The Bungalow

Please do not expect a sequel to any of my stories. They are just moments in time; a few days, weeks, months or years in the lives of my protagonists.

As you read this narrative remember, it is just a story, just a figment of my imagination. None of the characters in this story are real. Could you imagine anything like the events in this story actually happening. If you think they have, let me know, though I doubt if I would ever believe you.

My thanks to Darker Binding for his time and suggestions as my editor.

* * * * *

Ten years ago, I inherited my parent’s bungalow. Joyce and I had been married for fifteen years when they were both killed when a big truck crashed into their car. After some discussion about selling or renting, we decided to rent the furnished bungalow on short-term leases. All we had to do was replace some of the older furniture, add some new pieces and decorate throughout.

I’m a professor of chemistry and manager of a large pharmaceutical laboratory. This pays me a high salary. Joyce hadn’t been working since our eldest was born. Her parents had died just before I knew her and she received a considerable inheritance from their estate. Rather than work, she became a full-time mum for our two children, Barbara and Robert.

Barbara, or Babs as she liked to be called, was now twenty-two and living with her new husband. Our son Robert, friends called him Bob, was twenty and in his first year at university studying chemical engineering.

For the past ten years, we had several tenants and earned a good income from the bungalow. It had been built in the sixties and was now part of a secluded enclave where each of the twelve properties was separated from the others by large gardens and the established trees, shrubs, and fences that surrounded them.

When I inherited the bungalow, we couldn’t find an agent we liked, so we did all the work ourselves. I carried out most of the mundane maintenance, only using professionals when necessary. Joyce looked after the paperwork and any cleaning and repairs needed to the inside whenever there was a change of tenancy.

Now both children had fled the nest, as they say, we were beginning to wonder what to do with ourselves. Joyce is starting to feel the need for something to fill her time. We even discussed selling the bungalow and spending the money on treating ourselves to something special.

I had always considered myself one very lucky guy. My kids had turned into responsible young people, my career had moved along perfectly, and I had a very satisfying marriage to a woman who was still quite beautiful and a wonderful lover.

One of the reasons why my marriage was so satisfying was the way Joyce and I enjoyed each other’s company. We were mates, as well as husband and wife. We had always been able to talk about anything. Both of us had enjoyed sex from the time we went to university. Almost from the day we met, Joyce had amazed me by just how much she enjoyed sex.

I remember when we were in a new video shop in town, looking for a film to hire when Joyce found they had a large selection of erotic films. Before I could stop her, she had rented three of them. We could only watch them late in the evening when the kids were sound asleep or on a sleepover. When D.V.Ds. came out we were able to watch them on my computer in the office, then in the bedroom on my laptop. That lead to us discovering porn and our sex life really got interesting.

This, I suppose, is when my story starts. It was Saturday and we were both at the bungalow. I was doing some garden work while Joyce was in the bungalow with our current tenant.

She had been a good tenant for nearly a year. A woman in her late thirties, divorced, screwed over by her absconding husband, attractive in many ways, not least her ready smile. Early on Joyce had told me to keep my dirty thoughts to myself. Well, her ready smile was accompanied by a very desirable body.

While I was mowing, weeding, trimming the bushes and making sure all the fences were intact, Joyce was indoors with Cheryl. When all my jobs were finished, I strolled into the kitchen to hear them both giggling. When I made myself known they both looked up with very conspiratorial expressions.

Joyce covered hers up immediately. ‘Are you done and ready to go home?’ she asked. Then she turned to Cheryl and they both started giggling again.

While we were driving home, the bungalow was about ten miles from our place, I asked Joyce what all the giggling was about.

‘If you’re a good boy I’ll tell you later this evening.’ That was all I got out of her.

That evening, desperate to know what had caused so much giggling, I used all my bedroom skills to show my wife just what a good boy I could be. I must have been a very good boy because after thee orgasms it took Joyce ten minutes to sort herself out.

Lying beside me, with her head on the pillow facing me she stared into my eyes. ‘Darling, you wanted to know why we were giggling, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I replied, knowing that any time Joyce prefaced a statement with darling, spelt trouble.

‘Well, you know that I have been thinking about finding something to do while you are at work. Well, I think I’ve found what I’d like to do, at least give it a try.

‘Yes, I know, we’ve talked about it several times.’

‘Well, this afternoon Cheryl was telling me what she does.’

‘Oh, yes,’ I was now fully alert.

‘I know you are going to be very surprised when I tell you,’ she grinned, then got a serious look. ‘She’s a working girl.’

‘She’s a whaaaat!! Oh my God.’ Now I was sitting up in shock. A working girl. I knew what being a working girl meant.

‘Cheryl’s a prostitute,’ I almost shouted. ‘She’s been working out of our bungalow.’ Now I was staring at my wife in disbelief. Slowly I recalled what my wife had just told me.

‘No, no, definitely not.’ I glared down at my recumbent wife. ‘You are definitely not going to be a prostitute. It’s illegal anyway,’ I added in protest.

Before I knew what was happening Joyce had her arms around me and was pulling me down into her ample bosom. ‘Hey, hey, big man, don’t you go off half-cocked. It’s quite legal for a woman to supply sexual services for money, provided she’s not doing it on the streets, in a public place, or in a brothel.

‘What about brothels? Doesn’t her living there make our bungalow a brothel?’

‘No.’

“Where did you get all this information?’

‘Cheryl showed me, on Wikipedia,’

‘Wikipedia, eh. Well, it must be true then.’

With a lot of sweet-talking, Joyce eventually quietened me down. Having my wife making love to me also helped my decision to leave any further discussion on the matter till later.

Sunday, we discussed it. If Joyce putting her case and me listening could be called, discussing it.

‘Can you tell me why you want to do it?’ was my opening gambit.

Her argument seemed to be that she wanted to try doing what Cheryl did, just to satisfy her sexual curiosity. Whatever that was?’

I put my argument against it. ‘You’ll be having sex with other men. Isn’t that cheating? What if you like it and want to continue?’ I could see my arguments were being dismissed, even as I said them. Then I thought about threatening her. Refusing to sleep with her. Divorcing her. Oh, God no, I loved her too much to do that, and she hadn’t done it yet, had she.

‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you, darling. It will just be sex and I won’t be cheating because you will know when I’m doing it. So we will have agreed about it, won’t we?’

