An Unacceptable Lifestyle

Any marriage can become mundane after a few years and not really interesting enough to write about. That is why storytellers like me embellish them a bit. That's what I've done with my two protagonists. Some of my readers may think I have gone a bit too far, but as we all know, life can often be stranger than fiction.

An Unacceptable Lifestyle.

I've just found out that another man has been fucking my wife.

We were in the kitchen, standing facing each other. "How long has the Bastard been fucking you, Bitch." I emphasised, Bitch. No sooner had I said it than I had my face slapped hard.

Without even thinking about it I slapped her back. Then we just stared at each other. We had never slapped each other before.

"Where did you learn to slap like that?" I demanded. "Does your fuck buddy like been slapping about?"

"Yes, when he's my bottom," the Bitch replied angrily.

"What's that mean?" I asked, not having a clue what the Bitch meant.

"You ignorant sod. Don't you know what a bottom and top are?"

"Obviously not, so tell me."

"When he's my bottom and I'm his top I slap him about, when I'm his bottom and he's my top he slaps me about."

"Where does he slap you about?" I demanded. I felt fully justified in being angry.

"Only on my ass, she told me. Then she rubbed her cheek. "You Bastard, that hurt."

I just looked at her in disgust. "Jesus Christ, when did all this start?"

"Oh, about a year ago," she casually replied

"He's been fucking you for a year. You fucking Bitch," I shouted at her and stepped back out of her reach.

Her eyes blazed at me. "Don't you dare tell me you don't go fucking your whores when you're away on your business trips?"

'I see, you're fucking him while I'm away working," I told her, deliberately ignoring her snide comment about my business trips.

"You bet I do, and we have a much better bed than his."

Now I was furious. She was fucking him in my bed. The fucking Bitch. "You fucking Bitch. What's wrong with his bed," I shouted at her.

"It's too small, and there's nowhere to fix the restraints."

His conversation was getting worse. "The restraints, what restraints?" I bellowed before she could say anything else.

'God! You Prick, don't you know anything," she shouted back. "The fucking handcuffs, idiot the ones we're restrained with when we're the bottom."

Top, bottom, restraints, handcuffs. Who was this Bitch I was married to?

Well, actually she was Samantha Stone, thirty-four and my wife for the last twelve years. So that makes me Tom Stone, also thirty-four and you can bloody well work out the rest.

With all this revelation about tops and bottoms, I had forgotten about my original reason for confronting the Bitch. The irrefutable fact that another man was fucking her. I was told his name was Bruce but little else.

"So what else are you going to tell me about this Bruce bastard who's fucking you," I demanded. We were still standing facing each other in the kitchen, though a little further apart and I think she was a bit surprised that I knew his name.

"How did you find that out?"

"None of your business," I told her.

Then she threw me a curved ball. "Well, now you know about us I want you to meet him."

"Meet him, you must be out of your tiny mind," I replied in horror. She didn't really have a tiny mind as she was actually in charge of purchasing for a local hardware wholesaler.

"Why would you want me to meet the Bastard?"

"You could watch what we do together."

"Why would I want to watch the Bastard fucking you in my bed?" My voice was still raised.

"I meant what he does to me when I'm restrained," she said a little quieter.

"What! Watch him slapping your fucking ass?"

"Don't you like my ass?"

"I love your ass, it's the best ass I've ever seen."

"Oh, so you've seen a lot of women's bare asses have you."

"Jesus Christ, woman, you know I'm always looking a women's asses."

"I know that, you asshole." She actually giggled when she said it and even I saw the funny side of her remark.

"This isn't getting us anywhere, is it?" I told her.

After a few seconds of silence, Samantha asked me again. "Well, can I bring him home to meet you?" Without waiting for my answer, she picked up the kettle. "I going to make a cup of tea. Do you want one?"

"Yes," I replied as I slowly sat down on one of our kitchen stools, having exhausted myself with all this shouting. As I watched her making the tea I knew I'd have to give her an answer. Did I want to meet the Bastard who had been fucking my wife for nearly a year? What about all that top and bottom stuff. Did I want to watch him slapping her fantastic ass?

The next thing I knew was the mug of tea she placed in front of me. Then she sat on the stool beside me. "Well," she said. "Can I bring Bruce home so you can meet him? I think you'll like him, he's really nice."

