My body quivers with excitement, and not only because I’m on my knees in the bedroom with my husband’s cock in my mouth. Not even because there’s someone else in the house. The God Botherer is waiting in the kitchen.

Perhaps I should explain. The God Botherer is what John calls his personal assistant in private, though to her face and publicly he calls her Ms. McLeod or, on rare occasions, Charlotte. I find her rather sweet. On the few occasions I’ve met her, she’s given me tips on how to take care of plants that would otherwise almost certainly have perished in their pots.

She’s come over because John is about to leave for Orlando, Florida for a week, and there are some things that need to be taken care of before he leaves. It happens sometimes, even though it is Sunday. She’s offered to drive John to the airport, which is why she’s waiting in the kitchen while he finishes packing and showers and, though she doesn’t know it, receives his customary send-off, which consists of his loving wife, me, servicing him with her mouth and swallowing everything he gives her.

I wonder what Charlotte would make of that as I work my lips up and down John’s cock. Presumably she approves of marital sex, but is she one of those women who thinks that anything other than the missionary position is irredeemably sinful? I don’t know.

I do know that this is the first time she’s ever offered to drive John to the airport. Had it been any other woman, that might have concerned me, but between her irreproachable morals and the fact that John doesn’t like her much, there seems little to worry about. It may seem odd that John has an assistant he doesn’t like, but he appreciates her efficiency, her attention to detail, her stoicism, her conscientiousness and her work ethic. Given all that, he says he can put up with the occasional moralistic outburst.

But it’s not the fact that the God Botherer is in the kitchen while my husband’s cock is buried deep in my mouth that causes me to quiver with such excitement. I mean, I adore giving John the pleasure of my mouth, really I do. I like it that I carry his taste around with me after he’s gone. But the real reason my body quivers with excitement, is that later this evening I will have a different cock in my mouth.

Oh dear, listen to me! Here I am, happy that there’s no danger of John having a secret affair with his personal assistant, while I’m all worked up with thoughts of my secret lover coming over, even as I feel John’s cock expand and he grunts for joy as his semen flows into my mouth.

I’m not going to try to justify myself. I’m well past that now. I know what I’m doing is wrong, but I can’t help myself. I leave John alone for him to shower and change into his travel clothes, joining the God Botherer in the kitchen. I stifle a giggle as I wonder if she can smell John’s ejaculate on my breath, and what she’d make of it if she knew what I’d just done. Instead we make polite small talk, about potted plants and other things, while all the while I can’t wait for her and John to leave…

Oh dear, that sounds really bad. I love my husband so very much, but these needs I’ve discovered, they just won’t go away. When John’s home, I focus entirely on him, but when he’s away, it gives me the opportunity to satisfy other needs; needs that I know John can’t satisfy for the simple reason that he is my husband.

I stand in the kitchen and watch as the car pulls away, waving as my husband waves back. Then I return to the bedroom, having retrieved my secret phone on the way, the one I use exclusively to communicate with my secret lover.

There’s a text message from him. Just the one, sent quite recently. “Just say the word and I’ll come.”

I smile, but resist the temptation to call him immediately. First I must prepare. I strip off my clothes, running my hands lightly up and down my body as I contemplate what I should wear for my secret lover. In the end I settle on white hold-ups and a white, transparent top that clings tightly to my body and conceals nothing. I put on a dress in a nice shade of sky blue that buttons down the front. I touch up my make-up, especially my lipstick. I still have the taste of my husband dancing on my tongue, and soon I will have the taste of my lover in my mouth too.

The thought makes me eager, and I hurry. I fetch the camcorder and place it on the tripod. The tripod I then stand so that it’s pointing diagonally at the bed. I choose three toys at random and place them on the foot of the bed. Then I take a scarf from a drawer and place it on the pillow. It’s a dark scarf. I wanted black, but in the end I settled for a very dark shade of blue.

All of this is very deliberate. I want to surprise my secret lover. I want to keep his interest up. And in the process, I keep discovering things about myself, about what excites me. I know now that I’m not the woman I once thought I was. When I married John I felt sure I was the kind of woman who was faithful unto death. I felt sure I was the kind of woman who would be happy with an about average frequency of about average love-making.

Yet here I am, a woman who just half an hour ago performed fellatio on her husband and swallowed his seed (and that I couldn’t have told you without blushing not so very long ago), and is already preparing to give herself to her young lover.

Preparations finished, I move to the living room, where I finally dial Mark’s number. He answers almost immediately.

“Hello, Catherine.”

Just the sound of his voice makes me go all gooey. “Good evening, Mark. Were you waiting for me to call?”

“On tenterhooks.”

“Good, because I want you right now.”

“I want you too.”

The thrill of hearing him say that only makes my desire for him grow. “How soon can you be here?”

“In about ten minutes.”

“Good. You can enter through the French windows. I’ll be waiting for you in the bedroom. And Mark…”

“Yes.”

“My body is entirely at your disposal. You want me, so come and take what you want. You can do anything you like.”

His breathing changes. I know my words have excited him. “I’ll be right over,” he says.

“I can’t wait.”

I remain in the living room. The taste of my husband is still there on my tongue, and very soon, hopefully, so too will be the taste of my young lover. This will be the first time my lover enters the bedroom, the first time I enjoy a man other than John in the marital bed. It’s naughty and wicked of me, the kind of thing a wanton hussy would do; the kind of wanton hussy I was brought up not to be.

