Paul Cooper gloomily gazed through the train window at the passing countryside. There was nothing new to see; everything was all too familiar as he made an unexpected journey. A crisis meeting had been called for the writers and producers of 'Cottingly'. A new and controversial story line had upset too many viewers. A much loved character, friendly, dependable and extremely likeable, had suddenly, and without warning, been turned into a paedophile. He was a founding member of the series and, over the years, had won a loyal following. The actor concerned was furious at the switch and threatened to quit if his character wasn't quickly cleared of all suspicion.
The train was passing through the suburbs of London, street after endless street. Those on the outer rim were well laid out and attractive, with room between them, but closer towards the centre drab, dismal blocks piled one on top of the other, with no sign of greenery and no break in the lines of blackened stone.
Disembarking from the train at King's Cross, Paul swiftly made his way to the cab rank and climbed into a waiting taxi ahead of the queue that would inevitably form with the new arrivals. The pavements were crowded with hurrying people of all ages, shapes, sizes and nationalities. He used to enjoy the hustle and bustle, but that was when Rachel was with him and they could both relish the change of pace from life at home.
He missed her. Why had it all gone so dramatically wrong? Surely his one stupid fling with Carol couldn't cause such a startling change in his relationship with Rachel. He could have understood it if she had simply left him, but she stayed to taunt him with her promiscuity. That is, until he had issued his ultimatum. Paul wondered where she was and if she was happy.
The taxi moved off. God, how he missed her.
*****
It was a long day and Paul was tired. The meeting had been acrimonious; ratings had fallen - these days ratings were all that mattered - and the new, dramatic storyline was almost universally despised. A good deal of shouting had achieved absolutely nothing. Luckily, he wasn't in the firing line, so he could sit back and indulge himself in feeling sorry for those who were. Once or twice his mind had wandered to the evening and what he might do with it, which was unusual. His concentration was always one hundred per cent on business, but not today.
There was a play in town he fancied seeing; a new comedy with a good cast and excellent reviews. Reading about it in his Sunday paper had whetted his appetite. He could go by himself; many people did. After all, you sit in the theatre and get taken into a different world. You can't talk; it's an anti-social event. On the other hand, it's nice to be with someone; to be able to discuss the play with them; to have a meal; to have.....
He thrust the thought aside and went into a shop to buy a newspaper, but his eyes were almost immediately drawn to the top shelf. It was devoted to a line of raunchy magazines designed to appeal to men. One in particular caught his attention. The front cover featured a nearly nude model, her bottom thrust towards the camera. She was looking over her shoulder with twinkling, saucy eyes and a warm, inviting smile. It was Rachel.
Paul stood rooted to the spot, his mouth open in shock. He looked again to make certain his eyes weren't deceiving him. It was her all right; no doubt of it. His wife was featured in a nudie magazine and here he was, standing in a shop gazing at this sexy woman displaying herself for the whole world......
He was still lost in admiration or horror - he was uncertain which - when he became aware of voices next to him.
"Cor, look at this one."
A hand reached up and plucked the magazine off the shelf. Paul turned towards the owner. He was young....seventeen....eighteen....with long, straggly hair, slovenly clothes and stubby fingers with bitten nails. Next to him was a similar youth. He softly whistled.
"Very fuckable."
"I wouldn't mind a piece of that."
The two youths hastily turned the pages of the magazine until they found what they wanted; two pages featuring the same model, but this time she was naked and the camera lovingly dwelled on every part of her. The last picture was a close-up of her vagina. She was holding the labia open and her glistening juices were leaking out.
"God," moaned the first youth. "I can almost feel me prick going in."
"You should be so lucky."
"She's ready for it. You can see."
"Begging if you ask me."
They turned a page.
"Bet the cameraman had it in her soon as they was done filming."
"Her husband's a lucky bastard," sighed youth number two.
"You reckon she's married?"
"Stands to reason, dunnit? This section's called 'Choice Wives'."
The first youth shook his head. "Nah, you can't go by that. Doesn't mean a bloody thing."
"Maybe, but some lucky sod's getting his cock into her. Wish it was me."
"Or me."
"Both of us."
"Yeh." The first youth grinned. "That'd give her something to think about. Here, stick it up your jumper."
The second youth obeyed the instruction, but then stopped as he became aware of Paul staring at him.
"What you bleedin' looking at?"
"Erm....nothing, really."
"You dirty bloody fucker looking at nudie mags. Should be ashamed of yourself."
The magazine and Rachel disappeared up his jumper.
"You says anything," the first youth's voice was low, but menacing, "and you'll find your dick cut off. That's a fucking promise. You savvy?"
Paul silently nodded. He watched as the youths left the shop then, without thinking, pulled down a copy of the magazine. He took it to the counter doing his best to hide his purchase from other customers. Was it his imagination or did the female shop assistant give him a withering look for buying a girlie magazine?
