Penny's Promiscuity Ch. 12: Consequences

At six o'clock he still hadn't arrived; there must have been a misunderstanding. I had just picked up the phone to call Tony and see what the problem was when it beeped in my hand. I looked at the screen to find a very brief message.

'Something came up. Can't make it after all. Sorry.'

My heart sank; though fucking had always been unlikely, I had hoped at least to have had an hour's private, romantic conversation with Tony; maybe even a walk hand in hand along the riverside a few miles away where discovery was very unlikely. I had even imagined him sneaking into my home later and us making long, slow love in one of the kids' bedrooms.

This disappointment was hard to bear.

'Is something wrong?' I typed.

'Very tied up.'

'I'm free anytime tonight,' I replied, feeling increasingly desperate. 'Really need to see you. Really want you!'

'Can't. Sorry. Hannah's problems. Really sorry.'

'Little Pink Pussy will be disappointed,' I said, trying to elicit at least some sign of intimacy.

'Sorry,' came the reply. I felt humiliated.

'Okay let me know when you're free,' I said, feeling terrible.

'Will do.'

'I love you xx' I tried one last time.

'Got to go now. Bye.'

It was the last reply I got.

I slammed the phone down on the table. Three other customers turned to look at the source of the noise; I held the newspaper high to hide the tears that were forming in my eyes.

***

Abandoning my coffee, I drove home, got changed then went to the gym where I worked out as hard as I could, trying to take out my anger on the heavy metal weights. It distracted me for a while but when I arrived home again to a dark, empty house there seemed little point in cooking dinner for one. I ate cold chicken and salad, poured another glass of white wine and settled down at my laptop, still in my gym vest and tights, to try and finish the latest chapter in the cuckold series I was writing.

With all the distractions a lover brings, I had struggled to complete any work for months but that night, to my surprise and delight, I felt inspired. The words seemed to simply pour out of me, hot and passionate, my chest tight, my heart thumping, a low glow constantly in my lower belly as my bottom fidgeted on the padded seat of my chair.

Denied the orgasmic release it had been expecting, driven by anger and frustration, my aroused body craved all those things I had hoped and intended to be doing with my lover but could now only imagine. I tried to consign the stream of images and emotions to the page before me.

In my mind and on my screen, the main characters in my story seemed to burst into vivid, passionate life, their faces rapidly becoming those in my own real life. There had always been a strong element of myself in all my works but that night it became intense. I became the Hotwife I had created, I felt her desires, her needs. My frustrations became her wanton lusts.

Driven by this wave of erotic creativity, the orgasms I wrote for her were drawn from the very best my lover had given me. The face above hers as she came was Tony's; the semen that flooded her tight vagina a combination of my lover's and my husband's, their climaxes within her huge and enviable.

Time flew past; just before midnight I posted the new chapter on both my usual sites, feeling content with my work if not with my life. I leaned back in my chair, literally panting both with exhaustion and a powerful sexual frustration still far too intense to ignore.

In the past when writing had aroused me to this extent, I had forced myself on my husband's unsuspecting but always willing body. Orgasms at Pete' hands had still been rare even with this much of a kick-start but his deep penetrations and copious inseminations helped quench the fire within me.

Had I been with Tony and his short, thick cock had been thrust inside me, the breeding frenzy would unquestionably have struck and struck hard but as it was, I had only myself and a terrible, growing need for relief.

In an attempt to calm myself and with a tummy full of butterflies, I locked up the house, poured myself another glass of white wine and returned to shut down my computer. When I looked down, to my horror there was a large damp patch on the seat cushion on which I had been sitting. My black gym tights were damp too; I cursed myself for forgetting to put a towel down before writing but at least there was no one in the house to see the mark of my shame.

I turned off the lights and padded upstairs to the bedroom I shared with my husband - used to share I reminded myself - then went into the en-suite bathroom and began to fill the tub. I added a good dose of aromatic bath oil and lit the two candles that stood either side of the backrest, peeled off my sweaty top and embarrassingly smelly tights then threw them into the washing basket.