But this is how it is now. This is what’s become of me. I’m now the kind of woman who revels in her own wickedness, who is hooked on the thrill of the illicit. I’m sure the God Botherer would have lots to say about that, if she knew.

I wait just inside the French windows. What I have planned is a little experiment of sorts, on different levels. On one level I want to see what Mark does when the initiative is entirely up to him. So far he’s been very nice and considerate, and though he’s shown flashes of assertiveness, for the most part he’s been content to let me call the shots. I like that he takes nothing for granted, but sometimes I wish he’d just take charge and take what he wants.

It takes him a little under ten minutes to arrive. He must have hurried. I like that. As soon as I see him sneak in through the back gate at the bottom of the garden, I make my way swiftly back to the bedroom. Today he’s dressed in his sweats, but it doesn’t matter. On the contrary, in a half-hearted way it makes him seem like an intruder, and I feel ashamed when that excites me.

In the bedroom I switch the camcorder to record and climb up on the bed. I tie the scarf tightly round my head, making it into a blindfold. I lay on my back with my head on the pillow and my legs together. The blindfold makes me feel vulnerable, but I’m hoping that it will also make me into a body that Mark feels he can use any way he likes. That might sound risky, but so far Mark’s given no indication of being the sort of man who’d go anywhere near too far. I feel vulnerable, but safe.

I lay there for longer than I’ve expected. Perhaps Mark has trouble finding the room. But then I sense his presence. Unable to see, it strikes me that the presence I feel could be anyone, and I find that disturbingly thrilling. To be sure, there are only two men in the world I want, my husband and my lover, but the thought that it could be a complete stranger in the room excites my pussy. (Gosh, I’m almost relieved that there are still things that can make me blush.) I would be delighted if my dress was unbuttoned, my legs spread, and I was penetrated instantly by whoever is in the room. (Gosh, now I really am blushing. How can I get so turned on by the thought of a complete stranger taking me like that?)

Fortunately, I can sense that it really is Mark in the room, even though he doesn’t speak. I like it that he doesn’t say anything, not this time. It’s odd, this chemistry between us, as if he can sense that I want him to remain silent. I sense movement. Then I feel movement. Mark’s on the bed. His hand is suddenly resting lightly on my stomach. I get the feeling he’s just enjoying looking at me, though I want nothing more than for him to unbutton my dress and have his wicked way with me.

As if he can read my thoughts, he does undo a button, right where his hand is. Then he works his way upwards, undoing button after button, but so agonisingly slowly it’s all I can do to restrain myself. I force my legs harder together and bite my lip to stop myself from begging him to fuck me right away.

Eventually he opens the top part of the dress up. Now he can see my breasts beneath the gauzy white fabric, see that I am very keen. My nipples are tense with desire, and they swell a little more as I feel Mark’s fingers trace the outline lightly. Then his mouth is there, sucking on a nipple through the gauzy fabric. When he shifts to suck on the other, I feel his saliva seeping into the fabric, cold and damp against my breast.

Then there’s a hand on my leg. Mark’s hand, pushing the dress before it, sliding up my thigh until he reaches stocking top. Beforehand I’ve resolved to do nothing, to just lay there and let him have his wicked way with me. But he’s still kissing and sucking on my breasts, and I’m too turned on to prevent my legs from parting a little. His hand moves back down, which is unbearable to me. I want it to rise, immediately, but instead Mark just strokes the inside of my thigh, the nylon, while his lips grasp at nipple and the patch of gauzy top moistens yet more with his saliva.

Please, Mark, I think to myself. Please, please, please touch my cunt. Please, please, please just take me and use me. This is something I would never have thought scant weeks ago. Now, as he slowly strokes my thigh, it’s all I can do to stop myself from screaming out loud for him to just take me and fuck me like a wild beast.

I force myself to remain absolutely still and silent. As he kisses and sucks on my breasts, his fingers undo the rest of the buttons in my dress. Once it’s open, he can see my naked mound, the one I started to keep immaculate because the women I envisaged John potentially straying with are all clean shaven down there. I still do, but now it excites me to do so because I can feel myself becoming the next best thing to such a woman myself. Mark slowly strokes my stomach. I try not to fidget, but I’m getting desperate. When his fingers slide down to my mound I have to bite my lip not to say something. He slides his fingers across my shaven area, and I want to scream at him to touch my pussy proper, where I’m leaking onto the bedclothes.

Then, miracle of miracles, his fingers do find their way down there. My legs part a little. A great ray of joy bursts inside me. At first his fingers move slowly, but then, perhaps because he discovers just how wet I am, he slides two fingers inside me as he sucks greedily on a nipple. I let out a long moan. I told him he could do anything he likes, and right now I’d gladly let him do absolutely anything.

With his fingers moving inside me, Mark begins to kiss his way down from my breasts, down the gauzy fabric to my stomach, to my mound. I squirm and moan with delight. My initial idea with the blindfold and letting him do exactly as he pleases was for him to become more assertive and less considerate, to make demands of me. But I’m not going to argue with the way his tongue eases down between my folds and begins teasing my clit. It’s my good fortune to have found a secret lover who seems to be addicted to the taste of pussy, and what woman would be silly enough to discourage that?

Mark’s fingers are resting just inside me, but his tongue is fully active, lapping at that most sensitive of spots. At the back of my throat a low whine begins, and just continues. “Ooo…” It’s taking all my self-control to stop myself now. As wonderful as his tongue feels, I’m desperate for him to take me. I keep on whining at the back of my throat, forcing myself to resist the temptation to tell him what to do. My body shifts. His tongue and fingers stimulate me more. “…ooo…” I whine, now on the verge of giving in and begging him to fuck me hard.