I was still trying to comprehend this when Joyce continued. ‘Doing what Cheryl does will be so different from making love with you. It will give me a chance to find out if I can enjoy sex without any emotional commitment.’

This was such a preposterous argument. I knew how much my wife enjoyed sex. Hell, I’d had the benefit of how good she was for over twenty years. No, it wasn’t worth divorcing her and losing all that, just because she wanted to find out how it felt to be fucked like a prostitute.

Before I could say anything, she was off again. ‘All you have to do is think I’m working in an office.’ she told me

My reply just popped into my head. ‘Like an accountant, and you’re seeing clients all day.’ Perhaps I shouldn’t have suggested an accountant.

She made the connection quicker than I did. ‘Stan, I’m not doing it for the money,’ she told me. ‘We don’t need it. I certainly don’t need it. I’ll give it all to charity. Battered Wives or Retired Prostitutes,’ she suggested.

‘But you’ll still be having sex with other men, extramarital sex, sex without me,’ I protested again.

My protest was completely disregarded. ‘Well then, think of me working in a unisex beauty salon, giving massages, waxing. Use your imagination, darling.’

I had a vision of her lap dancing in some seedy sex club. ‘No, I’ll stick with the account’s office, very dull and boring,’ I said. But she will still be having sex with other men, the voice in my head told me.

We were sitting together on the settee, and Joyce wrapped her arms around me. ‘There is one thing I need to tell, darling.’

Without thinking, I asked her what that was.

She kissed me very nicely. ‘It won’t let it affect us, you know that, don’t you, darling?’

‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ I told her. Wouldn’t any man whose wife wanted to try out being a prostitute? ‘How can we know if it will affect us or not,’ I said. ‘But you’re only going to try it a couple of times?’

‘Of course, darling, and I won’t let it affect us, or our sex life.’

She really believes that, I thought to myself. What would happen if twice wasn’t enough, would I still be able to think she was only working in an office? I could manage a laboratory full of highly qualified chemists, carrying out complicated research, but after all these years, managing my wife, I realised, was another matter entirely.

Over dinner, on Monday I asked Joyce if she had changed her mind. All-day I had been thinking about our discussion and considering how it would affect our relationship if she went ahead with it.

‘There are things I need to discuss with Cheryl so, on Wednesday I’m meeting her at the bungalow.’

Her reply sort of answered my question. ‘What do you need to discuss with Cheryl?’

‘In particular, I want to ask her if I could use the bungalow.’

I hadn’t thought about that, I certainly wouldn’t allow her to use our house. ‘So, you’re going do it?’

‘Let’s talk about it on Wednesday,’ ended that conversation.

Over dinner, on Wednesday I asked Joyce what Cheryl had said about the bungalow.

‘Patience, big man,’ I was told.

We had cleared away the dinner and I had just poured Joyce a glass of wine and sat down with my whisky when Joyce came into the room. ‘What did you and Cheryl talk about?’ I asked.

Joyce plonked herself on my lap and before answering wrapped her arms around me and gave me one of her special kisses. ‘Well, darling, I can use the bungalow and Cheryl is going to introduce me to a couple of her regulars.’

The kiss resumed before I could say anything. It seemed my agreement to what Joyce wanted to do was, at least in her mind, a foregone conclusion. Eventually, I got a chance to have my say. ‘That’s good of her, but what if you don’t like them?’

‘I don’t have to like them, darling, just take their money and fuck them.’

She made it sound so mercenary. I almost liked it, but I knew there was more to their chat. ‘You said, take their money, are they going to pay you?’

‘Of course, darling, I wouldn’t be prostituting myself if I wasn’t paid.’

I could unravel a complex chemical formula, yet I was finding my wife’s reasoning totally baffling. ‘What else did you talk about?’

‘Well, I thought it would be nice to have her help me get started. You don’t mind, do you, darling.’

I was considering which one she meant, did I mind that Cheryl was going to help her, whatever that meant, or did I mind if she was fucked by Cheryl’s two regulars. My wife’s kiss, and then her insistence we had an early night, helped me decide to think about it tomorrow. As I fell into a contented sleep, I knew that my amazing wife had once again used her sexuality to overcome my concerns about her proposed spare-time occupation.

Monday, I had a quiet lunch in my office. I kept thinking that there must be other reasons why Joyce wanted to become a prostitute, other than our tenant being one.

Despite what Joyce had told me was her reason, I started to think she might have got this prostitute idea from the porn we watched. I didn’t think it had anything to with what she did on her own because like me it was mostly reading erotic stories.

No, it had something to do with what we watched together. Was it something she liked watching or something I liked watching? Neither of us was into hard porn, we liked videos that retained a bit of reality, like wife swapping, incest, and abduction. Abduction was my favourite, watching a nice little wife turned into the sex-obsessed mistress of a powerful man or the new Fatima for a wealthy sheikh.

The more I thought about it I remembered there were two videos we had watched twice recently. We watched all of them more than once but these two were very recent. One was where the wife was passed around among the neighbours, which seemed to get Joyce excited a bit more than usual. The other, where the husband got a big promotion if he allowed his wife to become the company whore. I said she would never agree. Joyce got it right when she told me she would do it.

Suddenly the thought struck me; did Joyce want to do this for me? My God, the silly bitch thought I wanted her to do what the company whore did. I know I kept on a bit about how surprised I was that she got into it so quickly. Then I remembered a comment Joyce made. ‘I think the husband wanted her to do it.’

No, wait, why was she so turned on watching the wife being passed around all the neighbours? That was the video she insisted we watched again. I’d read stories about wives suddenly regretting they hadn’t had sex with more men.

Had I found the reasons why Joyce wanted to be a prostitute?

When I got home on Monday evening Joyce had the meal ready and I was told to get upstairs and change before it got cold. She was quieter than usual but had a smile on her face all the time.

Eventually, I gave up and asked the obvious question. ‘What’s going on, Joyce?’

The smile disappeared for a moment. ‘You promise not to be mad at me?’

This needed a cautious answer. ‘That depends, Joyce.’ I thought that was a cautious enough reply.

‘Cheryl has arranged for me to meet one of her client’s tomorrow afternoon.’

I hadn’t expected that. ‘That’s a bit quick, isn’t it?’ I asked,

I could see Joyce trying to read my mind. ‘Well, yes and no.’

I interrupted. ‘Yes and no, what, Joyce?’