He was half way down the street, his embarrassing purchase safely hidden within the confines of a bag, when Paul realised that he had come away without the newspaper. Too bad. He was most definitely not going back.
After checking into his usual hotel Paul had a shower then poured himself a drink from the mini-bar. He picked up the magazine. Idly turning the pages he barely noticed the other models, but stopped at Rachel. He knew her so well and had possessed her body more times than he could count, but this was a new Rachel. All her most intimate parts were openly displayed. Anyone who could afford the price of the magazine could see her in full colour. Or, of course, anyone prepared to steal it.
As he gazed at the pictures of his...wife?...yes, dammit, they weren't divorced; not even separated...Paul began to remember a holiday together at a beach hotel in Sri Lanka. It was a delayed honeymoon. At the time of their marriage funds were short and an exotic holiday was beyond their means. A week in Scarborough was all they could manage. It rained most of the time.
But Sri Lanka was different. Even though they had been married three years it still felt like a real honeymoon. They had both fallen in love with the place and promised themselves they would return, but they never had.
Sri Lanka.
Happy memories mixed with the more painful present as he gazed at the magazine.
Sri Lanka.
The warm waters of the Indian Ocean gently lapped against the narrow strip of rocky shore which lay immediately beyond their balcony. The hotel consisted of two-storey blocks ranged round a large swimming pool and many of the rooms had a glorious view across the ocean. Paul and Rachel were on the ground floor at the end of the block. The front door opened out onto a general patio area leading to the pool; a short flight of shallow steps descended to the shore.
Shortly after their arrival, Paul took out the camcorder, eager to record the scene for posterity. Beginning inside the room, he left by the front door, videoing the pool area as he slowly walked along. He panned round to look at the block of rooms and walked back towards it, this time heading for the steps down to the shore. After taking in the sea view for a few moments, he panned round to the balcony of their room. Rachel was coming through the glass doors; she was naked.
A slight gasp at her daring and a small wobble of the camcorder were all that betrayed Paul's surprise. There were other people out on a balcony a couple of doors down, but partitions separating one room from another ensured they were unable to see anything. Anyone on the shore would have had a glorious view of his attractive wife, but there was no-one else to appreciate it.
She sat in a chair and draped one leg over the arm. Paul zoomed in to get a close-up of his wife's sweetest and most private parts, but the balcony rail proved to be a great hindrance. He moved up the shore in order to video over the offending rail. As he did so, Rachel slowly began to caress herself, gently running her fingers up and down the lips of her vulva.
Paul stopped the video and started to clamber over the balcony, but his foot caught on the rail and he collapsed in a heap onto the floor.
"Romeo, Romeo, where art thou, Romeo?" Rachel laughed.
"Oh, that's nice. Where's your concern? I might be badly hurt."
"No, lover. Not enough squealing. A small paper cut on your finger causes more reaction than you've just made."
"I'd just like you to be a little more worried," Paul grumbled. "Don't stop what you were doing. I want to video you."
Rachel lazily continued fingering her vulva as Paul videoed, moving in for a close-up as the outer labia opened, revealing the wetly gleaming entrance to her vagina. It was not something they had done before. In fact, Rachel had always resisted his attempts to film her in far less erotic poses than this. He had no idea why she had suddenly lost her inhibitions this way, but he wasn't about to discuss the reasons. This would be something worth watching on cold, dark winter evenings. Of course, this particular section would have to be cut from the edited version to be shown to family and friends!
Whilst Rachel continued working one hand between her legs, fingers pushing into her vagina, she used the other to caress her breasts. Wetting a finger, she rubbed it around both nipples until they were standing out, firm and straight. Paul was still recording the action, but he didn't know if he would be able to keep it going much longer. He was wearing white shorts and a suspicious bulge showed his penis begging to be released.
Rachel's breathing rate was increasing; her eyes were closed and her lips parted in a half smile. She opened her legs even wider and used both hands on her vagina and clitoris. Paul held the camcorder in one hand, still focussing on the action, but pulled down his zip with the other. He unfastened his shorts and let them fall around his ankles. The underpants presented more difficulties with only one hand available, so he had to be content with bringing his penis out through the centre opening. It was so hard it stood straight out at right angles from his body.
Rachel was beginning to moan as she reached a climax. The voices of other holiday-makers on their balconies above and around them drifted on the warm breeze. Paul vaguely wondered what they would think when they heard his wife cry out at her orgasm. For that matter, what would they think when they heard him give vent to his feelings as his cock released its semen.
Aware of the potential embarrassment, Rachel bit down hard on her lip in an attempt to stifle her cries. She was reaching for her climax, her body gleaming with sweat brought on by a combination of sun and sex; the warm breeze lightly caressed her skin, tingling with expectation.
