Now that I am officially a scarlet woman, at least to myself, any inhibitions I have left are evaporating fast. All I need remember is the need for caution. My darling husband John must never know that there is anyone but him that drives me to new heights of sexual abandon, and nobody else must suspect. And yet, I have ideas; ideas that will lead into ever-riskier territory.

At lunch I find a secluded spot where I can bring out my secret, pre-paid phone. There’s only one number in it and I dial.

When Mark answers, just the sound of my lover uttering his own name sends waves of depraved lust through my body. Today I’m wearing black stockings and crotchless panties under my dress. I want to tell Mark, but I also want it to be a surprise.

“Same time, same place as yesterday,” I say. “Can you come?”

“I can always come for you,” my once secret admirer, now my lover, says. Just the thought that I have a lover makes me blush. The innuendo makes my thighs quiver.

I take a deep breath. “Is there anything special you’d like me to do for you, Mark?”

There’s a pause. I notice suddenly that there’s chatter in the background. “I can’t talk now,” he murmurs.

“Never mind,” I say, though I do feel mildly disappointed. I should have known. I make my voice more seductive, whispering into the phone. “Anything you want, Mark. My body is at your disposal.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” he says. He sounds very businesslike.

Once the call is over I just sit, weighing the phone in my hand. Should I or shouldn’t I? The idea is absurd, but I still call up the picture. It’s not long since I’ve taken it, in the ladies’ room at work. Even now, even now that I am officially a scarlet woman, I still blush a little at the sight. The crotchless panties, my fingers separating my labia to show off the entrance, the passage that is always so very wet these days. This is what’s become of me. I never thought I’d say this of myself, but I am perpetually in the mood; practically (and now I’m blushing) a nymphomaniac.

Each day and every day, when my mind isn’t focusing on the things it must focus on, it wanders, to Mark, to my performances. The videos I make are for my husband, of course, but they’d be nowhere near as arousing if Mark wasn’t there to inspire me.

Caught up in that spirit, I can’t help myself. I add two words. “Fill me!” Then I press send.

I can’t believe I’ve done it. I’m like one of those teenagers you read about, who go around sexting without considering the consequences. I’m a grown woman of 30, and I’ve always considered myself very level-headed, yet here I am doing this ill-advised thing. The thrill is undeniable; the thrill of having sent a picture of my juicy cunt (I’ve never liked that word, but suddenly it’s the only one that sounds right) to my secret lover, and knowing that his thick cock will throb when he sees it, and that he will indeed ache to fill me right up.

I don’t see the reply until after work, when I’m in the car. I have to keep my secret phone switched off at work. Everything has to be very hush hush. It’s imperative. “With pleasure!” Mark has written. I smile to myself and drive down to the station car park to await him.

I back into a space right at the end of the car park. That way I can survey the surroundings and see Mark when he comes striding towards me, looking so handsome in his suit and tie. He gets in the passenger seat, smiling at me. “Good afternoon, Catherine.”

“Good afternoon, Mark. I’m glad you liked the picture.”

“You know I did,” he says. “But we need to be more careful.”

I tremble inside. “What do you mean?”

“I had someone behind me when I brought it up,” he says. “I didn’t know, but…”

I smile. “It doesn’t matter,” I say, trying to sound as if I don’t mean it, while simultaneously experiencing an illicit thrill. “No-one can tell it was me, can they?”

“No,” Mark says. “But still…”

“Who was it?”

“What?”

“Who saw?”

“Oh, some churchy bitch from upstairs who thinks she’s better than us because she works with the knobs,” he says.

I can’t help but giggle at that. “Nobody else?” I say.

“No,” says Mark. He doesn’t know, and I’m not going to tell him, that I was susceptible to his peeping in the first place because of a little fantasy I had about my husband showing my videos to his colleagues. Part of me wishes someone else, a man, had seen, part of me understands Mark’s point about discretion, even though nobody’s going to recognize me from just seeing my disembodied genitalia. I’m so conflicted I hardly know which way to turn. Nobody must see the woman I am in private, yet being seen, the very thought of being seen, excites me more than I can say.

“She said it was disgusting,” Mark volunteers after a little pause.

“And what did you think?” I ask.

While I’ve been waiting for him, I’ve pulled my dress up, so that there can be no doubt I’m wearing stockings. Now he places a firm hand on stocking-top, looks into my eyes and says, “You know what I think, Catherine.”

The lad’s coming on a treat. I know he’s not had much experience. Not because he’s said so, but because a woman can sense these things. Already I can sense a growing confidence that I find enormously attractive.