‘You haven’t said anything about me not doing it, have you, darling?’ The kiss I got was one of her best. ‘Would you mind if I met him? Chery told me he is in his forties, and very nice,’ she added, hastily.

Nice, well I suppose that is something, I thought. This would require a very considered answer. Did I really have any say in the matter? Could I impose restrictions? Did I want to know who he was? Did I want Joyce to tell me all about it afterwards? I couldn’t decide either way. I hoped Joyce’s comment, about the husband wanting his wife to do it, wasn’t influencing me.

‘Just for one hour. No longer,’ I told her, feeling I had imposed some authority.

By the time Joyce had finished with me, I was wondering if she had anything left for tomorrow.

Before I left for work, Joyce assured me she would only be with her ‘Gentleman’, as she called her first client, for one hour.

Fortunately, the laboratory was busy setting up a new experiment that needed my input and some serious concentration. This kept everyone busy, so my increasing unease went unnoticed. I hadn’t asked, and Joyce hadn’t told me when her Gentleman was coming, which did nothing to ease my worry.

I’d always had someone to talk to when things troubled me. If it was a domestic or children problem there was Joyce. At work, I had my team behind me. Now, I couldn’t think of anyone I’d want to talk to about my wife playing at being a prostitute; except perhaps Cheryl.

By four I hoped it was all over. Joyce had spent an hour with her first man outside our marriage and he should have left. Now I knew another man had fucked my wife. Was I any better than the guy who let his wife become the company whore? At least he gained a big promotion and a lot more money.

That evening Joyce seemed to be her usual self, while I was on tenterhooks, as I had been all afternoon. I was undecided if I should ask Joyce about her afternoon or wait until she told me.

Just as I was settling in front of the television she came and sat on my lap, put her arms around me, and gave me a very nice kiss. ‘You want to know, don’t you darling?’ she finally asked me.

After a moment of thought, I replied. ‘Yes and no.’

‘Well, make up your mind, big man, do you want to know or not?’

It was at that moment I decided. ‘No details, just tell me if it was good or bad.’

I got another kiss then a nibble on my ear. ‘Stan, that’s not fair. I’ve looked forward to telling you all about it since I got home,’ she whispered in my nibbled ear.

God, I loved this woman so much. ‘All right, but not the gory details.’

‘These aren’t any gory details. It was all quite business-like. He was very nice, a perfect gentleman. I gave him what he wanted and he thanked me very much. Even gave me a twenty-pound tip. God knows why he uses prostitutes; any woman would love to have him.’

‘Was the tip because you to let him stay all afternoon,’ I interrupted.

‘No,’ I got an icy stare. ‘I told him one hour, then he went to see Cheryl and I came home.’ I got a kiss. ‘Do you want me to tell you what we did?’

‘No, I don’t, maybe after the next one.’ I presumed there was going to be a second one?’

That evening, when we made love, I think both of us were trying to prove that the man she had been with that afternoon, no longer existed.

Wednesday evening Joyce told me she was meeting another of Cheryl’s regulars on Thursday afternoon.

‘I know it’s a bit quick after my first gentleman, but he wanted to change his appointment for later on Thursday and Cheryl was already booked. So she rang and asked if I’d see him. She told me he likes her to wear stockings and suspenders and lacy bra and panties. And a nice frock.’ She added before I could stop her.

I”d have to have a word with Cheryl. The idea of a client telling a prostitute what to wear did surprise me. ‘Are you going to dress like that for him?’

‘Cheryl told me that several of her clients told her what to wear.’

That wasn’t the answer I wanted. ‘Perhaps I should tell you what to wear before I fuck you. How about something in leather with lots of belts and buckles.’

I was given a punch on my arm and then a very nice kiss, but no answer to my question.

Thursday evening, I told Joyce I didn’t want to know anything about him or what they did. I know it frustrated her, but I just had this perverse idea that if I didn’t know what she did, I could retain the illusion I had concocted of Joyce working in an accountant’s office.

Friday evening Joyce seemed very pleased with herself when she sat on my lap. ‘I entertained another of Cheryl’s clients this afternoon.’

That both surprised and annoyed me. ‘There were only going to be two-man and now three men had fucked you.’ I protested. How many times had they fucked her I wondered? ‘Where did this other man come from.’ I know I sounded cross.

She interrupted before I’d finished. ‘I know, I’m sorry, darling. Cheryl rang and asked me if I could help her out, somehow she’d double-booked.’

‘She could have had both of them, doesn’t she do that sometimes.’

‘Perhaps they didn’t want to. She just asked me to help her out with one of them.’

‘So, without thinking about what you told me, you decided to go.’

‘Yes darling, I sorry, but there wasn’t time to phone you because I had to leave straight away to get to the bungalow in time.’

It all sounded totally preposterous and already I could see this prostitute thing was getting out of my control. I definitely needed to have a word with Cheryl. I also needed to reclaim my wife. Which Joyce was very agreeable with.

Several times over the weekend I thought about asking her what it had been like doing what Cheryl did, yet at the same time, I didn’t want to know any details. I knew Joyce wanted to tell me all about it, yet respected my wish to remain in ignorance. She also appeared to be the same woman as she had the week before. She didn’t feel any different. I was shown just as much affection, and our lovemaking was as amazing as it had always been. I just couldn’t get the thought out of my head that her body had been used by three other men.

Second week

Wednesday evening Joyce told me she had spent the afternoon at the bungalow with Cheryl.

I’d already warned myself this could happen. ‘What did you do?’ I asked. ‘Share some more of Cheryl’s clients.’

She seemed a little hesitant before replying. ‘No, she didn’t have clients, we just talked. I might join a website.’

‘A porn site.’ I corrected.

‘No, a website where members advertise themselves.’

‘Oh, I see, what happened with you only wanting two men? Sorry, three,’ I corrected myself.

‘It hasn’t affected us, has it darling, and it did give me something to do while you are at work. Surely you can let me continue, anyway, you think I’m working in an accountant’s office, don’t you?’

It was all too much to argue about after I’d had a very busy day at the laboratory. ‘Is that how Cheryl gets her clients?’ I asked.

‘Yes. She’s going to show me tomorrow.’

At the end of the week, I finally had to ask. I had again settled in front of the television when I asked Joyce to sit on my lap. It always amazed me how good she felt sitting there. There was just something about the way her buttocks settled into position.