It’s as if he can read my mind. Suddenly he pulls away. I lay there, trembling with desire for him. I can’t see, but I can hear, and I understand that he’s finally removing his clothes. I wait, barely able to breathe.

Then suddenly he’s spreading my legs. He’s on top of me. His hands have my wrists in a firm grip, pinning my arms to the bed above my head. There’s violence in his ardour, but I’m not frightened. I feel sure of Mark, and his harshness excites me, being merely an expression of his lust. In any case, have I not been wishing he’d be more commanding, more willing to just take what he wants? Have I not told him that my body is entirely at his disposal?

I tremble inside. His mouth comes down on mine, his lips crushed against mine. What seems like a lifetime ago I told him that I’d only let my husband kiss me, but now my lips part to admit his hot breath into my mouth, at the exact same moment that my pussy yields to his spear of lust. As determined as I’ve been not to take any kind of initiative, my tongue enters his mouth. I still have the taste of my husband there, and wonder if Mark can tell.

If he does, he shows no sign, but the knowledge that my secret lover is fucking and kissing me while I still have the taste of my husband in my mouth drives my own sense of elation yet higher. Mark thrusts his hard cock into me as our mouths remain crushed together, tongues dancing. I’m moaning into his mouth as he grunts into mine. I’d be screaming at him to fuck me harder if he wasn’t already driving his cock into me with red-hot ferocity.

It lasts for all of two minutes, three at the most. Mark’s suddenly panting into my mouth. I can feel his cock expand before it starts twitching. I’m still moaning, my tongue whirling about in Mark’s mouth as his seed fills my pussy.

Then he collapses on top of me, the grip on my wrists relenting. I pull one arm free to ease the blindfold from my eyes. Pulling the other arm free I use both hands to ruffle his hair. “Mark, that was wonderful,” I breathe.

He blinks at me, just as I’m blinking at the sharp resumption of light. “I’m sorry I didn’t… you know… make you cum,” he whispers.

He’s so sweet, my secret lover. “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “We’ve plenty of time left. Anyway, what you did to me was so amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” Mark says.

We lay there for a short while, smiling at each other, but my mind’s already moving on. There’s something I want to try.

“Mark,” I say. “Would you set the camera up in the living room for me?”

“Of course.”

“Aim it at the sybian.”

“A show,” Mark says with a cheeky grin. “What happens after the show?”

He really is coming along. “Whatever you like,” I tell him.

Finally Mark gets off me, moving across to the camcorder. “It’s been on all this time?” he says.

“Of course. All recorded for you to watch at your leisure next week.”

“Great,” Mark says, taking the tripod and moving off.

I swing my legs round. I’m still slightly trembly, but that hardly matters at all. I look at the toys I’d laid out, that Mark didn’t feel the need to use. Well, it wasn’t as if he needed to. I pull out the drawer in the bedside table, bringing out a mask.

The mask is one of those masquerade style items. John bought it for me in mid-week. He once again brought up the idea of me being seen by other men, in his somewhat circuitous way. Though the idea excites me, I don’t want to appear too eager. Besides, the concerns I have about being recognized are real enough. That’s why John bought the mask, hoping that I would wear it while he filmed me, so that we could see if it made me anonymous enough.

I prevaricated, to conceal the thrill I feel whenever I consider this being seen by others. But unknown to John, the mask might just be the solution to my problem. The problem I’ve had with the fear that I’ll give myself away by stealing glances at my secret lover instead of the camera when I perform. With a bit of luck, my eyes won’t be quite so visible through the eyeholes in the mask.

So I pull on the mask, checking myself in the mirror. As I do so, some residual sperm drips onto the carpet. More cleaning for later. But the mask might just work. Tonight will be a test run. Because of the time difference, I don’t have to perform for John until tomorrow, so this performance will be just for Mark, for me to check if I can be seen looking at him. As a mask to cloak my true identity, I very much doubt that it will do the job. After all, it covers little more than a band across my eyes, only just coming down to the bridge of my nose.

Mark’s eyes widen when I enter the living room in the mask, the white, gauzy top and my white stockings. “What’s this, kinky lady?” he smiles.

My body responds instantly to his words. "Kinky lady." I like the way he says it. “It’s time for my performance,” I say. “But later, I want you to make me the slave of your desires.”

Where did that come from? Why did I say it? Isn’t it enough that I’m a slave to my own desires? But by now I’m hardly conscious of where I’m going with any of these games. It’s as if everything that happens is caused by some unseen force pushing me before it.

By the time I’ve set the camera to record and positioned myself on the sybian, Mark is rock hard again. He stands off to one side, behind the camera, which suits me just fine. Now I can really tell if my glances are visible behind the mask.

After everything Mark has done to me in the bedroom, my body is still in a state of heightened arousal. I sit on the sybian, turning the controls, letting it send me skywards. I sit there, the vibrations shooting up through me as I watch Mark wanking his stiff cock as he watches me. I utter pure filth, and these days I hardly blush at all as I do so. At the climax I stare straight at my secret lover, already barely able to wait for him to take me again.

“Gosh! That was heavenly!” I say as I turn the recording off.

“You were sensational,” Mark tells me, which pleases me no end.

“Well I’m a very kinky lady,” I smile, thinking that I’ve never actually said that about myself before. “Right now, though, I could really use a cup of tea.”

