SUNDAY, MARCH 11, 2007.
Travelling back from visiting cousin S****** this afternoon, the car broke down. It couldn't have happened in a worse spot. I was taking the usual short-cut across country when the engine cut out on a quiet lane leading to the village of B. Of course, completely lacking any mechanical aptitude or knowledge about the internal combustion engine, I had no choice but to ring the RAC. Giving our location as best I could I was told that it would probably be at least an hour before anyone could attend. Well it was a bore but we had no choice, not that Marie took it as stoically as I.
To placate my wife I raised the bonnet saying I'd check if anything was obviously wrong but she knows my lack of car maintenance skills as well as I do. While I was staring helplessly in the bonnet a black BMW pulled up and a guy climbed out asking if we needed any help.
"It's OK. I've called the RAC," I told him.
"My husband's totally useless with cars," Marie said to the guy.
"I might as well have a look. You never know it might be something simple," he smiled at her.
Having been on a visit to my cousin Marie was dressed quite sedately for once. However it was an unusually mild and sunny day for the time of year and the knee length figure hugging black dress she wore, displaying her curves to advantage, had ridden up well above the knee. While driving I'd been very aware of the outline of my wife's suspenders beneath her tight fitting dress and I guessed the BMW driver was aware of the same thing. My wife was sitting sideways in the passenger seat and he was certainly looking at her legs while they chatted.
Anyway, he tore himself away to look under the bonnet of the car, soon saying, "Oh it's just the **** come loose. I can fix that," his technical terminology meaning nothing to me.
In less than two minutes the car started.
"There, I told you he was useless!" Marie exclaimed, now perched on top of a gate and displaying more leg than was strictly necessary.
I rang the RAC to cancel the visit but was told the engineer was nearly here now; his previous call having proved a quicker job than expected, so it might be as well if he checked the car over anyway.
"You're useless," Marie said crossly. "Now we've got to hang about here unnecessarily."
"Tell you what; I live just up the road in B. Why not come and have a coffee while your husband waits for the RAC. He can pick you up from there," the guy said, to which Marie gave her assent.
I walked over to his car with them, irritated by the rather excessive amount of leg my wife displayed on climbing in beside the guy.
Once the mechanic had been, looked my car over and pronounced it OK, I signed his paperwork and set off for the village. I soon found the street but having driven the length of it without seeing the house number he'd given me parked at the end and walked back, assuming I'd missed it. Well I still couldn't find 15A and decided to try 15. A woman answered my ring and I explained my predicament, suddenly realising that I didn't even know the guys name. However I described him and his car as best I could and she exclaimed, "You mean Toby, he's in K**** Court not K**** Street. You must have misheard the address."
Thanking her I was about to walk back along the street when she said, "Toby's bungalow backs on to our house and yesterday's strong winds blew a section of the fence down. You can take a short cut if you like."
She showed me where to go and I soon found myself walking along the side of Toby's bungalow. Glancing in a window I realised it must be his bedroom for there beside the bed was Marie, getting dressed. At that moment Toby came in, stark naked, and said something to her before going out again. I was astonished to realize that in the time it had taken me to get there, they must have had sex!
Continuing to the front door I wasn't surprised when he took a long time answering the bell. Toby eventually opened the door, fully dressed but looking decidedly flustered.
"Marie's just popped to the loo before continuing your journey," he told me, explaining her absence.
Letting us out a few minutes later there was nothing in his demeanour to indicate that he'd just fucked my wife.
It turned out that Toby gave me the wrong address on purpose, to buy more time!
* * *
MONDAY, MARCH 19, 2007.
Since taking over the family business I've steadily built it up and one result of the growth means more trips away. Marie, as she's done today, now accompanies me quite regularly. It's only for one night this time but she fancied a change of scenery.
LATER.
Returning from my walk after the evening meal I met a young guy along the corridor plainly having just left our room. He smiled in passing and on entering the room I found my wife naked on the bed where he'd left her.
"Who the hell was that?" I demanded.
"Oh just some guy I met."
Having picked the guy up in the bar she didn't even know his name and my wife's casual and nonchalant attitude about having been to bed with him shocked me.
* * *
THURSDAY, APRIL 5, 2007.
