don’t want to cheat on John, but here I am again, knowing that if Mark came up behind me and stuck that delicious, thick cock in me, I’d let him. I wouldn’t be able to resist. “Oooooooooh! Aaaaaaaah!” I moan. I’m tightening with the thought of my secret admirer taking what he wants of me. But it’s not orgasm time. Not yet.

I slide the dildo out of myself and turn round again, doing everything in my power not to look at Mark. “That was so good,” I breathe.

The little bottle of oil is close at hand. I get on my back, spreading my legs, keeping my eye on the screen. I squeeze oil onto my mound, the one I always keep immaculate, because it’s how I imagine the women I imagine John potentially straying with. As if I’m not straying myself.

I push the healthy dollop down, rubbing my labia, massaging my pussy. I add more oil. There’ll probably be a stain on the carpet, but I don’t care. I watch as my already wet pussy becomes shiny and slippery and oily and sloppy. I hold my labia apart and stare into the camera. “Do you like the look of me?” I whisper. “Doesn’t my cunt look delicious?” I never use the c-word, but now I emphasize it, the uninhibited nature of my actions requiring filthy language.

It’s time for the grand finale. I wink at the camera and get to my feet, holding the bottle of oil. I walk slowly and deliberately across to the sybian, wiggling my bottom as I do so. When I’m almost there, I realize I’ve forgotten the dildo, and make a return trip, making sure my breasts bounce. There’s a moment when my face disappears out of camera view, and I take the opportunity to look at Mark and wink. He smiles at me, giving his cock an extra tug.

Back at the sybian I squeeze oil over the big, bulbous attachment. As much as I like size, the thing still scares me slightly. As it happens, there’s so much lubrication, natural and artificial, that I experience nothing but extreme pleasure as I lower myself, and am stretched out before the big bulb settles inside me. I turn the controls, letting the machine stimulate me lightly. By now I’m so turned on that I give a long moan as the vibrations ripple out through my body.

I make a huge effort to focus on the camera, rather than Mark’s cock as he sits there pleasuring himself to the sight of me. The way he looks at me makes me go even more gooey; the way he looks at my breasts seems to make the nipples swell to bovine proportions. I grab the bottle of oil and empty what’s left over my rack. I rub the oil into my heaving bosom, smiling at the camera. “Look at my slippery breasts,” I urge. “Wouldn’t you like to feel my oily, shiny, slippery breasts?”

I increase the speed of the sybian, feeling a huge rush of excitement. I moan out loud and clutch at my breasts, fondling, stroking, squeezing, pushing them up against each other, rubbing the nipples and then pinching them, my fingers sliding off instantly. “You wicked man,” I tease, smiling at the camera. “Sitting there wanking, while I play with myself.” I’m only too well aware that my words are aimed more at Mark than at John, however much I stare into the camera. “Sitting there, tugging on your delicious cock. You know how much I want that cock, don’t you?”

I daren’t look at Mark, but he’s in my line of vision, so I can see him even if I’m not focusing on him. Or rather, I can see him working his hard cock as he watches me. I can’t believe I enjoy being a stranger’s wank object to much. Because he is still a stranger to me in most respects, and what am I to him but a lusty woman for him to satisfy himself watching?

Aroused still more by the thought, I lean forwards and turn the speed up a little more. I’m not expecting to squeal, but I do, involuntarily as my arousal increases to fever pitch. I grab the dildo and place it between my breasts, holding it in place by pushing my mounds together. “Is this where you want to put your cock?” I ask, staring hard at the camera. “Because it’s where I want it. Right between my big knockers.” (I love how deliciously dirty the word ‘knockers’ sounds, but I have to be exceptionally horny to use it.)

I squeeze my breasts hard, all the while keeping the dildo in place between my breasts. The sybian is doing its work, heavy vibrations forcing my body onwards and upwards, towards the inevitable crescendo. I moan and gasp, finally managing to breathe, “Much as I like having your big cock between my knockers, I’m sure there’s somewhere else you’d like to put it, isn’t there?”