Mark takes the hint. “I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

The lad really is too polite for his own good. By rights, having seen what he’s just seen, and with his cock at full mast, he should have me on the floor by now, pinning me down as if I’m his to take. Oh gosh! Now I really am blushing.

Anyway, with Mark in the kitchen, I remove the mask and take the opportunity to have a peak at the video I’ve just recorded. As far as I can make out, the mask has worked as I’d hoped, but I’ll have to watch the whole thing on a larger screen to decide that for real.

In the kitchen we sit at the table, sipping tea. The situation is incongruous, with Mark stark naked and me still in my gauzy top and white stockings and nothing more. It soon becomes clear that small talk is difficult. I’m curious about Mark, but he doesn’t seem keen to divulge much. He tells me that he works for a large company, in the media department, but doesn’t tell me which company. On the other hand, I’m not keen to talk much about myself, or about John, so it works both ways.

Then it strikes me that this is all for the best. The less we know about one another, the less we have in common beyond our shameless trysts, the better. If our relationship is exclusively about sex, there’s less of a risk that it will become complicated by other feelings.

“So have you been enjoying the videos I let you have?” I ask finally.

This helps Mark to perk up. “I watch every night,” he says.

This is what I expected, but hearing him say it still gives me a thrill. Nine days ago I let him have all of that week’s videos, both the performances that are supposed to be exclusively for John, and the footage of my secret lover and I together. It’s a risk of course, but for reasons I can’t explain, I trust him.

“I like that,” I tell him. “I like knowing that you can see me, even when you can’t.”

He smiles but says nothing. I get the feeling he’s wondering how much I think of him when John’s home. Of course with John home, I have plenty of things to do and think about, and though Mark’s always there at the back of my mind, it’s never until John’s about to leave that the full desire for my secret lover comes over me. But do I have to tell the truth?

I don’t have to say anything at all, but we’ve been sitting here for 20 minutes, and since we only have one thing in common, it seems absurd to waste any more time. “You know, Mark. When my husband’s gone to sleep, I lie there next to him, touching myself, imagining you watching me.”

Mark looks at me as if he doesn’t quite believe this, which is wise of him. Out loud he says, “I like that.”

I moisten my lips with my tongue. Now that I’ve reached the point where it’s clear to me that we only have this in common, it makes everything so much easier. My imagination starts to wander. “Sometimes I imagine you sneaking into the bedroom while my husband’s asleep. I imagine your head underneath the bedclothes, between my thighs, licking my pussy while my husband snores gently.”

This is a complete fiction. When John’s home our own activities are enough to help me to fall asleep swiftly and soundly. I feel ashamed of myself for suggesting that John doesn’t have that satisfying effect on me, but seeing how Mark’s eyes widen somehow makes me forgive myself. I’ve got my secret lover where I want him, and now I most definitely want him.

I slide the chair back. Mark is staring at me intently. I flash him another smile, one that I know is pure seduction. The look in his eyes makes me quiver with lust. I slide off the chair, down onto the floor. I crawl underneath the table, and am delighted to see that our little exchange as made him erect. I crawl towards him. There’s a word I’m still ashamed to use. A c-word. My cheeks burn with shame as I contemplate it, but I used it with Mark ten days ago to great effect. And though I’m ashamed to use it, that’s mostly the woman I used to be telling me that’s no way for a lady to speak of herself. My new self is a shameless hussy, who uses dirty words all the time.

So I curl up on the floor just in front of Mark, where he can’t see me, but I can see his obvious arousal. “Do you want me to be your kinky cocksucker, Mark?”

Oh gosh, my cheeks are flaming. I’m still not quite able to use that word. But why not? After all, I stick my tongue out and flick it against the tip of Mark’s cock. I’m a scarlet woman, an adulteress. When there’s no reply from Mark, I say, “Tell me, Mark. Do you want me to be your kinky cocksucker?”

“Of course.” He sounds hoarse, suspended between desire and disbelief.

“Then tell me, Mark.” I slither my tongue briefly against his swollen cock. “Tell me you want me to be your kinky cocksucker.”

I wait. Mark’s voice returns, still a little uncertain, but saturated with lust. “Catherine, please be my kinky cocksucker!”

It comes like a jolt. The combination flashes into my head: Catherine Cocksucker. It’s like the most indecent stage name on Earth. It excites me, but I’m so very ashamed.

When there’s no response from me, Mark tries again. “Please, Catherine. Please be my kinky cocksucker.”

The lad’s so very polite, but this is no time to be polite. It’s time for him to take what he wants. I lash at his strong rod with my tongue before sticking my head out from under the table to wink at him. “Tasty,” I say licking my lips and pulling my head back under the table.

“Please be my kinky cocksucker, Catherine,” Mark says.

No, I’m determined. Enough with the politeness. I give him another flick of my tongue. “Tell me what you want, Mark.”

There’s a pause.

Then it comes. “I want you to suck my cock, kinky lady.”

I give a little giggle. That’s better. I lash out with my tongue. “Yes, Mark. I’m a very kinky lady. I’m your kinky cocksucker.” I’m still a little embarrassed, but the more I say it, the more my shame evaporates.

“Please,” Mark breathes. “Please suck my cock.”

He’s being polite again. “Of course I will, Mark. I’ll be your kinky cocksucker whenever you want. Just tell me to suck your cock and I’ll do it.”

I flick my tongue against his hard shaft again. Mark pauses. The tension is unbearable. Then his hands are under the table, in my hair. “Do it,” he says. “Suck my cock.”