“So you want to fill me,” I say.

“Right up,” he replies. His hand pushes the dress further up. His fingers grip naked thigh. I respond instantly, worrying that there’ll soon be a little puddle in the driver’s seat that’s impossible to eradicate. “Is there anything else you want to do?”

So far he’s been very reticent when asked this, but now he says, “I want you to sit on my face.” This isn’t what I expected, but I’m not going to complain. “I want to taste you and smell you,” Mark elaborates.

That settles it. Hearing him say it makes me want to have him right then and there, in the car in the car park. But it’s too dangerous. We mustn’t. I mustn’t risk being caught with Mark by anyone who knows who I am.

For now, Mark’s hand is working its way slowly upwards. How can I resist? How can I deny him? I part my legs as well as I can in the confined space. To my delight, Mark doesn’t ask if he may. His hand is suddenly there, his fingers discovering that once again I’m wearing crotchless panties. “Catherine,” he says. “You’re amazing.”

He says that a lot, but I like the way he says it. As his fingers attempt to open me up, I clamp my legs together. “Just keep your hand there,” I tell him. “I have an idea for my performance. I don’t know if it’s feasible, but I want to be good and ready if it is.”

Mark just stares at me. This has taken him by surprise. But just as I know my wonderful young lover will, he does as I say. It’s a 20 minute drive out of town, and if I wasn’t turned on enough before he got in the car, the feel of his hand between my thighs, rubbing up against my labia is more than enough to turn me into the sex maniac I’m coming to resemble more and more.

By the time we reach our destination, I’m so turned on I’m afraid my legs are going to buckle under me the moment I try to stand up. As I hinted to Mark, I don’t know if my plan is workable, but if it isn’t, I’m afraid I’ll do something silly anyway.

As it happens, all is well. We’re on a look-out point set above the town. There’s a bit of dirt for cars to park on, and a few benches for people to sit on and take in the view. I’ve heard tell that of an evening all kinds of things go on up here, but I’ve never been here myself after dark. When we arrive there’s only one other car parked up, and the owner is nowhere to be seen.

“Now what’s a nice lady like you doing taking me to a place like this?” Mark says with a cheeky grin. So he’s heard the rumours too.

“You’ll see,” I say, taking his arm and moving it away from me.

I reach in the back for my bag and the tripod that’s lying on the back seat. Mark gets out when I do, following me round to the front of the bench I’ve parked directly behind. I have a camcorder in my bag, which I hand him, along with the tripod. “Set this up, please, Mark,” I say. “Make sure you get all of me in the shot, but don’t start the recording.”

“Are you sure about this?” Mark says. “Isn’t it a bit risky?”

I pretend to think about this. “Yes,” I say. “But I have my reasons. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be a magnificent lookout as long as you don’t end up on film.”

Mark nods, and sets the camcorder up as requested while I sit on the bench. I’m glad he doesn’t voice any more reservations. I do have my reasons, but I don’t want to discuss them with him. What I really want is to get today’s performance out of the way, so that we can go home and I can sit on his face before I get him to fuck me extremely hard.

Oh dear, I am being very blunt and direct, aren’t I? Well, this is what all these shenanigans have brought me to. I no longer have much, if any control over my desires. It feels like every second of every day, I’m driven by ever-present urges. If I’m being blunt and direct, that’s simply because I’m losing my inhibitions at an alarming rate.

“Camera set,” Mark says at last. He backs away, standing diagonally behind the camcorder, with a slight drop behind him. I turn and look around, just to make sure there’s no-one there. “All clear,” Mark confirms.

I get up and go to the camera to start the recording, to preserve the illusion that I’m all alone. I return to the bench and bend over, wiggling my bottom at the camera as I rummage in my bag. I bring out my rabbit, which I haven’t used for a while. It’s now got fresh batteries, for maximum power.

I sit down on the bench and lash the tip of the dildo with my tongue as I lift my dress. I smile wantonly at the camera as I spread my legs. I’m so wet from having had Mark’s hand up against my labia that the dildo slides in easily enough. But finding the appropriate seating position isn’t easy, and I fidget a little.

Finally, I find a comfortable enough position, phallic part inside me, and the little rabbit ears on either side of my clit. I place the controls on the bench beside me and pull my dress back down, so that the object between my legs is concealed, though the dress won’t go all the way down on one side because of the cord, but that way John will be able to see that I’m wearing stockings. I turn the controls, but not a lot. If I don’t start off slow, I might cum at once, and that wouldn’t be much of a performance for John, would it?