‘Ok, Joyce, what’s happened with the website Chery showed you?’ My abruptness seemed to surprise her.

‘Oh, well, it’s good. You can say a lot about yourself and it’s very secure. Men can only contact you through the site.’

I interrupted her. ‘Have you joined it?’

‘Well, no, not yet. I wanted to tell you first. I put something on it but it’s not active yet, it has to be vetted by the moderator.’

I noticed she said, tell me, and not, ask me. ‘Joyce.’ I hadn’t meant to be quite so sharp. ‘How far are you going to go with this prostitute thing?’

I was given a tight hug and a long kiss before she answered. ‘It hasn’t affected us, has it, darling. I love you as much as I always have. We haven’t stopped making love, have we?’ Then she stopped and just looked at me. ‘I just want to find out what it’s like to have my own clients.’

‘Joyce, you can’t do that, you’re a married woman.’ I felt I’d lost this argument even before I started. ‘Alright, I didn’t stop you going to the bungalow a couple of times, isn’t that enough.’ I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. I’d been married to this wonderful, amazing woman for twenty-five years and here I was on the verge of being made a cuckold. No, not a cuckold, cuckolds were men who allowed themselves to be humiliated into participating in their wives’ debauchery.

Joyce’s voice broke into my thoughts. ‘Stan, you’re not listening to me.’

‘What, oh, sorry dear. What were you saying?’

‘Darling, you’ll be at work and so will I, just a husband and wife doing a nine to five job.’

Henpecked, that’s what I’ll be. A henpecked professor of chemistry. ‘Yes darling, we will both be working nine till five.’ I told her. Until I can’t tolerate it anymore, I told myself, and then I’ll be a divorced professor of chemistry. God help me, I just loved her so much.

By the end of the first month, my wife was going to the bungalow every afternoon. In my head, she was an accountant in an accountant’s office, and it seemed to be working for me. I had adamantly refused to discuss anything about what she did at the bungalow, which I knew annoyed her, and surprisingly, I found quite hard to do.

Second month

My wife might as well have been working in an accountant’s office because nothing about her has changed. The way she dresses, the way she behaves toward me in the evenings and at the weekend, all exactly the same.

The affection between us and the sex was just as often and just as wonderful.

Perhaps toward the end of the month, I was getting too confident. During our evening meal, I asked her what it was like. After a moment of staring at me, she replied.

‘It’s a lot more than I expected, darling. Cheryl told me it would be, but I can’t believe the men and the sex can be so different every time.’

I hesitated for a moment before finally asking the question that was most prominent in my mind. ‘How many clients have you had?’ I didn’t want to say, men.

‘I thought you would ask me, eighteen,’ she said.

I had no idea that so many men used prostitutes. I knew she only went to the bungalow after lunch and had to leave by four-thirty to get home before me, which meant she was only there between three to four hours. ‘Were they all for just an hour? Have any been more than once?’

Joyce’s answer was a long kiss. ‘Don’t you want to know what it was like being fucked by all those different men?’

‘Maybe, but answer my question first.’

‘Well, like Cheryl, I let most of them have a bit more than an hour and five paid for an extra hour.’

I thought about that for a moment. What had she done to make five men want to pay for another hour? She usually wears me out in less than an hour. ‘It seems like you will soon have some regulars.’ I suggested.

‘And.’ I saw her hesitation. ‘Two have already been twice and four of my gentlemen have already booked their next visit.’ She sounded so proud of herself. She must be doing something right to have re-bookings already.

‘No regrets then?’ I asked while hoping she might have some.

‘No, darling. No regrets. What about you? If you really want me to stop, you know I will.’

I didn’t ask her to stop, neither did I ask her to tell me anything about what she and her clients did together. I know that disappointed her. I would have told her to stop immediately if there had been any depreciation in our lovemaking. Instead, my already sexually dynamic wife was getting even better.

The idea that thinking my wife was working in that boring accountant’s office, was helping. In fact, it was helping much more than I expected. I even imagined all the dusty ledgers surrounding her and the candle burning on her desk slope. Perhaps I watched ‘A Christmas Carol,’ too many times.

It was the fourth week that Joyce had been spending her afternoons at the bungalow. Friday afternoon the laboratory was very quiet. All the experiments we were working on were progressing smoothly and my secretary had just brought me a cup of tea. Unexpectedly, I found myself thinking of my wife and if, at that moment, she was with a client. In my head, the dusty office had disappeared and there was an unknown man fucking her.

The image was so vivid I almost spilt my tea.

When I got home I was going to ask Joyce if she had anyone that afternoon. Instead, Cheryl was there. Before I thought about it I grabbed her and kissed her. Pent-up feelings, I don’t know. When she pulled away I just stared at her, confused by what I had done and why I had done it.

‘Where did that come from?’ she asked.

‘Where did you come from?’ I replied.

She turned toward the kitchen and I followed her, and we sat opposite each other. ‘Joyce asked me to be here when you got home from work.’ she said.

I was somewhat confused. ‘Where is Joyce?’ This was so unexpected. ‘She hasn’t phoned me. Where is she?’ I asked again

I could see Cheryl’s concern. ‘She had a late booking.’

‘A what?’ I demanded.

‘A late booking,’ Cheryl repeated. ‘Don’t worry, she is quite safe,’ she reached across the table and took hold of my hand. ‘He is one of our regulars, the second client she had. She will be home by seven,’ she added.

The vision I’d had in my office flashed into my mind. So many thoughts and questions and concerns filled my head.

Cheryl came around the table, sat beside me, and stroked my arm. ‘Don’t worry about your wife, she’s just working late, the books didn’t tally.’ She told me.

Yes, just another day at the office. It appeared Joyce had told Cheryl how I handled it. Then an unexpected thought crossed my mind. I don’t know where the question came from. It was suddenly very important, but I wasn’t quite sure how to ask. ‘Do you ever see a client at the same time?’

It took Cheryl a few seconds to answer. ‘We have some clients who pay for both of us.’

It took me a few seconds to get my head around the idea of Cheryl and Joyce working together, both being fucked by the same guy. As I looked at her I even wondered what it would be like to fuck Cheryl. ‘What’s it like, you and Joyce with the same man?’ I eventually asked.

‘Wouldn’t you rather ask Joyce what it’s like when we’re with the same man?’