Something in his voice tells me he’s battling his finer instincts, and I want his finer instincts to lose. I lash at him again. “What’s that, Mark? What do you want?”

There’s a very slight pause this time. “I want you to suck my cock.” He sounds at the end of his tether, which is right where I want him.

I give a little giggle. My face is red even before I say, “What’s that, Mark? You want kinky Catherine Cocksucker to suck your cock?”

This works a treat. My young lover has had enough. His strong hands pull my head towards him. I let my lips part. They brush against him before the angle is right. Strong hands push me down on the thick meat. This is what I want, for my young lover to be assertive, to take charge. I want his big cock to fill my mouth too, but more than anything I want him to take his pleasure without asking permission. Where I was once his wank object, I now want to provide pleasure in any way he wants.

“Oh, that’s so good,” Mark gasps, and this sends new ripples of excitement through me. “I love it when you suck my cock!”

I like hearing that too, but the truth is that I’m not actually sucking. Not really. The pressure on my head forces an awful lot of that thick organ into me. I love the feel of my lover’s considerable size in my mouth, but I’m reaching my limit. He’s so big in my mouth, which excites me, because I am the kind of woman who’s excited by size, but even I have my limits.

In his own excitement, Mark pushes up. It’s too much. No doubt alarmed by the sharp rasp at the back of my throat, Mark releases me. But I don’t want him to start apologising again. “That’s good, Mark!” I cough before he has time to get a word in. Finding my voice, I continue. “I’m your kinky cocksucker, your scarlet woman, your…” quickly I find the right word, “…strumpet.” Gosh, what am I saying? Thankfully, Mark is getting the message. There’s renewed pressure on my head again. “Is that what you want, Mark? Do you want me to suck your cock again? I’ll do anything you want, Mark.”

My secret lover says nothing, but his hands are answer enough. His cock fills my mouth again and this time I toy with one of my hands between my thighs as the taste of his thick meat sends me tumbling into a part of myself where only lust matters. Part of me wants to just sit there with his huge girth in my mouth until he explodes and I bring myself to a climax. There was a thing I did with him ten days ago, a thing I hardly ever do with John, but it felt so right. If he wants to, I’ll let him.

For now though, I’m coughing again as he once again goes too deep. I’m afraid he’ll apologise, but can’t quite get my vocal cords to work to interrupt him. This time, though, it doesn’t matter. Mark pushes his chair back to peer under the table. His eyes are ablaze with uninhibited lust for me. “I want to fuck you,” he says.

Now isn’t that what a woman wants to hear? At least if she’s a wanton hussy like myself. As I crawl out from under the table, the thought strikes me that this is the first time I’m not filming what’s going on. “The camera,” I breathe.

“Sod the camera,” Mark snorts. “I want to fuck you right now.”

Well now, this is a turn up for the book. I’m not going to argue with this new assertive Mark. Suddenly I’m bent over the kitchen table and Mark is driving his cock into me. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” I cry out. Mark stretches my pussy, juices trickle down the insides of my thighs as I sense how much of a frenzy he’s in.

He fucks me hard, his stiff cock filling me to the hilt, stretching me. From the way he’s banging into me, I get the feeling he’s just going to fuck me again until he cums. I don’t mind. I’d rather he was assertive like this than over-considerate of my needs. But just as I think he’s about to spurt, he gasps, “Turn around!”

I’ve wanted for him to tell me what he wants when he wants it for so long. He could say anything, and I’d do it. So I turn around. Mark pushes me back. It’s uncomfortable being bent back over the table, but when he digs his fingers into me, any sense of discomfit vanishes, evaporating on the altar of extreme arousal.

How many fingers does he have in there? Two, three, four? I don’t know and I don’t care. He’s working them inside me, and my pussy is a vast reservoir of sexual abandon. He bends over me, sucking hard on my swollen nipples through the gauze of the white top. His teeth bite into my soft flesh as if he wants to eat me up. When his thumb finds my clit, I’m lost. I’m crying out, and then I’m screaming and shaking.

My legs buckle under me. Mark allows me to sink to the floor, but only far enough for him to be able to push his cock against my lips. Hardly able to do anything myself, I let my lips part. Mark holds my head and works his cock in my mouth. He’s learning, because he works it fast without going to deep. He’s learning, because he just takes what he wants. He works his cock in my mouth, and then he gives that little sob and his sperm is billowing into my mouth.

Afterwards he looks a little sheepish, but he grins when I tell him, “That was superb! Just what I needed.”

“You’re amazing, kinky Catherine,” he tells me, which makes me go customarily gooey inside.

“So are you,” I tell him. “And tomorrow I want more of that.”

“Just tell me when.”

“I’ll let you know,” I say. “I may have something to do first, and I don’t know how long it will take.”

Mark doesn’t ask what, which is one of the things I like about him; he doesn’t pry. Instead he gets dressed and we kiss goodbye.

I make myself a cup of tea before transferring the evening’s videos to my laptop. The video I’m really interested in is the one where I’m sitting on the sybian, wearing the mask John bought me. There are two things I need to check.

The first I settle to my satisfaction. Though my eyes are visible behind the mask, it is very difficult to see where I’m looking. I could easily send this clip to John, even though I was looking at my young lover most of the time. This causes my conscience to jolt. Not so much from the act of cheating on John, as from the fact that I hardly even have any qualms about it anymore. What’s happening to me?

On the other hand, the second issue I need to resolve is very much related to John, to the question of my potentially being watched by other men. Does the mask preserve my anonymity?