Given the size of my tiny boobs, the sports bra I wore was more for security than necessity but it and my socks joined the rest of my clothes in the basket before I tuned the bathroom radio into a smooth classical music channel and lowered myself into the hot, foamy water.

I breathed out heavily as the warmth began to work its way into my tired muscles and aching joints. It always felt good to have finished a story; I deserved the treat of a hot bath to help undo the stiffness the hours hunched over my laptop always produced.

Closing my eyes, I leaned back deep into the water, my knees rising as my shoulders slipped below the surface. The music was soothing, the wine having its desired effect as the powerful sexual images my story had induced passed through my mind over and over again.

My knees were above the water, resting against the sides of the bath as I washed my arms, shoulders, chest and sides, rubbing the rough surface of the flannel across my sensitised skin. It felt good. I washed my feet, ankles, calves, knees and thighs slowly and sensually as if a man's hands were stroking my body before gently soaping between my open thighs and washing the sticky juices from my shaven vulva.

The skin was still smooth; I ran the flannel over my mound, then along the creases at the top of my thighs. It felt good; tinglingly arousing in a way I hadn't felt in years. For a moment I remembered that Tony's hands should have been touching me that very night instead of my own; could have touched me every night for the next two weeks. His skill with his hands was first class, dextrously bringing me to orgasm many times over the past few months.

It would have been so good to feel his touch that night.

Picturing his strong hands running over my body, I ran the warm wet cloth down the inside of my thighs until its rough surface touched my outer lips again. I shivered; they were engorged, much more swollen than I had expected and much more sensitive.

An idea began to dawn on me; at first I dismissed it as shameful but it niggled and pestered until it I had no choice but to listen to its siren voice. The more I listened, the easier it became to ignore the shame and the better the idea seemed to be.

Before I had realised what I was doing, my fingers had strayed to my groin where they ran lightly over my puffy outer lips and along the edge of the deep slit which opened like a flower. I sighed and took another sip of wine as I stroked myself slowly and lingeringly beneath the water, a little firmer and a little faster as the shame fell away to be replaced with an unfamiliar boldness.

It had been so long since I had masturbated that I had nearly forgotten what to do. Fortunately old skills die hard and my body knew how to proceed even if my mind was only catching up.

For a long time I stroked up and down my slit, my fingers dipping momentarily into my vagina as they passed from its base to the fleshy hood at its tip. A warm glow began to make its presence felt in my lower belly. It grew stronger as I imagined my lover's fingertips replacing my own, preparing me for the penetration that inevitably would follow.

But Tony wasn't there; Pete wasn't there; any satisfaction I was to enjoy would have to come from my own hands.

I rose from the water, pulling a large bath towel around my body then padded through to the bedroom with the candles in my hands, leaving a trail of water droplets on the carpet behind me. The large double bed I had shared with my husband for so many years was beckoning me. I climbed onto the white sheet, placing the towel beneath my bottom as I had done so many times in my teens and lay back against the pile of pillows with my legs spread obscenely wide.

The room felt warm and familiar as my hands fell to my groin once again and resumed their inexpert attentions to my still gaping slit. The bath water had left me uncomfortably dry but a few minutes' stimulation restored my lubrication along with a the glow in my belly. I shivered, worked my hand harder and faster, dipping in and out of my deep passage before abandoning my dripping slit in favour of the hardening nub at its apex.

I slid a single finger underneath the fleshy hood to play with the sensitive core beneath. It felt so, so good!

I did it again, then again with even better results.

Then, for the first time in decades, I began to masturbate in earnest, rubbing my engorging clitoris with the fingertips of my right hand, first slowly then, as the increasingly intense pleasure began to wash over me, with greater speed and force.