It seems as if the slow rotations and slow vibrations have hardly started before a man’s head appears, coming up the slope behind Mark. I grow rigid and try to conceal the controls and the cord as the man looks first at Mark, then at myself, as if he’s sure something dirty is going on. Which it is.

Well, it was always a risk. The good news is that I’ve never seen the man before in my life. At any rate, he doesn’t make any attempt to come towards us, continuing along from right to left behind the camera. The lone car must be his.

But even in the midst of this nervousness, I know that this is all for the best. I will tell John about the appearance of this man when I e-mail him the video. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.

I feel I must explain something. The camcorder is a present from John; one of many. I know why he’s bought it for me.

The thing is, we were lying in bed one night last week, having enjoyed one another twice earlier in the evening. Completely out of the blue, John said, “Those videos of yours, you could make a good living from doing that.”

He said it in a jocular manner, and I knew he didn’t really mean for me to give up my job, but with John home, I always feel a little guilty about my secret admirer-cum-lover, and he only came into my life because the fantasy of being watched by men other than my husband was already there. “Oh no, I couldn’t,” I exclaimed. “Really!” I even blushed a little.

“No, of course not,” John said. “I suppose what I meant is that I’m a lucky man who gets these shows for free. I have colleagues who pay good money to watch women perform like you do.” Then he winked at me. “And I’m sure you’re much sexier than any of those women.”

I went hot and cold at once, thinking of those naughty little fantasies about John showing one of my videos to a colleague or two which were now causing me to lead a double life. Nevertheless it was a fantasy that still had the power to make me aroused. At the same time, it seemed to confirm that the other reason for my performances, to prevent John from straying, was having the desired effect.

Now I had to ask. “You wouldn’t do that, would you? Show your colleagues those videos?”

“Of course not,” John laughed. “I want you all to myself.”

And yet… Call it female intuition or whatever you like, but at that moment I realised that John had shown at least one of my videos to at least one of his colleagues. Not so very long ago, I would have been appalled by such a thing. But in the last few months, I’ve discovered that I’m a completely different kind of woman to the one I thought I was. Performing for my secret admirer as well as for John has taught me how much I enjoy showing myself off, being watched. Perhaps it wasn’t female intuition. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking. I couldn’t let this drop, but I couldn’t let John see that I was excited by the idea. “It would be so embarrassing,” I said. “Anyway, I’m sure nobody would want to see. You like my videos because… Well, because it’s me.”

There was silence. I could tell John was thinking. “No,” he said at last. “I like your videos because they’re amazing. I’m very fortunate to be married to someone who’s so very sexy.”

That made me go warm and fuzzy inside. But I was also thinking of other men, those colleagues of John’s, watching my performances and wanking. What was wrong with me? “You’re very sweet, darling. But I’m sure you’re overestimating my performances.”

“What, you think I’m trying to butter you up?”

“No. I just think…” I reddened a little, not at all sure any more where I was supposed to be going with this.

“I bet you any other man would think those videos are scorching,” John said.

I didn’t answer immediately, though suddenly I knew exactly how to respond. “Perhaps,” I said. “But we’re never going to find out, are we?”

Now it was John’s turn to delay his answer. “We could,” he said. “But only if you wanted to.”

“What? How?” I tried to sound apprehensive and perturbed, but I don’t think I made a very good job of it.

“If you were anonymous,” John said. “If you were in disguise, or wore a mask, or just kept your face out of the shot. I could do camera duties.”

This sounded very naughty and utterly alluring. If only John had come up with this idea earlier, then perhaps I wouldn’t now be cheating on him with my secret admirer-cum-lover. “What? And then you show them to… who?” I tried to sound incredulous.

“Well, if you were unrecognizable enough, there’s always the Internet,” John said guardedly. “That way you’d get lots of feedback.”

Yes, and I could imagine what that feedback would be, if not in so many words. It would be crude and vulgar. My body, my performance would be out there for millions to see. I’d be no more than untold men’s wank fantasy. I would be reducing myself to a wank object. That’s no way for a woman to behave, is it? And yet I could feel myself grow wetter.

“Gosh, I don’t know,” I whispered, sliding my hand across to John, up over his thigh. His cock was rock hard. “Someone’s turned on by the idea,” I murmured.

This made John backtrack a little. “Perhaps it was a silly idea. I mean, it would be…”

“I’ll think about,” I said. “Since it obviously turns my darling husband on so.” I closed my fingers round his shaft and began working my hand.

The next day John came home with a camcorder, as a present, as a nudge or a hint, or just to put temptation in my way.