I desperately want to look at Mark, but I know I mustn’t. I’m sure I must look very strange, staring at the laptop as if my life depended on it, scared stiff I’ll give myself away. “Go on then,” I moan. “Feed me your big cock!”

With the dildo between my lips, I turn the sybian up a little more. I know instantly that it won’t take long before the machine forces me to climax. The vibrations are shooting through me. “Mmmmmmm!” I hum. “Mmmmmmm!” I start fondling my breasts again, staring hard at the camera, not at Mark, though in my own head I can hear my voice inviting him to replace the dildo with his delicious looking cock. It’s just as well my mouth is full, or I’d be staring at him and begging for him to let me suck his cock.

Gosh! If I wasn’t so hot from my own arousal, I’d be blushing. Is that really what I want? The question goes unanswered as I experience a presentiment of careering climax. I squeeze my breasts hard, grinding down on the sybian, moaning loudly with a mouthful of dildo. My body tenses; all of my sensitive parts feel bloated. The dildo falls from my mouth as I open wide to wail, my body shaking.

“Yes!” I scream, squeezing my breasts hard, my body shaking and swaying. “I’m cumming! I’m cumming! Oh, I’m cumming!”

My eyes close as I let that beast of a machine finish the job. The job of driving more inhibitions out of me. Because when I open my eyes, I see that Mark is still hard. Of course. The sweet boy only ejaculates if he hears the refrain, “Cum for me! Cum for me!”

I know what I want now. My legs are like spaghetti, but I manage to wobble across to the laptop and look into the camera. “I hope you enjoyed the show,” I giggle. “And that you came really hard.” Then I blow the camera a kiss and kill the recording.

At last! In a flash I’m on my knees in front of Mark. “Stand up!” I gasp.

Some remaining vestige of propriety must remain, because instead of doing what I just imagined myself begging to do, I cradle my breasts instead. Mark’s looking down at me as if he can’t believe his eyes. I just look into those eyes and beg, “Will you cum for me? Will you please, please cum for me?”

I squeeze and fondle my breasts, my eyes now locked onto the big, hard erection that he manipulates manfully. “Cum for me!” I breathe. “Cum all over my breasts! Cum on my big, ripe knockers!”

That’s all it takes. “Oh Catherine!” Mark breathes. “Here I cum! I’m cumming!”

“Yes! Yes!” I gasp back. “I want your sticky seed all over my breasts!”

In the event, the first spurt goes up under my chin and onto my neck. I drag the sperm down towards my breasts as more sperm shoots out of Mark, now splashing onto my rack. I can’t believe that he has so much in him, given how he ejaculates every day watching me. I massage the stuff into my bulging knockers as a last few drops hit the back of one hand. I cradle my breasts and push up, giving each stiff nipple a lash with my tongue, developing an instant craving at the slightest hint of the taste of Mark’s salty sperm.

“Catherine,” you’re amazing, Mark breathes, his hand coming away from his cock.

I look up at him and smile. “Thank you…” I stop myself just before I say his name, not wanting him to know I’ve checked up on him.

Thankfully he takes this as an invitation to say, “Mark. My name’s Mark.”

“Mark,” I say. It’s the first time I’ve said his name out loud, but it feels very right. I look down at my breasts again, which are shiny and slippery with oil and Mark’s huge load.

As I look at it, it feels right. Later it feels like an escalation. I may not have had Mark’s cock inside me, but having a stranger’s semen all over your bosom must count as cheating, if you’re a married woman, mustn’t it?

And since I’ve now crossed that line, there’s nothing to stop more from happening, is there? Especially since I more or less promised Mark something of the kind before he left.

“I can’t see you for over a week,” I tell him.

He looks a little disappointed, but he’s used to this bi-weekly ritual by now and says, “I understand.”

Feeling bad for him, I say, “Since we’re now on first name terms, I’m sure we’ll become much better acquainted in the future.”

There’s a glimmer in his eye, and a sinking feeling in my stomach. I am quite sure that I am now, unofficially at least, a scarlet woman.