I could hardly believe it; Penny the professional scientist; Penny the Senior Manager; Penny Barker with her international reputation for toughness was masturbating like a schoolgirl.

And it was working!

Spoiled by Tony's dextrous fingering and my husband's world class cunnilingual skills, I had expected self-stimulation to be a disappointment. But it was nothing of the sort! Memories of teenage evenings in the darkness of my bedroom flooded back as my arousal rose like a rocket and my fingers moved rapidly over and around my clitoris, lubrication seeping from the slit below.

"mmmmMMMMMM!"

The voice was mine as the first small climax rocked my body and a small a pool of lubrication oozed from my slit. I worked my fingers faster; squealing aloud as their tips found my moist entrance and slipped easily into its depth.

One, two, three fingers entered my vagina without difficulty. I twisted them back and forth, my knuckles feeling the slippery entrance to my oversized cavern for the first time in so many years.

Three fingers; that hadn't been possible when I was a teen - and yet it still wasn't quite enough to fill me and give me the sensations I needed. With a feeling of sadness for my lost youth I carefully slid the fourth finger in to join them.

Oh Christ! That felt really tight.

Memories of the first time Tony's thick cock had entered my body flooded back; of the first time since my daughter Izzy's birth that I had felt tight around a man's penis again; of the shock of feeling an unfamiliar phallus being thrust into my inexperienced vagina and of the incredible feelings my first extra-marital fornication had produced.

Even my anger and disappointment with Tony couldn't spoil the images that filled my mind as fully as my fingers were filling my Little Pink Pussy. I worked my fingers hard inside my cunt, curling them upwards, seeking the g-spot that had eluded me since I was a teen while trying to stimulate my clit with my other hand.

It was awkward and wasn't working.

Desperate for release, I rolled over onto my front and thrust my bunched fist harder into my groin, my fingers curled up and into my body, first on my clit, then inside my vagina, then back to my clit again, feeling the sensations building and building very quickly indeed as I humped my own hand, face down on the bed.

"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!"

This time it did the trick! The wave of climax that surged outwards from my groin shook me bodily, making me growl and groan into the pillow. Thrusting my own fingers even harder into my weeping vagina, I dragged them from my loose entrance roughly across the underside of my clitoris, bucking my hips against my hands like an animal.

It felt incredible; my body shook wildly as I came noisily and messily, my uncontrolled, uninhibited moans filling the empty room.

"AAAAYYYYOOOOOWWWW!"

I howled my pleasure into the pillows as a second, then a third wave of climax racked my shaking, spasming body, depriving me of the power of speech. My hips bucked hard against my fist, my mouth open wide in silent scream and my face burned with the intensity of my climax. I gasped for breath; my chest tight, my whole body shaking until with a final desperate wail, I let my fingers fall loose and I simply collapsed on the mattress, my body finally satisfied.

I lay face down on the bed I used to share with my husband, my vagina soaking wet and gaping, my body twitching with after-shocks. My head was spinning too; stunned by the power of my long-forgotten, self-induced orgasms, wishing they could have been had been followed by the long, copious insemination by a strong man that my mind and body still desired.

Images of every lover I had had from my schooldays to my best friend's husband passed before my eyes as my trembling slowed to a halt. The list was not long but the memories were vivid with Pete and Tony's faces dominating my mind.

My husband and my best friend's spouse; the two, most significant lovers my life had known.

The first had left me; the second could not be with me. Neither of the men who knew my body best was there. Neither was able to wrap my vulnerable, exhausted, feminine form in his strong arms and hold me close, reassuring me of his love; protecting my freshly-inseminated body from the world.

I wrapped the rumpled duvet around myself; it was a pale substitute for the warmth of a man I loved but was the best that I could expect that night.

It was enough; minutes later I was asleep, still wearing my sports bra, smudged make-up all over my sweaty face, hardly able to believe the power of my first masturbation since my marriage.

It had provided me with some form of release.

But I was still alone.