This is the camcorder that now sits on a tripod in front of me, as I sit on the bench on the lookout point, with my secret lover off to one side. It’s a test of sorts. I mean, if I can sit outdoors while my rabbit brings me to a climax, albeit fully-dressed, then maybe I can allow John to film me and post the video on the internet, always assuming I really am anonymous.

Behind me a car door slams, and almost immediately the one solitary car besides my own is driving off. I twist the controls, increasing the vibrations and the speed of the rotations. I stare into the camera, knowing that my face will be giving off signs of arousal. I wonder if John will be showing this to a colleague or colleagues. He shouldn’t; he really shouldn’t. But what my husband should or shouldn’t do pales into insignificance next to the thrill I experience thinking that someone I don’t even know might watch and wank.

Oh gosh, what kind of woman have I become? I have my secret lover here with me, and I’m thinking of yet other men, albeit anonymous ones. What’s wrong with me?

What videos has John shown others? I’m quite sure it’s happened, not often, but still… Maybe he’ll show some this week, encouraged by our conversation. Maybe he’ll show them his sexy wife on the sybian. That would be…

Entirely wrong, and yet still my excitement increases. I think of John, my darling husband, so proud of his hot, sexy wife that he shares these private videos with his colleagues. Me sitting on top of the sybian with big, shiny, oily boobs and a dildo in my mouth. Me cumming like that, immediately before I, off camera, get my secret lover to cum all over my slippery, oily breasts.

I give an involuntary moan as my body tenses. In the distance I hear the sound of an approaching car. Maybe I have time to cum before it arrives. I twist the controls, setting them to full strength. I lose all control over my facial muscles and my body, even my larynx. It doesn’t matter, since the sound of the car suddenly disappears again.

I sit there, out in the open, in front of the camera, my face gripped by rapture, my body shifting as the rabbit drives me onwards towards the inevitable climax. Off to one side, my secret lover watches. I stare at the camera, knowing that my husband will be watching soon, and perhaps one or two others.

Anonymous men. I see them before my eyes. Well, not them, just their hands working their cocks. I gasp and moan, biting my lip and hardly able to control my body. The rotations drive me onwards, the vibrations drive me upwards. The cocks and hands before my eyes multiply, becoming the crowd that might be watching at any given moment were John to upload this video to the internet.

“Aaaaaaaaaaah!” I’m crying out. “Aaaaaaaaaaah!” I’d thought to remain silent, but I can’t. The climax is impending, is right on top of me when I realise that there is a car somewhere behind me, the rumble of the engine extinguished as I give a strangled cry, trying to stifle my cries, but unable to. My body shakes and shakes. What if I’m seen? What if I’m seen? But the more I think this, the more my orgasm rumbles on, until I finally find the wherewithal to switch the rabbit off.

I allow myself a glance at Mark, knowing that though the camera will catch me looking to one side, it could be construed as vigilance. He’s making an urgent gesture which I interpret as meaning I need to move quickly. I pull the dildo out by the chord, finding strength enough to stuff it in my bag quickly and move to the camera to turn it off. Mark is there in an instant, grabbing the tripod and camcorder as a car door slams behind me and I hear voices and laughter.

“Can you drive?” I ask.

“Sure,” Mark says.

I slump in the passenger seat, finding the car keys in my bag and handing them to Mark the instant he’s in the driving seat. “Drive!” I tell him, winding my seat down. I don’t know if the new arrivals have witnessed anything, or if I’ve ever seen them before. I just know I mustn’t be seen. Nobody who saw and heard could fail to realise what was happening, could they?

“I tried to warn you,” Mark says as we drive downhill from the look-out and my nerves start to recede slowly. “But you were completely lost.”

I blush. I can’t believe I’ve just done what I’ve done, put myself at risk of exposure; risked exposing the connection between my young lover and myself; risked exposure as an unfaithful hussy.

On the other hand, I think, calming down a little, the chances of whoever drove up there actually knowing me is miniscule.

“Did you get a look at those people?” I ask.

“Two men, two women, all young,” Mark says. “Nobody I know. Anyway, you were sheltered by the car.”

Yes, I was, wasn’t I? I hope so. I hope this mad act of indiscretion was worth it. Calming down a little more, I ask, “How did I look?”

“Sensational,” Mark says. There’s a pause, then, “Your husband will love it.”

Guilt ripples through me. Yes, the video was for John, but here I am with my secret lover. Guilt mixes with the illicit thrill I always feel when I think of or am with Mark. It’s a combustive combination.