‘She hasn’t mentioned anything about you working together. So perhaps she doesn’t want me to know.’

‘Perhaps it’s because you have never asked her anything about her clients and what she does with them.’

‘Does she enjoy it, being fucked by all those different men?’

‘Perhaps it’s time you asked her. I know she wants to tell you.’

When Cheryl left there was still fifteen minutes before Joyce was due, and I kept thinking about what Cheryl had told me. If the guy she was with now was one of her regulars, how often had he visited her? Cheryl said he was one of their regulars so was he one of the men who booked time with both of them.

It really was time I started asking some questions.

Up until now, Joyce was always home before me so I didn’t have to think about anything other than she had just been at the dusty old accountants all day. As she came in the door, it was right in my face. My wife had just come home from fucking another guy for the last two hours or more. Funny though, she didn’t look any different.

Almost before the door closed behind her I grabbed her hand, dragged her into the living room, and sat her on my lap. Immediately I knew there was something different. She smelled different. It was a perfume she had never worn before. Was this something else the guy had paid her to do or had she bought it for him?’

Suddenly I didn’t want her sitting on my lap. “I think you should take a shower I told her.’

She got off my lap. ‘I was going to before you grabbed me.’

By the time she had showered, the takeaway Chinese I’d ordered had arrived and I had it set out on the kitchen table.

‘Now tell me about him?’ I told her, almost as soon as we were sitting opposite each other.

She looked at me for a moment, then sighed. ‘So, at last, you want me to tell you what it’s like to be with all these different men.’

I was surprised at the condescending way she answered me, almost as though it no longer mattered whether I asked her or not. ‘Eventually, right now I just want to know about the man who’s been fucking you tonight.’

I got a harsh look at my comment. She told me he was sixty-two and very wealthy. ‘His wife died two years ago and he wasn’t going to marry again but needed to have sex, so he pays for it.’ she told me. ‘He wanted me to wear a white dress with lace underwear and act as a loving wife. We were very intimate. He fucked me twice,’ she added.

I was shocked when she told me about them being intimate, more than that he’d fucked her twice. I thought only we were intimate. ‘Are you intimate with any others?’ I asked. What I really wanted to ask was, is he your lover?

“If that’s what they want.’ she replied with a smile. ‘You know how much I like to be intimate with you.’

Yes, I did. Now she was telling me that not only was she sucking and fucking other men but also sharing the same intimacy that we had. That meant she was kissing them as she kissed me. For some reason, I found that harder to accept than the sucking and fucking.

‘You bought the clothes for him?’

‘No, he gave me some extra money to buy them.’

‘Did he give you the perfume?’

Her reply shocked me. ‘No, I bought it for him.’

“Why?’

‘There was some money left over and he had told me it was his wife’s favourite.’

That made me wonder what else he had told her.’

While I was still thinking about everything she had already said, she was telling me how much she enjoyed how all the men were different. How all the fucking was different. ‘Surely you’ve noticed how some of the ways we fuck are different?’ she asked.

I had noticed and was surprised at the way Joyce said, ‘we fucked’, I thought we made love. ‘Do all your gentlemen give you money to buy clothes?’

‘Of course not, darling; I have to buy them. My gentlemen often tell me how they want me to dress, it’s usually what underwear they like so I’ve now got quite a nice wardrobe at the bungalow.’

I knew how much Joyce liked buying clothes but was surprised that so many of her gentlemen told her what to wear. ‘How much are you spending on clothes?’ I asked, wondering what else they asked her to do.

‘It’s fun dressing myself the way a total stranger has asked me to,’ she replied, without answering my question.

‘How many clients do you have after two months, Joyce?’

She reached across the table for my hands and held them tight. ‘If you mean my regular gentlemen, like this evening, I have nine. It was slow to start but this month I had seven new gentlemen, and three have made an appointment for next month.’ she sounded so proud of herself.

I had no idea there were so many men in our area with nothing to do during the afternoon except buy time with a prostitute. She must be making a fortune.

I had another question. ‘How old are they?’

‘Well, I think the youngest gentleman was twenty-nine and the oldest is seventy-two.’

I could understand a man of seventy-two using a prostitute but not a guy of twenty-nine. I wondered if he was as vigorous as I’d been at that age. Not for the first time, I was a little worried how all this fucking was affecting my wife.

That evening I took Joyce out to dinner. I just wanted us to be husband and wife again. I didn’t tell her what to wear, as always, she looked dazzling. It was almost like the last time we went to a restaurant. We talked about the latest telephone conversation we’d had with the children. We talked about the house and if there was anything we could do to improve it. We even discussed where we might move if we sold it for a smaller place. We never talked about the bungalow.

While we made love to each other that night, several times I had to get the thought of all the men who’d been fucking her, out of my head.

Third month

The third month started out very much like the second month that my wife has prostituted herself. I still didn’t ask her about who the men were and if she was seeing the same ones or what she did with them. I think it was as frustrating for her as it was for me, but I was still trying to keep up the illusion of Joyce working in an accountant’s office.

On the Friday of the second week, when Joyce sat on my lap and after wrapping her arms around me she gave me a very deep French kiss. We had always French kissed, but now my wife’s French kisses were much more sensual; all open mouth and deep tongue and sloppy.

‘I love you Stan, darling,’ she whispered in my ear. ‘Thank you for letting me continue seeing my Gentlemen. I think it’s made our sex life even better. Don’t you, darling?’

I thought for a moment. Had it made our sex life better. We seemed to fuck more than we made love. Recently I’d notices she wanted her nipples squeezes and sucked harder, she also wanted me to slap her ass more when we doggy fucked and it was definitely easier to fuck her ass.

‘You certainly like doing things differently,’ I replied.

‘I know, Darling, so would you mind if I went to the bungalow some mornings from next Monday?’

Her request was not unexpected. She had already hadn’t been home till seven three evenings in the last two months. ‘Do some of you regulars now want to come in the mornings?’ I asked.

‘You wouldn’t mind then, darling.’ The kiss was very French. ‘I’ve had to turn Gentlemen away.’ she said.

My agreement was rewarded by a very sensual display of my wife’s greatly improved seduction skills, which made me wonder how much she was learning from Cheryl. I just wish all the other men in her life didn’t keep imposing themselves in my head when I was fucking her. Just making love didn’t seem to happen as often anymore, whatever Joyce told me.