I have no way of knowing. Watching the video doesn’t settle anything. I’m only too well aware of who I am. Even with the sound off, it seems as if it must be obvious to anyone watching who happened to know me that it’s me. But even if it isn’t, how can I get that corroboration without risking exposure? I have friends, but I’ve kept my dirty little secrets from them. I trust my friends, of course I do, but I’m also a realist. Secrets leak out, don’t they?

There’s only one place I feel I can go to find out if I am as easily identifiable as I think am, where the risk of exposure is minimal because no-one has the slightest interest in that, indeed whose business relies on some form of discretion.

I spend the rest of the evening thinking about this, and contemplate it in quiet moments at work the next day, but really I’ve already made my decision. After work, I drive to the sex shop I sometimes visit, the one where men are only allowed in accompanied by their partner. This is so peculiar that I almost can’t bring myself to ask. It’s not until the assistant I like, whose name tag identifies her as Sandra, comes up to me and asks if I need any assistance that I find it in myself to say, “Yes, I do. But it’s quite awkward. Delicate.”

My voice isn’t steady, and I know I’ve gone red. Sandra eyes me with a mix of amusement and facilitation. “Catering to specialist needs is what we do,” she says.

I know this is madness, but now that I’ve come this far, I persist. “There’s something I’d like to show you, if that’s alright with you.”

Sandra raises an eyebrow, but she’s obviously intrigued. “Jez!” she calls out. “Can you look after the till for a bit?”

A young woman with a heavily made up face and even more heavily inked arms looks across. “Sure!” she calls out.

We end up in Sandra’s office where I take the laptop out of my bag. Sandra tries to put me at my ease, but I’m too nervous for that to happen. I just call up yesterday’s clip of myself in the mask on the sybian and place the computer in front of Sandra, making sure to have turned the sound down first. This is embarrassing enough, without her hearing the torrent of obscenity I remember uttering.

I watch her from the other side of the desk. She looks amused, but there’s something else there too. A flash of intuition tells me that she swings both ways. “You’re obviously enjoying yourself,” she says, a crooked smile playing on her lips.

“Is it that obvious that it’s me?” I ask, feeling both relief and disappointment. If it is that obvious, then I know better than to pursue this madness, but somehow I don’t want to have to give up on the idea.

“Well,” Sandra says. “Since you’re sitting right in front of me and you’ve brought me the film, I don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to work it out.” She keeps her eyes on the screen as she speaks.

“Okay,” I say slowly, as my mind tries to work. “Do you think anyone would recognize me if that wasn’t the case?”

Sandra keeps her eye on the screen. “The thing is… I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Catherine.”

“The thing is, Catherine, that almost everyone looks vastly different in a sexual setting from their everyday one.”

“Are you sure?”

Sandra smiles, and now she looks at me. “You’ve come straight from work, right?”

I nod.

“And there you were probably very busy and efficient and respectable and professional, not to mention fully dressed. Very different from the way you are in the video here.”

Her eyes return to the video. I remain silent. No doubt she has a point, but how can I be sure?

Then Sandra picks up a pen and starts tapping it on the desk. “You know, Catherine,” she says. “This is so very good, we could use it as advertising.”

I hadn’t asked her for a review, but something stirs within. So far only my husband and Mark have complimented me on my performances. Sandra’s words send a special glow through my body. “Oh no,” I say. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“No?” Sandra smiles, tilting her head to one side. “May I ask, did you buy the sybian here?”

“No,” I say, feeling somewhat embarrassed. “My husband sent away for it.”

Sandra peers at the screen. “It looks like one we stock,” she says. “You don’t happen to know what make and model it is, do you?”

I can just about remember the make, but the model escapes me.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Sandra says, “since you’re not interested.”

But now she’s planted the idea in my mind, I can’t help but ask, “What do you mean by advertising exactly?”

Sandra leans back. I have no way of knowing if the video’s ended or not, but Sandra is looking at me now. “You’ve seen the screen out in the shop, right?”

“Yes.” It’s set on a large post in the middle of the shop floor, continuously advertising products sold in the shop.

Sandra smiles. “Do I have to say more? A video like this would be marvelous advertising. Anyone can see that’s genuine enjoyment. It’s much better than having a pro do it.”

“Oh gosh,” I say, “I don’t know.” But she’s feeding into all the dirty little secrets and fantasies I have in my head. Before I know it my head is being overruled. “I’d need a better disguise.”

Sandra smiles. “Oh we could help you with that,” she says. “We could send you to a make-up specialist…”

I think of Jez out in the shop and balk at the idea. As much as I’ve changed in the past few months, some things just aren’t me. “Perhaps that’s too…” I don’t know what to call it, and Sandra carries on.

“Well then, maybe something else. Let me show you a few things.”

This sounds good. I put the laptop back in my bag and follow Sandra out into the shop. She leads me to the fetish section. This feels very risqué, and though I’ve never considered myself that kind of woman either, a little tingle runs through me. I’ve occasionally glanced in, but never ventured further. It’s always seemed like another world, one full of sexual deviance. Though now I’ve become this other woman, I begin to wonder if this isn’t something I might explore. There’s certainly plenty of glossy, shiny clothing which John, given his underwear and clothing fetish, might enjoy. Why haven’t I thought of that before? I’m sure the women I imagine John straying with routinely wear things like this.

On the other hand there are more forbidding items, like chains and metal bars and pumps and wicked looking things I have no idea what they are, even a gas mask with a price tag as obscene as it's presence here. “Do people really…?” I say, pointing.