The road down from the look-out passes through woodland. We turn a corner, and encounter a car parked up by the side of the road, forcing Mark to swerve round it. I can only see the roof from where I’m reclining, but Mark muses, “That’s odd. Looks empty.”

“It’s not that odd,” I say. “People do come up here for walks.”

“And nookie,” Mark adds.

“So you’ve heard the rumours too?”

“Who hasn’t?”

And then Mark is braking hard. “What are you doing?” I ask. The road ahead is straight for a good hundred yards.

Mark doesn’t answer. Instead he’s turning onto a dirt track to the left. He stops almost immediately and switches the engine off, turning to me.

“What are you doing?” I ask again.

“I didn’t think there were women like you,” Mark breathes.

“Like what?”

“So outrageously kinky,” Mark says. “Have you any idea how much I wanted you when you were sitting on that bench back there?”

His hand reaches out and he pulls my dress up, placing a hand on my thigh. I’d thought to recuperate on the ride home, before sitting on Mark’s face, but this is a new Mark, less hesitant and more assertive, and I like it. I part my legs as much as I can, exposing the crotchless panties and my pussy.

His hand moves, and suddenly he has two fingers inside my slosh pit (Oh gosh, what did I just call my cunt? And did I just use the c-word?). His fingers move as he leans over me. I feel his hot breath on my labia, then his tongue, teasing its way to my still overly sensitive nub.

Yes, this new, assertive Mark, who can’t wait to take what he wants is very attractive. I’ve worked out that he’s not very experienced, but he more than makes up for that in youthful enthusiasm. He’s very sweet, too. I’m sure his enthusiasm for using his tongue on me is in part fuelled by a desire to prove himself unselfish and service minded, if that isn’t too stupid a term. I’ve asked him many times what he wants, but he’s never said he wants me to suck his cock or do anything unmentionable. On the other hand, what sane woman would complain about a lusty young male perpetually eager to perform orally on her?

I reach back and grab the tripod. In the confined space it’s hard to unclip the camcorder without banging Mark on the head, but I manage it.

I need to get this on film. I want to have it on film. I want to able to watch it later and relive the way his tongue moves between my folds, sweeping across my clit. I want to be able to watch later and relive his fingers digging into my slosh pit. And if you think that sounds vulgar, you should hear the noises my pussy is making.

I feel vulgar. With every new step I take, my inhibitions evaporate more and more. Things that I would never have said in the past now make me quiver with excitement. I aim the camera at the spot where Mark’s tongue is buried between my labia and breathe, “Have you any idea how horny you make me? My pussy leaks for you all day long!”

Mark doesn’t answer. He’s far too busy making me leak even more. I hear a car pass behind us on the road, yet I don’t hear it. It’s as if my own car is full to busting with the sound of my juices as Mark twists his fingers in my cunt. I gasp and moan. His tongue slides across my clit. I bring the camera in close, hoping there’ll be a nice, juicy close-up of the young man, my secret, illicit lover, using his tongue on me.

Fuck, I’m horny. It’s not long since I experienced a huge orgasm. If I let Mark bring me to another one, I’ll be in no fit state for anything, and I need to take over the driving. I can’t have the neighbours see me driven home in my own car by a young man, a complete stranger.

But the sensation is divine. “What are you doing to me?” I moan, letting him bring me an inch closer. But I need to control myself. Once I get him home, I can sit on his face, just as he asked, and leak all over him. (Oh gosh, just listen to me!) For now, I have to postpone my own climax.

“Mark,” I say, “You make me so fucking horny. I’ll do anything you want me to, but right now I’m hungry for your cock.” Just a couple of weeks ago I would never have been so blunt and direct. Mark twists his head to look at me, his tongue coming away from my clit, but his fingers remaining. “Don’t you want that?” I go on. “You’ve been big and hard for ages, with no relief.”

“Yes,” Mark breathes. “You’re right there.” Then he winks at me. “I’m big and hard all day thinking about you.”

I smile and hand him the camera. He takes it with his free hand. I open the passenger door, hearing another car pass on the road. Only when I swing my legs round do his fingers leave my pussy.

Mark gets the message and opens the door on the driver’s side. He gets out and comes round to where I’m sitting, with my feet on the ground and my legs parted, eagerly waiting for him. He aims the camera at me and I smile, sliding my tongue across my lips. My eyes feast on the bulge in his trousers and I giggle. “If you’re big and hard all day thinking about me,” I say, “you must attract a lot of attention from other women.”

“No-one could possibly measure up to you, Catherine,” Mark says.