Our evenings hadn’t changed much, after our meal we settled in front of the television, usually with a glass of wine and a whisky for me, or we read our current book. Joyce no longer suggested we watch any of our D.V.D. collection, or watch some porn. I didn’t even want to watch porn on my own in the evenings when she was late coming home. During the weekends Joyce was busier with the jobs she used to do during the morning while I worked on the ‘to do’ list.

Fourth month

Three times already this month my wife had texted to tell me she would not be home till after seven. Each time I was asked to order a Chinese or Indian meal for eight. She had always been home by seven-thirty, in time for a drink before the order was delivered.

This was the fourth time Joyce had texted me. This time I was told she would not be home until ten and that Cheryl was bringing Chinese home for me.

To say I was concerned by this would be very much an understatement. I’d already expressed my feeling about her not coming home till after seven. That alone was making it difficult for me to continue the illusion of Jayce working in the accountant’s office, this text almost destroyed it.

When I got home I took my anger out on Cheryl and then spent the rest of the evening apologising. After we finished the meal Cheryl wanted to leave but I persuaded her to stay.

After giving Cheryl a glass of wine and I’d poured my whisky, we sat opposite each other. ‘Do you know what is happening to my wife,’ I asked her. It was not an easy question for me to ask because I was afraid of the answer. I just hoped she was honest with me.

She looked at me for a moment. ‘All she’s doing is fucking, that’s all we’re paid for. Some ask us to act or dress like a girlfriend or wife or some other fantasy person, but that’s all she’s doing. I’ve got several men who treat me like that, some even bring me gifts. I’ve got some of the things I like listed on my website.’

‘Do you work as late as this?

‘Of course, a lot of men can only come after work, or occasionally spend the time with us instead of going to the pub in the evening.’

I considered that for a moment. ‘Is she seeing more than one man tonight, is that why she’s not coming home till after ten?’

‘Yes, Stan, that’s probably why. I know the man who was with her earlier only ever stays for two hours.’

Two hours with the same man, what on earth could they be doing for two hours. The more answers I got the more questions I had.

‘How many of them stay for two hours? How many regulars does she have? Is she seeing the same men quite often?’ I just spewed my questions out.

Cheryl sat beside me and took my hand in hers. “Stan, calm down, you really need to discuss this with Joyce. I know she has about a dozen regulars who come two or three times a month. I also know some of her clients spent a couple of hours with her. It’s just the same for me, for any working girl.’

But she’s not a working girl, she’s my wife, the voice in my head told me. ‘Is that older man who lost his wife, one of them.

‘Yes, he comes every two weeks.’

I didn’t ask, but I did wonder how long he spent with her. Perhaps it’s the clients and not Joyce I should be more worried about.

‘Please Stan, talk to Joyce about it, before it’s too late.’ Cheryl told me.

Perhaps it was already too late, I thought. Then, for some irrational reason, I asked Cheryl to show me where to find my wife’s entry on her website.

After she had shown me, she added. ‘You don’t need to go to my website to book a couple of hours with me, you know,’ she giggled, but I knew she meant it. As she left I thanked her for being honest with me.

On my wife’s entry on her website, I was surprised just how much information there was about her, even her age and her shoe size. There were also six very revealing, very suggestive pictures. Any potential client would know exactly what he was paying for. The first picture showed my beautiful wife’s very voluptuous body, wearing the sexiest of underwear. Another picture, where she was laying naked on her side, displayed her lovely long legs and beautiful thighs. Another very suggestively displayed her ample butt as she peeked seductively over her shoulder at the camera.

What I didn’t expect was the description she gave about herself and how she would treat her client. Knowing my wife, I could confirm every word of it. She even mentioned an extensive wardrobe of dresses and underwear. At the end was a remark that another lady was also available for a threesome, should a client be interested.

Down the right-hand side was a list of the services she provided. French kissing, mutual masturbation, penetrative sex with protection, oral with swallowing, anal at an extra charge. Spanking, giving and receiving. Light bondage, giving and receiving. Roll playing. Toys, including vibrators, dildos and butt plugs.

All I thought Joyce was doing was some kissing, cuddling, and fucking.

After seeing her pictures and reading everything she said about herself and how she treated her clients and then seeing the list of services she offered, my attitude toward my wife changed dramatically.

When she came home, Joyce apologies for being so late. ‘I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,’ she told me. ‘I’m just a little tired so do you mind if I go straight to bed?’ I followed her fifteen minutes later and she was already asleep.

Joyce continued to be loving and caring toward me and our sex was nearly as frequent it had always been. Now I knew what she did while prostituting herself, it was just becoming increasingly difficult for me to make love to her. The lack of intimacy we used to have seemed to go unnoticed by my wife.

Fifth month

On Tuesday evening at the start of the month, Joyce told me she would be sleeping at the bungalow on Wednesday. I was very unhappy about it and expressed myself quite angrily. Then she told me her last client was not spending the night, but leaving so late it wasn’t worth her driving home and then returning for her appointment on Thursday morning.

Joyce just brushed my concern aside, not like it used to be when she would sit on my lap and kiss me fervently until I was re-assured. I was still unhappy about it when we went to bed. I did get a hug and a kiss good night with a comment that I would get over it.

The following week, when Joyce told me she was spending Tuesday at the bungalow with a client, I nearly lost it. ‘Joyce, you have gone too far this time. You are not spending the night with another man. This being a prostitute thing has got to stop.’

‘It’s not a thing, it’s what I enjoy doing,’ Joyce interrupted. She was shouting, but then so was I.

I tried to moderate my voice, we never had shouted at each other. ‘I know it’s what you do, Joyce. It’s just gone much further than you said it would. It was just going to be something you did during the day while I was at work. Then you started spending the evenings and now you’re spending all night at the bungalow.’

‘It’s only one or two night’s a month, surely you can do without me for that long.’

As always, I knew I wasn’t going to get far with my argument but I had to try. ‘It isn’t just about doing without you a couple of nights a month, Joyce. Oh God, how do I say it? ‘It’s knowing you are sleeping with another man, being intimate with him, letting him do God knows what to you all night. it’s just pushing my tolerance too far. You’re my wife, Joyce, can’t you see what you’re doing to us, darling?’

‘For one thing, he won’t be doing things to me all night,’ she argued. ‘We will both need to sleep sometime.’