Well, that was the wrong to tell me. "Oh, the Bastards nice is he."

"Please don't keep calling him a Bastard, Tom because I know you'll like him. He's a Wolves fan," she told me with enthusiasm as if that solved everything.

"Oh, so now we have two things in common, we're both Wolves fans and we're both fucking you," I told her.

"Isn't that a start, Tom and I know you'll have a lot of other things in common."

As I drank some of my tea I glanced down and noticed that her skirt was high enough to show a lot of her smashing thighs. Just a bit higher and I'd know the colour of her panties. The conniving Bitch, she's not going to get me to agree by flashing her crotch at me.

"What else do you think the Bastard and I have in common?"

She ignored my name-calling. "He's the same age and the same build as you," she told me. "He also has a cock as big and beautiful as yours," she added with a cheeky grin.

Now she was getting very personal. "I bet he can't fuck you as well as I do. That's why he has to restrain you and get you off by slapping your ass."

Then she threw down the gauntlet. "You sod, if you let me bring him home you'll find out, wouldn't you?

So that is how my wife got me to let her invite Bruce home the following Saturday evening. It turned out he was her opposite number in the dispatch department.

I'd made up my mind not to like him. Why should I, I told myself. He's been fucking my wife and slapping her ass for nearly a whole year. Unfortunately for me, the Bitch had other ideas.

I had my orders Saturday afternoon when the bossy Bitch told me in no uncertain terms what to wear and what was expected of me. All along my wife had known she had me over a barrel. She knew that her pussy was just too good for me to ever want to give it up, whatever she did.

Before the Bastard arrived at six and I had been marched into the hall, dressed in my best black slacks and white polo neck jumper, all ready for a formal introduction. She was equally dressed up in the highest heels she'd ever walked in, a short, swishy pleated skirt I had never seen before and a sort of top that almost put everything above her waist on display.

As soon as he arrived I knew by the way he just stood there that he had also been given strict instructions. It was also obvious that what he really wanted to do was grab my wife and stick his tongue down her throat.

"Bruce, dear this is my husband, Tom," she announced, giving him a nudge toward me. "Tom, this is, Bruce, now you be nice to him," she told me. I don't think either of us wanted to shake hands so she took charge.

"Now you too, shake hands. I want my two boys to get to know each other."

Well, we both know you, I thought to myself as I reluctantly offered the Bastard my hand and equally reluctantly he took it and almost immediately we let go.

"Now, Tom, you take Bruce into the lounge and ask him what he would like to drink. I've already got a bottle of wine in the kitchen. That's where I'll be for the next hour getting dinner ready. And I don't want any nonsense from either of you," was her final command.

"That's some wife you've got there," were the Bastard's first words when we were in the lounge. "Look, this is so awkward, have you got a whisky, I need something very strong."

He was a whisky drinker. Well, at least he had some merit. "Any preference," I asked.

"Smoky, if you have one?"

"Smoky, a man after my own heart, how could I hate a man who drank smoky whisky. He wanted something strong so I poured both of us half a glass of Talisker, the Distillers Edition."

After he'd drank a little and then told me it was Talisker, I knew my wife wouldn't be having any nonsense from either of us. As Bruce and I talked about whisky and Wolves I'd seen Samantha pop her head around the door a couple of times and each time her grin got bigger.

I don't know how my wife did it but all through the meal, she made me feel like Bruce was just a guest we had invited over for the evening. "Tell me, what were my boys talking about while I was getting dinner ready," was her opening question.

When we both looked at each other I think Bruce had the same thought's as me. "Whisky and Wolves," we almost said in unison.

"That's what I thought," she said, looking from me to Bruce and back again. "You see, Tom, Bruce isn't such as Bastard, after all, is he?"

I wish she hadn't told me that because I didn't want to admit that he wasn't a Bastard after all. Just a guy who enjoyed my whisky and my wife's pussy as much as I did.

Bruce butted in before I could reply. "Is that what he called me?"

"Several times and I was called a Bitch, among other things," she told him with a giggle.

Because my wife seemed to be in charge, I had spent most of the meal wondering what we were expected to do when the meal was over. Apparently, we were expected to go back into the lounge.

I was delegated to my usual lounger while Samantha wanted Bruce sitting beside her on the settee.