I like hearing that, but not for the first time, I wonder why exactly Mark is here with me rather than with women his own age. I want to ask, but I don’t want to spoil the moment. I reach out to unzip him. He stands there, looking very handsome in his work suit, aiming the camera at me. Thankfully he’s had the good sense to choose underwear with an opening in the front this time, making it relatively easy for me to bring his stiff cock out into the open.

“Such a big, handsome cock,” I murmur, folding my fingers round it. I look up at Mark and smile. I have no inhibitions anymore. Not with him. “Let me be your horny cocksucker, Mark. Anytime, anywhere. I’ll suck your cock whenever you want me to.”

Mark looks genuinely startled, but am I not officially a scarlet woman with no inhibitions? Then I must behave like one. I waste no more time. I part my lips and slide them down over that thick cock. Mark breathes in sharply. “Catherine, you’re amazing!”

I can’t get enough of him telling me that. I slurp and hum, not to put on a show, but because I genuinely adore the way his cock feels and tastes in my mouth. I love the way it’s so big, because I’m excited by size.

Yesterday, when I took Mark in my mouth for the first time, he ejaculated almost at once. Mercifully, his days of spontaneous ejaculation seem to be over. My mouth acclimatises and I go deeper and deeper. A car speeds past on the road. Neither of us seems to care. Mark moves the camera round, no doubt finding a better angle from which to film this illicit act of fellatio. I can’t wait to see it!

He deserves more, my illicit lover. I use both hands to undo the top button of my dress. To my delight, Mark takes the opportunity to move his cock between my lips of his own accord. I like it that he’s learning to take control. I hum some more with his cock stretching my mouth, undoing more buttons. Mark angles the camera as cleavage appears, no doubt wanting to get both my oral performance and my breasts in the frame. I keep going, until I’ve opened my dress up enough to be able to cup my breasts, which are held tightly by transparent, black lace.

“Oh fuck!” Mark gasps.

I blink, looking up at him. His eyes tell the story. The sight of my breasts and my swollen nipples under gauzy black, with my lips wrapped round him after everything else that’s happened has finally brought him to the edge.

I grab his cock and push the swollen bulb into my cleavage. “Cum for me, Mark,” I breathe, squeezing hard. “Cum for me!”

I love the little sound my lover gives when he cums, like a little sob. His cock twitches in my hand. Hot, sticky seed billows out between my fully-fleshed knockers. When he’s finished, I wipe his cock off on my bra, feeling a delicious thrill as it slides across my nipple. Two cars pass on the road in quick succession while this is going on.

Mark fishes in his pocket. He’s bringing out a handkerchief for me, then looks at me in astonishment as I begin to button up my dress. “Don’t you want to clean yourself off?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “I feel so dirty. I like feeling dirty with you, Mark. And I’ll feel even dirtier with your sperm between my breasts.”

Mark looks slightly shocked. I like it that he looks shocked, that I have the power to surprise him. He’s still inexperienced, of course. Gradually he’ll become accustomed to things, and then I’ll have to go further to shock him. Can I? Do I want to? Do I have it in me? Only time will tell. Right now it feels as if I’d go to any lengths to keep his interest up.

On the drive home, Mark keeps his hand on my thigh. I love it that he does. Even though he’s just cum, he’s still as horny for me as ever.

He’s also as polite as ever. “Should I put the kettle on?” he asks, once we’re in the house.

“Thank you, Mark. That would be lovely,” I say. “I’ll be in the living room.”

He nods. I remove my dress, but leave the underwear on. Mark’s sperm is congealing between my breasts, and it feels as if I’m branded by it. I transfer today’s videos from the camcorder to my laptop, standing the machine on the table in front of the settee. Mark comes through with two mugs on a tray. “Milk, no sugar, right?” I love it that he’s noticed.

I also love the way he looks at me, as if he can’t get enough of my body, which is no doubt the case. “Why don’t you get some of those clothes off?” I say. “And sit down beside me.”

Mark grins. He’s not so insecure any longer. In one way that’s a pity, but insecurity can’t last, and increasing confidence will bring other benefits. He strips down to his boxers and sits next to me, one hand on my thigh. It’s almost dark outside. We sit sipping our tea and watching the videos from this evening.

Seeing myself on the bench, my face contorting as the dildo rotates and vibrates, concealed by my dress, I’m slightly shocked to think that I dared. John will love it, no doubt about it. He was rapturous about the video where I sat on the sybian he bought me, fully clothed, and I’m sure this risky outdoors video will elicit the same response. It will feed into this idea he has of maybe letting other men see me. This is why he bought the camcorder, after all.