I could see how determined she was. ‘You’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, why shouldn’t I. As I said, it’s only two or three times a month.’

That first night my wife spent at the bungalow, I hardly slept. Any illusion I had about the dusty accountant’s office had now been totally destroyed. It had been a bit dodgy ever since she started spending evenings at the bungalow. I have no idea who she was spending the night with. For too long I have been burying my head in the sands, as the proverb goes. I now know that I should have taken Cheryl’s advice, and talked to my wife a couple of months ago.

Once again divorce entered my head. I’d seen its effect on the husbands, and it was horrible. One of my best friends found out his wife had been having an on-off affair for nearly two years. He got drunk, had an accident and nearly killed someone. He lost everything. The other guy was a colleague in the laboratory. His wife was so blatant with her affair everyone thought she did it deliberately to get him to divorce her. When he refused she just went off somewhere with the guy. He’s still trying to find her. Whatever anyone might call me, divorce was still not an option for me.

When I arrived home on Wednesday, Joyce was waiting for me in a black dress I had never seen before, and in the highest heels I had ever seen her wearing. She already had a large whisky in her hand. “Drink up darling, I’ve got something to show you.’ I took the glass from her without being able to take my eyes off the dress. The bodice allowed the display of the wonderful cleavage created by her beautiful breasts. The hem revealed the glory of her bare legs to well above her knees. The dress had captivated my attention as much as the beautiful woman wearing it.

I still had the full glass in my hand when I heard her telling me. ‘Drink up, darling, there’s more for you to see than just my dress.’

The glass was very full; more whisky than I usually poured myself. And, I know I drank it all too fast. I heard Joyce call me, good boy, just before her arms encircled me and her tongue was tasting the whisky in my mouth. Through the whisky induced haze, I could smell my favourite perfume.

From somewhere a voice was telling me I was being seduced by a very beautiful and very skilled woman. Another voice was telling me to stop her before it was too late. I was telling myself I still loved her as I allowed my wife to lead me to our bedroom.

Every step of the stairs the little black dress revealed an enticing suggestion of the woman I was following. I was now being embraced onto the wonderful softness of her breasts, all that, combined with the heady aroma of her perfume, the afterglow of the hastily drunk whisky and the deep kiss achieved whatever objective she had for me.

Almost before I realised it, I was undressed and once again in the embrace of the little black dress. ‘Now my darling,’ a soft sensual voice whispered in my ear. ‘I told you I had something to show you.’

The little black dress moved away and moments later it very slowly slid off the body of my beautiful wife.

Once again, I was in her embrace. What man could resist such seduction? Greater men than me had lost fortunes, battles, empires, even their crowns to the seduction of a beautiful woman. All my intentions to admonish my wife about her night at the bungalow were forgotten, perhaps she might even be forgiven after everything the embrace and the kissing promised.

How I survived everything she did with me, I’ll never know. I had no idea how long it lasted nor for how long my exhausted body had been lying beside the woman who looked like my wife. What I did know was that the woman who had caused my sexual exhaustion was definitely not the same woman I had married and been living with for the past forty years.

I saw her smile and felt her lips gently kissing me ‘Darling, now that you know what I do when I’m spending the night with one of my gentlemen, you won’t have to worry about me anymore, will you?’

I tried to understand her logic and probably mumbled something because after a few more kisses and being hugged, I must have fallen asleep. When I woke the sun was shining through the window, there was a strong smell of coffee and my wife’s voice was telling me breakfast was nearly ready.

I was still too bemused by last night to talk about anything but mundane things over breakfast.

Before I left for the laboratory I got a big hug. ‘I love you, darling,’ Joyce whispered in my ear, after a very French kiss. ‘Now, don’t you go worrying anymore about me spending a night at the bungalow. We only have sex, just like I showed you last night.’

When my secretary brought my first cup of coffee I told her that I didn’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the morning. ‘Unless it’s an emergency,’ I added, as she closed my door.

Alone in the quietness and familiarity of my office, I slowly got my thought’s together. One thing was now obvious to me. Ever since I had known her, Joyce had somehow repressed a very high sex drive, to the level that I had been familiar with all our married life.

It was now obvious to me that as soon as she discussed what Cheryl did and then spent time with the first two men, she was unable to repress her extreme sexuality any longer. What I had experienced last night was a display of sexuality way beyond anything I had experienced in the whole of our marriage.

The question was, could I live with it?’

The following Monday evening Joyce told me she was going to stay at the bungalow Tuesday night and not to expect her home until Wednesday evening. Tuesday, I phoned Cheryl and she didn’t seem surprised at my call. ‘Cheryl, I’ll be on my own Tuesday evening, are you free to have a Chinese takeaway with me tonight?’ Cheryl was the only person I could think of who I could talk to about my wife. I needed to ask her if she agreed with my earlier conclusions.

After we had cleared up Cheryl settled herself beside me on the settee. ‘Stan, you seem to be increasingly unhappy about your wife spending nights at the bungalow?

There was no question in my mind that Cheryl understood my problem. She really was beautiful. Just a perfect package of womanhood, with a smashing personality. It was such a shame she was also a prostitute. ‘She won’t listen to my concerns, let alone talk to me about them. If we were married would you spend a night with a client, if I asked you not to?’

‘That’s hardly a fair question, Stan.’

‘I think she’s always had a repressed sexuality,’ I told her. ‘After you told her what you did and introduced her to those two men, she couldn’t deny it to herself any longer.’

Cheryl looked very indignantly at me. ‘You’re not blaming me, are you Stan?’

‘No, of course not Cheryl. I doubt that even Joyce would have foreseen the outcome.’

‘Stan,’ Cheryl had a very concerned look on her face. ‘I agree with you. Your wife does have a very high sex drive. The question is, can you live with it.’

‘Um, that is exactly the question I have been asking myself for days. I’ve got to try, she is my wife and I love the silly bitch so much.’ I told her.

I did sleep better than the first night Joyce spent in the bungalow. It was when I woke in the morning. That was the worst, knowing that while I slept another man had been fucking my wife.

When I arrived home Wednesday evening Joyce greeted me with a normal glass of whisky, a very nice kiss and a promise that dinner would be ready in thirty minutes. This time instead of the black dress, Joyce look very elegant in a light blue, knee-length skirt and yellow turtle neck jumper.