“Whatever turns you on, right?” Sandra smiles.

She shows me a hood. It’s made of leather, and is designed to cover the entire head, with just holes for eyes, nostrils and mouth. “Oh gosh,” I say. “It just feels so…”

“Kinky?”

The word hits the spot. Isn’t that what Mark calls me? Kinky lady. “Different. I’ve never contemplated anything like this before.”

Sandra flashes me another of her smiles. “Remember,” she says. “None of the people you’re used to dealing with on a day to day basis, will have seen you naked or just in lingerie, except your husband.”

And my secret lover, I think to myself. I almost giggle as I feel a hot flush come over me.

“When you’re wearing the hood, you’ll be unrecognizable. I guarantee it.”

I prevaricate. “Oh gosh. This is all so…”

“We have latex hoods too, if you’d prefer.” These materials still feel alien and forbidding. When I say nothing, Sandra continues, “We have a beginners’ version in lycra. Our more hardcore customers aren’t keen, but it has the advantage that it can be machine washed.”

“Yes!” I exclaim, before I’ve had time to think. “Lycra! That sounds good!”

“Would you like to try one on before you commit?”

I try one on before I commit. Standing in front of a mirror, I don’t readily recognize myself, even though I’m still in my work clothes. I know, even as I stand there, that once I’ve bought this hood, there’ll be no turning back. But there’s no turning back as it is. One step leads to another, and another, and another, until… Until where? Where does it all end?

“Can I interest you in anything else?” Sandra asks.

“Another day,” I say. I need time to think.

Once out of the shop and back in my car, I’m free to release all my pent up arousal. I can’t wait to get home and drive too fast. As soon as I’m in the house, I place the camcorder on the tripod in front of the sybian. I’ve done this so many times, I know exactly which distance works the best. I choose the thickest of the phallic attachments, because size excites me, and I’m so very excited.

I go to the bedroom and phone Mark. The sound of his voice goes straight to my pussy. “How soon can you be here?” I ask.

“Ten minutes, tops.”

That means eight minutes. “Enter through the French windows, strip off and wait for me.”

The arrangement is familiar enough for him by now. “Whatever you say, kinky lady.” There’s a wicked grin in his voice which makes me go weak at the knees.

I strip off and rummage through my collection of lingerie. I decide to go with the navy blue cupless corset, crotchless panties and black hold-ups, with high heels. John adores me like that, and I know from experience that my secret lover can’t keep his eyes off me when I’m dressed like that. I’m about to touch up my make-up when I remember that I’ll be wearing the black hood. What does it matter? But my mouth will be visible, so I redden my lips.

I stand in front of the mirror. I look spectacular, though I do say so myself. The kind of woman anyone would expect to find in a sleazy establishment. Oh gosh, some thoughts do still have the power to make me blush. Like this, anyone who knew me would recognize me; friends, colleagues, anyone. But the minute I pull the hood on, right the way down so that it covers my entire head, except for the eyeholes, nostril holes and the hole where my painted mouth can be seen, I’m astonished by just how anonymous I become. I’m just a body, and the body could be anyone’s.

I’m slightly shocked at how excited this makes me feel. Sandra’s right. Who’s going to recognize me like this, as long as I don’t say anything?

I check the time. Mark will definitely have arrived by now. I feel a distinct tingle inside and make my move. I pause before entering the living room. I had thought to perform before attending to Mark, but now I’ve changed my mind. I want this to be special in so many ways. I get down all fours and crawl into the room.

Mark just stares, wide-eyed. “What’s this?” he says.

“Do you like it?” I ask, all teasing seduction as I crawl towards him.

“Very kinky,” Mark says, a smile lighting up his face. He’s got his hand on his already stiff cock, as if he’s been warming up for me.

I crawl right up to him, wondering how this can possibly be me. It’s one thing to crawl about on all fours in front of the camera for John, another to do it for my secret lover. But I am what I am; the woman I’ve now become. “Of course,” I say, settling in front of him. “I’m kinky, cocksucking Catherine, remember?”

He allows me to take over, to take his cock in one hand while I cup his balls with the other. I can no longer summon up any sense of shame. Here is my secret lover, and what I want he will give. I look up at him. It must be the hood that’s doing it, even though it doesn’t hide my eyes, it hides enough of me. “I’ve got a video to make,” I tell him. “But first I want you to give me all the spunk you’re keeping in those nice, heavy balls of yours.”

Mark just stares at me, but I know what I’m doing. My tongue comes out to take a taste of salty skin, first pouch, then shaft. The taste of him sets my juices on the move. I wriggle my tongue up his shaft. “You’re amazing,” Mark breathes, and when he does, I do what I love doing, I slide my lips over him, letting him fill my mouth with his thick meat.

Today I’m in complete control, and Mark lets me do as I please. What I want is to get completely worked up before I perform. I take as much of Mark’s delicious cock in my mouth as I can handle. To perform to my full potential, I must be the kind of woman John might stray with, a complete, uninhibited hussy. I slide my lips up and down and slurp greedily. I enjoy being a wanton hussy. I cradle Mark’s balls, imagining that I can feel his spunk moving around inside.

Juices are moving around inside me too. I rise. I take Mark’s hand and place it between my thighs. “Feel how wet I am,” I murmur. As a finger probes me, I look into his eyes from behind the mask. “I want you to fuck me,” I tell him.