I poured everyone another drink and then we had a sort of halting conversation including Samantha telling Bruce that I didn't know what a top and a bottom were. "I don't think he's quite ready for watching us doing that," I heard her tell him.

When our glasses were finally empty, Samantha turned to me. "Now don't you get jealous, Tom. Bruce will be going soon and I just want to reassure him that he's always welcome here."

With that, she turned to Bruce "You are always welcome here my lover and one day, when I know that old sod over there is ready, I want you to stay the night and show him how you slap my ass when you are my top."

I think even Bruce found that bit of information, embarrassing.

Then she kissed him and I saw that it was her tongue that was in his mouth first. As they kissed I knew that his tongue was having the same pleasure in her mouth. They were kissing and hugging with such familiarity I knew they'd been kissing and hugging that way for a very long time.

When the kissing stopped they stared at each other for several seconds before Samantha spoke. "Bruce, I think it's time for you to go." Then she turned to me. "Come on Tom, it's time to say goodbye to Bruce."

As she stared at me, I couldn't move. Watching the Bitch and the Bastard kissing had left me so distraught I couldn't move. "Come on, Tom," she demanded. Then her expression changed. "Oh my God," she exclaimed. "Darling, it was only a kiss. Whatever will you do when you watch us fucking?" The Bitch then reached for my hand and literally pulled me out of the chair. "Now go and see Bruce out of the door, there's a good boy."

Neither Bruce nor I said a word to each other until I was about to close the door on him. "I'd like to try one of your other whiskies next time I come," he told me.

As I closed the door I knew what the Bitch and the Bastard were going to do the next time he came. Before then I was going to assert my authority, after all, I was her husband, the supposed master of the house. When I walked into the lounge my wife was waiting for me.

"Tom, Darling you haven't told me if you like my new skirt and heels?"

"Of course, I like them," I told her.

Then she did a slow twirl. "Do you like the way the skirt shows off my ass?" She slowly stroked her hands over her buttocks.

Samantha had an amazing ass and the skirt showed it off perfectly, but I was going to assert my authority, wasn't I? "Yes, it shows your ass off perfectly," I told her. 'Now about Bruce......."

"How about my new heels," she interrupted. "Do you think they make my legs look even better, even longer?" Samantha had legs that most women would die for. She also knew just how to get to me and any authority I had wished to assert was rapidly fading.

Then she completely destroyed my attempt at being authoritative as she slowly raised her skirt and showed me the panties she was wearing. "Do you like my new panties, Darling?"

Of course, I bloody well liked them. They were hipsters in an almost non-existent blue lace. She didn't need to do another twirl. I knew what they would look like on her ass. "Jesus Christ, Samantha, of course, I like them."

"Then come here, you Big Oaf and thank me for wearing them for you."

So much for us discussing Bruce fucking her and any authority I might have thought I had. My wife and her pussy destroyed me that night, just as she always did.

During the next month, I was fucked royally nearly every night. We also stayed off the subject of Bruce. Even my source was silent so I have no idea if the Bastard was still fucking the Bitch. Of course, I reasoned, she was only a Bitch if the Bastard was still fucking her.

Then I had to go away on business for three nights. Usually, it was only for one or two, three was very unusual.

When I told her, Samantha was surprisingly quiet about it? Worryingly so. Until we were in bed.

I was wrapped in her arms being soundly kissed with her tongue in my mouth just like I'd seen it in the Bastard's mouth. Once you've seen it you can't forget a thing like that. "You know I think it's about time you had a few days away," was the first thing she said about it.

I was confused. "What do you mean, about time I had a few days away?"

"I think a break would do you good, give you time to build your stamina back up."

"There's nothing wrong with my stamina," I protested.

"Then you won't have any problems when you get back. Unless of course, you spend all your energy fucking your whores."

"I don't have any whores," I protested for the umpteenth time. Well, there was one I hoped to be fucking, but I saw her so infrequently I didn't think she counted.

"As you say, Darling." Then I was fervently kissed again. "Anyway, Darling, while you're away fucking your whores, I'll ask Bruce to spend the nights with me. It's about time we did a bit of topping and bottoming"

I was flabbergasted. The Bitch was not going to have the Bastard fucking her in my bed for three nights. No fucking way!!!! And I told her so.