I’m also relieved that the video is as good as it is, because it shows that I haven’t lost my touch. There’s a terrible irony in all of this. The videos I began making in the hope that it would prevent John straying when he’s abroad, have been instrumental in me now cheating on my husband. I had a vague idea of him seeking solace with some floozy he picked up in a bar, or worse, paid for in some establishment. And now look at me! What have I become? A wanton hussy with a young lover by my side, barely able to contain myself.

I reach out. My hand encounters Mark’s erect cock, for the moment contained within his boxers. He’s raring to go again. I give a little squeeze, and he squeezes my thigh in return.

But here’s the dirtiest little secret of all. These videos I make for John, they’re starting to feel like a distraction, like something I have to do, but which I can’t wait to get out of the way so I can get down to what I really want, which is to have Mark.

I can’t stop doing them. John would wonder why, and I don’t want to arouse his suspicions. But I’m afraid that my performances will become perfunctory, and that that in turn might make John start to wonder.

Oh dear, this isn’t coming out right. I do love performing for John. I love the responses I get, the way it always keeps him hungry for my body when he comes home. But with Mark there… I need Mark there to get me really worked up, but when he’s there all I want is him.

I don’t know if this makes any sense to you at all. I feel terribly conflicted. I’ve found out that I’m the kind of woman I could never imagine myself being. Every new step is a step into uncharted territory. Every moment I’m with my young lover awakens desires I never knew I had. We sit side by side, watching as I climax on the screen, the car that appeared not even visible behind my own. Perhaps the people in it didn’t see anything after all, which is a relief. It doesn’t matter either way; John will love what he sees.

I’m glad the clip is as good as it is, not in the least bit perfunctory. I’ve pulled it off. I feel almost proud of myself. But how can I feel proud of myself when next I see myself, a married woman, with my young lover, who happens to be sitting next to me? We watch together as he fingers and tongues me, as I take his cock in my mouth and his seed between my breasts; seed which is still there, clinging to me in its congealed state.

“Wow!” Mark says when it’s over. We haven’t spoken for as long as the clips have played. They weren’t entirely successful either – too unfocused where we were too turned on to concentrate on the camera. But I know what he means.

“I wish I had a copy,” Mark says.

I like it that he leaves it at that; that he doesn’t ask or pressure or cajole. At the same time, I know that I shouldn’t let him have his own copy. Sending videos to my husband is one thing, but Mark is still an unknown quantity. Can I trust him? He seemed very concerned about discretion in connection with the photo I sent to his phone.

I smile at him. “Let me think about that while I sit on your face,” I tell him.

His eyes brighten. “How do you want me?”

“Get down on the floor and tilt your head back on the sofa.”

I don’t know how comfortable that will be for Mark, or even if it’s the most efficient position, but it’s what I think of on the spur of the moment. As Mark slides off the settee and tilts his head back onto the upholstery, I get the camcorder and tripod positioned. I feel an urgent need for everything to be documented, every little sordid action.

After watching the earlier clips and having Mark’s hand on my thigh, I’m as wet as I’ve ever been. I kneel on the settee and lower myself, feeling the young man’s tongue on my labia. It eases its way in between my folds. I make sure to hover just above his face, not wanting to smother him. His tongue wriggles about, not quite lapping at my clit, nor yet touching my hole, but slithering between my pussy lips. It’s a delicious feeling, and I know it can only get better. “Oh Mark,” I breathe. “You make me so horny! Stick your tongue inside me! Feel how wet you make me!”

Suddenly Mark’s hands are inside my knickers, grabbing at my buttocks, shoving me down on his face. His ardour is irresistible, even if it takes a moment for his tongue to finally end up where I’ve asked him to put it. I feel myself begin to leak.

And because he’s so irresistible, I know that I’ll let him have some clips. I want my lover to have them for the weeks when we can’t have each other. Maybe I’ll let him have this clip.

Feeling that I need to give him something more to watch, I balance precariously as I pull the bra straps from my shoulders, and the bra down a bit. Then I bend forwards, steadying myself with my hands against the back of the settee, making sure my breasts – with Mark’s dried spunk between them – jiggle underneath me as I grind down on Mark’s face.

“I love having your tongue in my pussy,” I breathe, before moaning out loud.

Yes, I will let Mark have this clip, among others. In the weeks when I can’t have him, I want to know that he’s looking at me, lusting after me, wanking his steely rod.

A trickle works its way out of me, and I know it’s going all over Mark’s lips. Even now I blush at the thought of Mark watching and wanking when I’m not there. I love the feel of him tonguing me, but I’m also turned on by the thought of being his little wank object when I’m not there. I’ve performed for my husband for a long time now, and then for Mark, and I’ve come to love showing myself off, imagining men masturbating frantically as they watch me.