During the meal and as we were clearing everything away, I wondered if we would ever get back to being like this every evening when I came home.

When we had settled ourselves on the settee Joyce asked me if I was still all right about her sleeping at the bungalow. She was very loving and affectionate as I tried explaining to her how I felt when I woke up in the morning. She just didn’t seem able to accept any responsibility, which annoyed me.

Joyce slept at the bungalow three more times that month. I don’t know if it was the same man or three different men. Every time the morning was the worst time for me.

Friday, when my secretary brought my afternoon tea and biscuit she asked if she could sit with me for a few minutes. Barbara had been my secretary for over five years and this was the first time she had asked me.

‘Stan, for eight hours, five days a week, every month for five years I have worked with you. That is probably more time we have worked together than you have spent with your wife.’

Wondering where this was going, I nodded in acceptance of her statement.’

‘Therefore Stan, I think I can safely say that I know when you have something serious on your mind.’

I was starting to see where this was going and started to say something,

‘No, Stan, listen to me, please. I know it’s nothing to do with the laboratory or any of the staff so It must be to do with something personal.’

Before I could say anything, she continued.

“Have you talked to anyone about it? No, I thought not,’ she confirmed. ‘Talk to me Stan, it will just be between us, you know that.’ Then she looked at me with an expression of real concern. She was probably right, in the past five years I had spent more time with Barbara than I had with Joyce. Perhaps now was the right time to put my trust in her to the test.

‘Barbara, your quite right, there is something personal that is giving me a lot of concern. I just don’t know how you can help me if I tell you?’ A moment later I decided it was time to talk to someone and I couldn’t think of anyone better than Barbara. I just didn’t know where to start.

‘You know about my parent’s bungalow. Well five months ago Joyce found out our current tenant is a prostitute.’ I saw the look of shock on Barbara’s face and wondered how she would react when I told her the next bit. ‘When Joyce found out she persuaded me to let her do what our tenant does.’

Barbara gave a loud gasp. ‘Oh my God.’

‘It was only going to be with two of Cheryl’s regular clients,’ I hastily added. ‘Now Joyce is at the bungalow all day, some evenings and all night, three or four times a month.’

Barbara was looking at me in stunned silence.

I suddenly felt a great pain in my chest. ‘I love her so much, Barbara.’ All the pent-up pain and frustration brought tears to my eyes. ‘Why can’t I make her stop.’

Barbara became more than my secretary when, without criticism or reproach, she accepted the situation I had allowed my wife had put into. I knew I now had someone to talk to and share my anxieties.

Sixth month

During the first Monday evening, Joyce told me that a client wanted her to go away with him for four days the following week.

If I hadn’t had my talk with Barbara, I would have protested vehemently, now it was just another situation for me to tolerate. “How well do you know him,’ I asked, hoping I showed some concern for her safety.

‘He has already spent one night with me,’ she replied, then quickly continued before I could say anything. ‘He has to go to a business convention. I’ll be more like an escort for him.’ After a very long kiss, my wife asked me if I minded, but I wasn’t given time to answer. ‘It’s just Monday to Thursday. Then he will take me straight to the bungalow on Friday. I’ve already got a booking for the afternoon.’

Then she told me. ‘It’s costing him five thousand pounds.

I suppose I should have been proud that a man would pay my wife so much to spend four nights with him. It was obvious that she would be doing a lot more than just escorting him around a conference.

When Joyce came home on Tuesday the first thing she told me was that she had a bad mouth ulcer.

I immediately suspected she had something else. ‘Have you seen a doctor?’

For a moment she just looked at me. ‘Yes, and it’s not what you think. It’s just a bad ulcer. I’ve got to keep rinsing my mouth out, and no kissing,’ she added

I soon found out there was no cock sucking either.

For the rest of the week and the weekend, everything seemed normal. There were late evenings or nights at the bungalow. My days at work were normal. Joyce looked normal when I arrived home at my normal time. We enjoyed the evening meal together as normal. Our evenings together were perfectly normal. We went to bed at the normal time. And we fucked four times, despite the ban on kissing and fellatio.

Monday morning, I assumed she went to the bungalow after I left for work so whoever she was going away with could pick her up from there. Before I left for work Joyce had given me a very long hug, there were still no kisses but lots of assurances she still loves me. I wouldn’t see her again until Friday evening.

My secretary was now my conscience and knew what my wife was doing. She was also showing a lot of concern for me. There were more cups of tea and coffee, and biscuits were nicer. Twice during the week, I was tempted to phone Cheryl and ask for an appointment. Then decided that one prostitute in my life was enough.

When I got home on Friday evening Joyce was already waiting for me, in the same little black dress. There was no tumbler full of whisky this time though she did have a worried look as she approached me. “I missed you so much, darling, she said.’ Before I could answer or comment about how I missed her while she was away, I was being dragged upstairs and within no time I was naked. Then she was kissing me. It appeared the ulcer had healed.

Then I felt it, something on her tongue. I pulled away in surprise. ‘What’s that on your tongue?’ I asked.

She stuck her tongue out and there it was. A silver stud right in the middle of her tongue about an inch from the tip.

‘When did you get that?’ I demanded. She knew I had an aversion to piercings ever since our daughter had her nose pierced as a teenager.

‘Last week, that’s why I couldn’t let you kiss me, or suck your cock.’

‘There never was an ulcer.’

She shook her head. ‘It was the tongue piercing.’

I knew about tongue studs and how they were supposed to enhance fellatio but because of my aversion never thought about asking my wife to have one.

‘You lied to me because you know I don’t like body piercings? Why did you get it?’ I was angry.

‘I had to. Thomas told me to get it.’

‘Thomas,’ I shouted. Now I was furious. ‘This Thomas guy told you to have your tongue pierced.’ For a few seconds, I was speechless. ‘You had it pierced because he told you to?’ I was trying to keep my voice down. ‘I take it this Thomas guy is the man you’ve been with since Monday?’

My wife looked very worried. ‘He wanted it healed before we went away.’

Now I knew that sucking his cock was at least one of the things she had done for him. I just stared at her, wondering what else my wife had been lying to me about.

Before I knew what was happening Joyce was on her knees and my cock was in her mouth. Not just in her mouth, halfway down her throat. I tried to push her away but she just clung to my legs. It wasn’t long before I realized that my wife’s oral skills had been greatly enhanced by the stud, helped by the four days without any sex.