Greatly surprised when Mr. Burridge rang the office and said he needed to see me urgently. Eric owns a company working in similar fields to my own, albeit with considerably less success. He has often blamed me for his own failures, sometimes accusing me without justification, of using contacts on the Council to gain business at his expense.
I have heard on the grapevine that his company is in difficulties and possibly closing, hence my surprise. Mr. Burridge's request for a meeting with me is quite without precedent.
Having no great desire to meet the rather obnoxious Eric, I am though intrigued to know what he wants and told him I can spare twenty minutes tomorrow afternoon when I shall be the only person working, it being a Bank Holiday. I need to catch up on some paperwork, chiefly for the new presentation.
FRIDAY, APRIL 6, 2007. GOOD FRIDAY.
The meeting with Mr. Burridge left me feeling shattered. I'd better try and write down our conversation as best I can.
Mr. Burridge started off by telling me that while giving his son a lift a few days ago, the lad pointed to a woman out shopping and told his father she was the one he was screwing.
"I've known for some time that my boy's screwing some married piece - good luck to the lad, I say -- but wouldn't have guessed in a million years that it was your missus. Or that you know all about it," he said.
I felt myself go hot and cold as the import of what he said sank in.
"I don't suppose you'd want it to get about that you're the compliant husband of my Gavin's bit of stuff," he went on grinning broadly. "But don't worry, we're leaving for the states in a few days and I won't breathe a word to anyone."
Still feeling dazed and confused I started to mumble my thanks but he cut me short, adding ominously, "Just so long as you agree to what I want."
"What's that?" I asked, automatically assuming it was something to do with his business.
My assumption proved to be both silly, his business is closing down after all, and naïve.
"What I want is to fuck your lovely little wife on the marital bed like my boy's doing." Mr. Burridge said, standing up to perch himself on my desk.
"Gavin hasn't been to the house," I corrected him. "It only happens at the community centre."
"Maybe at the beginning. In recent months he's been giving her what for in your own bed," he beamed. "My lad pops over to your place to shag your missus at every opportunity, five or six times a week he says, and she's only too keen to fetch him in her car."
Completely taken aback by his words I remained silent and he went on, "The deal is this. Tomorrow afternoon I'm coming over to your place and fucking the arse off your missus. You'd better persuade her it's in both your interests to play ball. Tell her otherwise the world will know she's spent the last sixteen months or so spreading her legs for a lad nearly half her age."
With that he'd gone.
Astonishingly Marie wasn't as devastated as I by the knowledge that our secret is in danger of coming out, and even admitted to feeling a bit excited by the idea of being forced to submit to Mr. Burridge; of being in the position of having no choice but to allow the guy to do as he wanted with her.
SATURDAY, APRIL 7, 2007.
Assuming I'd be sent away when Mr. Burridge arrived I had my car keys in hand, thinking I might as well go to the office and do some work. That wasn't his idea at all though.
"Your staying here and watching," he smirked. "I want you to see everything I do to your wife. You can start by lifting her skirt and showing me what's underneath."
I hesitated but briefly, I really had no choice but to obey the guy.
Marie just stood there, actually smiling at the bastard, while I raised her skirt.
"Very very nice, pale blue panties and stocking clad thighs, lovely," he drooled.
Sitting down he urged her on to his lap, Marie crossing her legs as she obliged. Clamping his hand to my wife's stocking top he entwined his fingers in her suspender, grinning at me the while.
"Uncross your legs, sweetheart," he instructed, Marie promptly obeying.
"Good girl. Your going to do everything I say, aren't you?"
Mr Burridge was stroking her inner thighs above the stocking tops as she nodded her assent.
He was in no hurry, evidently enjoying himself as he kissed and caressed my wife while observing my own discomfort. Actually I was erect and hoping he wouldn't notice, although there wasn't much likelihood of that, it creates after all only a minimal bulge in my trousers!
Instructing Marie to stand, he then said to me, "Now you're going to strip your wife down to her stockings and suspenders, ready for me."
I haven't had such contact with her for years and found myself growing more and more aroused while undressing my wife.
"Now sit and watch," he said, practically pushing me down onto the chair.