Men? So far it’s only been John and Mark, and possibly one or two colleagues of John’s. But it could be more, couldn’t it? John’s keen. Maybe I might… “Aaaaaaah!” I gasp. Mark’s fingers are digging into my buttocks. He forces me down, and I grind down, twisting my body, making my knockers knock against each other. There’s a constant flow between my thighs.

“That’s so good!” I gasp. “I’m so turned on, Mark. I’ll cum on your face if you want me to. Just lick my clit and I’ll cum in no time!”

His tongue darts to the point in question. “Ooooh! Aaaaah!” I moan. There’s no way I can share this clip with anyone but Mark, but what if I could? I get a bizarre image in my head of an office, a presentation, but instead of a boring powerpoint presentation being projected, I’m up there on the wall, just as I am now, sitting on Mark’s face, grinding down, his hands on my bum, my stiff-nippled knockers swinging. A room full of men, watching and wanking.

“Oh shit!” I gasp. I honestly don’t know if it’s Mark’s tongue or the fantasy that tips me over the edge. The two combine. Fluid is gushing out of me. My body goes tense, then shakes. I’m screaming out loud. Mark’s tongue lashes at my clit as I imagine a room full of men, watching a huge projection of me on the wall, cumming just as I am now.

I roll off Mark and end up on my back, seeing him smile at me. In a daze I can see that his mouth and chin are soaked. What have I done?

“Catherine, you’re amazing,” Mark breathes. “How can you… squirt like that?”

I hardly know myself, so I giggle, “It’s all down to you, Mark.” He’s sitting there, his boxers stuck under his balls, stroking his big cock. “Your turn,” I breathe. “Cum for me, Mark. Cum all over me!”

A part of me still can’t quite understand how I can behave like this, that I want what I say when he gets up to stand over me. “Wank your cock, Mark! You make me feel so dirty! Cum for me, Mark! Cum all over my dirty body!”

The camera’s still running, and I can’t help but look at it. “Cum all over my dirty body! Cum for me, Mark!”

I turn my attention back to where my young lover’s hand is working frantically. He adjusts his position and grabs hold of one of my breasts. As he squeezes it and holds it tight, I gasp, “Cum for me! I want your cum all over me!”

“Yes, Catherine!” Mark gasps. “I’ll cum for you, Catherine!”

I love it that my young lover always sounds as if he’s sobbing when he cums. And I love it that however often he ejaculates, he seems to have an inexhaustible supply of creamy stuff. He cums hard, layering my upper body with ropes of cum. I lay there like a dirty hussy, revelling in the feel of the hot, sticky cream.

“Wow!” Mark says, staring at me as if I’m the only woman in the world for him. Perhaps I am.

No, that mustn’t be. It would only complicate matters unbearably. “Mark,” I say. “It’s time you left. I need some alone time.”

“I understand,” my lover says.

I lay there, massaging his sperm into my skin as I watch him get dressed. I miss him already, and he hasn’t even left yet, but it must be so. Even if, already, I can’t wait for tomorrow.

I get up to say goodbye properly, standing in front of him. “You didn’t get to fill me,” I say. “But we’ll make up for that tomorrow.”

Mark grins happily. “Just tell me when and where,” he says.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I say. “I’ll let you know.” Then I lean in to give him a peck on the cheek. “Goodbye, Mark.”

“Goodbye, amazing woman,” Mark says.

But I’m not an amazing woman. I’m a perfectly ordinary woman who has become a scarlet woman. I’m an ordinary woman who has somehow become a ravenous, adulterous sex maniac. I should be ashamed of myself, but I’m not.

I e-mail my husband. I tell him about my day and include some few snippets of local gossip. I attach the video from the look-out, and mention that a young man hovered at a distance, but that I don’t know if he understood what was going on. If the thought of other men watching me turns John on, he’ll like that. What I don’t tell him is that I have a more than passing acquaintance with the young man, and that as I write, his sperm is seeping into my pores.

Later, when I’ve calmed down sufficiently to think halfway rational thoughts, I realise that this is all utter madness. But I’m possessed by it. I haven’t told Mark that I’ll let him have the videos we’ve made. I could just say no. But I know I won’t. I’ll entreat him to guard them with his life, but I’ll let him have them.

And then, when John’s home, I’ll have the delicious thrill of knowing that my lover can watch me and wank over me at any time.

I’m blushing, but I don't know why, since I hardly have any inhibitions left to speak of.