That's when I was once again taught that a man can threaten a woman as much as he likes and she still ends up getting her way with her honour intact. But when a woman threatens a man, she can completely destroy his whole machismo and still get what she wanted. It's mistakenly called an argument.

So, I went away for three days of working and three nights of fucking. God knows what the Bitch and the Bastard were doing.

When I returned it seemed that whatever she thought I'd been doing with my whores had been completely forgiven. Samantha was all over me, and it was all very worrying. So much so that I didn't dare question her about her three nights with the Bastard.

I had returned just in time for dinner, so after a quick change, I was sitting opposite my wife ready to enjoy the meal she had prepared. Also, after the welcome home, I had been given I was wondering when the bomb was going to drop. It was released just as I started eating.

"I've got something to talk to you about," Samantha told me.

"That's good," I replied, "I don't want to eat this lovely meal you have taken so much trouble preparing, in silence." I can be a smarmy sod sometimes and this time it seemed appropriate.

"Well, thank you, Darling. I hope you enjoy it." Touché, I thought.

"Now, what was I going to tell you. Oh yes, I remember."

"Are you sure you don't want to wait until we've eaten?" I quickly interrupted. Really, I was trying to delay the explosion.

"I can if you want me to, it's just that I've been waiting all day to tell you."

"I think I'd rather wait, it sounds too important to be discussed in the kitchen." We only used the dining room when we had guests for dinner. I saw the disappointment on her face but kept my resolve and with some relief, she agreed.

The inevitable happened an hour later, in the lounge when everything was cleared away and we were sitting where we usually sat Samantha had her glass of wine and I had my whisky.

"Can I tell you now, Darling," she asked.

I nodded, then held my breath.

I saw her take a deep breath. "Well, on Tuesday evening Bruce took me to a club he's a member of."

"That was nice of him. What type of club was it?" I asked in all innocence.

"Well, it was a private club, members only."

"So how were you able to go?" I asked while thinking I knew the answer.

"I was Bruce's guest."

Well, that answered that question. "Well, go on, what sort of private member's club was it?" I asked while trying to think of what sort of private club Bruce could possibly be a member of.

"Please, Tom, promise you won't get mad."

Now I had to take another deep breath. "I'll try," I told her, now knowing that it was going to be a very big bomb.

"I was an S and M club."

"A what?" I blurted out. "What the bloody hell is an S and M club?"

'Please, Tom you promised," she pleaded before answering. "It's a sadomasochistic club."

When she said sadomasochistic the explosion was so violent I know I spilt some of my whisky. Then it hit me. The Bastard had taken my wife to a club for sadomasochists. "Did you know that's what it was before he took you?" I shouted, more in shock than anger.

"Of course," she replied. "We had discussed him taking me there several times. Then when you told me you were going away for three nights he booked a reservation to take me there on Tuesday evening."

After that revelation my mind was active but I was speechless. I downed what was left of my whisky in one gulp then got up to pour another, just to give myself time to get my head around what my wife had told me.

When I sat down Samantha stood up, hoisted the back of her skirt up and sat on my lap. I knew what that meant, the Bitch had taken her panties off.

"I don't have to tell you anything about it if you don't want me to," she said as she settled down.

I thought for a moment, it was a private club so perhaps it was a bit posh. "What's it like, inside?"

I got a smile and a lovely kiss. "Well, it's a big, private house, though I don't think anyone lives there. You've seen pictures of the private clubs that politicians go to, well it's a bit like that inside. There's a bar and lounge with leather chairs and then rooms where different scenes are enacted."

"Different scenes?" I questioned. "What the hell are they?"

"Different scenes, you know rooms where membered do different things to each other. Some had special equipment to enhance the experience."

Oh my God. Special equipment! What is my wife getting herself into? "Did you do anything?" I asked her, but not really wanting to know.

I saw her smile and wondered what she was going to tell me. "No, I didn't do anything. As it was my first visit I was only allowed to watch. I now want to go there again and anyone who has been for the first time this month is invited to attend a Newbie Night at the beginning of next month."

A Newbie Night? Suddenly I had a wife who was into sadomasochism. What happened to simple ass-slapping? This is all too much for me to take in. Where was it all the leading, I wondered? "Is Bruce going with you if you are invited?"