Mark seems lost for words, but that doesn’t matter. I pull away, backing up until I can slump in the armchair. Mark follows as I spread my legs. He’s on top of me, right where I want him. His cock pushes into me, stretching me. My juices flow. I cease to be anything but a wanton hussy who is warming herself up for her special performance. “Fuck me, Mark!” I urge. “Fuck me as hard as you can!”

There’s a gleam in my young lover’s eye. He drives his thick cock back and forth, preparing me for the slightly thicker version on the sybian. He leans forward to suck on my achingly tight nipples as he continues to thrust. Every thrust is like an invitation for me to slide my hand down between my thighs and bring myself to a climax, but I resist, as I know I must.

How long I can resist is another matter. “Harder!” I urge. “Fuck me harder! Faster!” The sooner Mark climaxes, the sooner I get to perform, and thus climax myself, providing the camera with a real treat.

Mark ups the pace, but nothing is quick enough for me. I need to bring Mark to the boil quickly. “Harder!” I gasp. “I need you to fuck me as hard as you can and cum in my mouth. Kinky, cocksucking Catherine wants you to come in her mouth!”

I can tell from the look in Mark’s eye that this does the trick. “Fuck me hard!” I urge him again. “And when you’re ready to cum, my mouth will be wide open for you!”

“Oh shit!” Mark gasps.

I have him! “Cum in my wide open mouth!” I urge, and Mark is already out of my pussy and climbing onto the arms of the chair. I open my mouth wide. In next to no time cum is billowing out onto my tongue from the cock Mark deftly inserts in my mouth, through the hole in the hood. I allow myself to finger myself just a little, in preparation.

Mark clambers off the armchair, looking as if he’s about to get down between my legs and lick me, as he loves to do. I shake my head. “I’m going to sit on the sybian with the taste of your spunk in my mouth,” I tell him.

How have I learned to say such dirty things without shame?

“I won’t say a word,” Mark says. He knows exactly how these things are to be done and moves into position behind the camera.

I move to the camera and start the recording, speeding the few steps to the sybian. Only now do I realise that I’m almost out of lubrication, but what little that’s left in the tube will be enough when it’s combined with the result of my excitement from sucking and being fucked by Mark.

I squeeze out lube on the dildo before straddling the sybian and lowering myself on to the phallus. With my own lubrication and the oil and having been stretched out by Mark, I feel a nice thrill as the sybian dildo stretches me a little more. I reach out and turn the controls, just a little. I don’t want to go overboard too soon.

The thrill is immediate. I glance at Mark and see that he’s thrilled to be watching me, even though he’s only just cum. The taste of him is strong in my mouth, and that increases my excitement as vibrations ravish my clitoris and the thick dildo rotates inside me.

But the thing that excites me most is the fantasy I first had a week and a half ago when I was sitting on Mark’s face, of having footage of myself as I was at that moment projected onto the wall of a meeting room full of men, who sat there wanking as they watched me with my big swollen nipples and insatiable lust written on my face.

In the past week, with John next to me in bed, I’ve even had that fantasy in my dreams. Now I look at the camera and imagine that it’s transmitting to a meeting room like that, perhaps in Orlando, where John sits with his colleagues, who don’t know I’m his wife.

The fantasy is so dirty and so naughty that I can’t help but turn the speed of the machine up. That combined with the illicit thrill of my secret lover watching me makes the sensations coursing through my body even more intense. I see that Mark’s touching his cock, which apparently finds the sight of me irresistible. I think of myself, a huge image of myself, projected onto a wall, men sitting round a table with their stiff cocks out, wanking.

I’d only be their little wank object, but the thought excites me. I don’t know why I’m so turned on by the thought of being a body for men to wank over, but I am. It’s wrong, but it feels very right as I sit here. I moan out loud thinking of those men, those cocks.

Then I think of the shop, the TV screen, what Sandra said to me. The fantasy could become real. Not in the way I’m imagining it exactly, but certainly people watching me. Men wouldn’t be standing round wanking, but people would see me, might stop a while and watch me, as I am now, moaning and groaning on the sybian. They’d see my big knockers just above the sexy corset, with big, swollen nipples. The crotchless panties prevent them from seeing my immaculately shaven mound, but the stockings and heels should round of the outfit nicely. Best of all, they can’t see my face properly, but they can see the rest of me as I grind down on the sybian, feeling the dildo rotate and fill me right up.

More than anything, they’d be able to see my obvious enjoyment as I turn the speed up a little more, both clit pad and dildo. Enjoyment? No, enjoyment doesn’t begin to describe the sexual abandon that seizes hold of me as I moan and groan inarticulately and uncontrollably. I glance at my secret lover, now back to full erection as he watches and wanks. But others could watch too, if I was prepared to take that step. And one step always leads to another.

It’s as if electric current from the sybian is running through my veins. I turn it up some more and my body reacts instantly. I have no control of my movements or the sounds I’m making. I’m just a huge, tense ball of sexual dynamite waiting to explode.

And I do. Explode. My mouth is wide open and I’m screaming. I see Mark wanking, but in my fevered imagination I see other men next to him, all of them wanking their stiff cocks as I gush all over the machine.

Any sensible person would of course let the fantasy be a fantasy, but my body has long since taken control of my head. I think about things for a couple of days, which means I pretend to think about them, knowing full well that I’ve already made up my mind. I’ve sent John the video I recorded on the Sunday, in the mask he bought me. The video of myself in the black lycra hood has another destination.

It’s a leap into the dark, but at least this is something I won’t have to keep from John. On the contrary, given his more than obvious hints, I’m sure he’ll be overjoyed when he finds out.