Fidelity

Chapter Fifteen

If I ever needed proof of my wife's genius as a psychologist, then the next few weeks provided it in bucket loads. However doubtful I had first been about the principle of separating Amanda, the sweet wife and mother from Mandy the whore, they were completely dispelled. I could see it working in front of me.

After a few hastily corrected slip-ups, it was clear that with hard work and patience she really could switch her mind between the two personalities and as she managed to do it, so I was increasingly able to do so too.

It's amazing what the human mind can come to terms with if it really tries, and after two weeks of anxious, broken nights, I could feel my mind grudgingly adjusting to our new relationship.

Though I would be lying if I said I was in any way happy with it.

True to his reputation, Andy kept his word and never referred to his relationship with my wife either directly or by implication. In a surreal way, work carried on as it always had; with the calm professionalism that Sandersons was famous for, making it astonishingly easy to forget during the working day, that I was actually a major fraudster who was being cuckolded on a weekly basis.

At home it was much less easy to forget, but life was just about tolerable. On the rare occasions that Mandy was mentioned at all, it was only in the third person, as if she was a guest who occasionally came to visit. Whatever was going on inside her head, to outward appearances my beautiful wife was carrying on as if nothing had changed. To my relief, it looked as if our kids were totally unaware that their parents' relationship had moved to a new phase.

All kids can be self-centred and unaware of what's going on around them, but for once this selfishness was a boon.

In practical terms however, we did have to make some changes to accommodate Mandy's regular presence in our lives, and over the first few weeks, several things happened to change our lifestyle.

Amanda taught at her school on Wednesday mornings and before Andy's revelation, she used to work out at the gym around lunchtime then spend the afternoon on her PhD until the kids came home from school.

Now every Wednesday just before four o'clock, she - or more accurately Mandy - would leave home to go to her appointment at Andy's apartment carrying a large sports bag that contained whatever she needed. The previous hour would have been spent bathing and getting her hair, nails and make-up to a position where they could quickly and easily be finished off in the apartment's bathroom when she arrived.

Amanda always wore her gym kit as she left the house in case the kids or indeed any of our friends became suspicious, only changing into whatever outfit she had chosen - or had been ordered to wear - when she arrived.

I was not allowed to know, or even ask what those outfits were and had to fight my curiosity hard.

While Mandy was away being fucked, it became my responsibility to look after the kids after school. This meant working from home for part of the afternoon, but my new role as Junior Partner gave me a lot more flexibility and of course it wasn't a problem for my Boss, Andy who was 'otherwise occupied'.

After her first visit, Mandy chose to drive herself to and from her assignations, but at my insistence parked her car a street or two away from the 'scene of the crime' to avoid comment from any friends or colleagues who might notice its frequent presence.

When she returned home soon after six, she was usually in her gym kit again but was always distracted, often a little dishevelled, and her face and chest were usually flushed pink. To outward appearances she looked as if she had simply been exerting herself in the gym.

Of course, the freshly fucked aroma surrounding her body revealed the real direction her exertions had taken; exertions of a very different nature indeed, but only I was ever close enough to know this and always greeted her affectionately for the kids' sake.

Still in her 'Mandy' mode, my wife would not kiss or hug me properly until she had showered, dressed and become Amanda once again.

But I made sure I got close and inhaled deeply whenever I was near her. The distinctive aroma of recent sex that surrounded her on her return, made me shiver with pain. But at the same time and much to my shame, I could not deny that it gave me a perverse new sexual thrill and massive arousal too.

Mandy would then take herself off for a long bath or short shower, depending on how stiff and achy her exertions had made her.

When she came back downstairs, she was 'Amanda' and 'Mum' again. Apart from whatever small physical marks her adventure and exertions had left on her body, she was to all outward intents the wife and mother she had always been.

To all outward intents perhaps, but definitely not to me!

For me, the author of our misfortunes, there could be no relief. There could be no separation of Amanda and Mandy for her guilt-ridden, cuckolded husband. As far as I was concerned, my wife was being fucked by another man, was reaching orgasms I had seldom if ever provided, and it was all my fault.

After dinner and when the kids had gone to bed, she would then spend an hour or two in the study working on her PhD while I worked on my laptop in front of the TV until bedtime.

The merest suggestion of having sex on Wednesdays after Mandy's fucking would be met with hostility, so I soon stopped suggesting it.

At first, and to my considerable frustration, Amanda changed into her night clothes in the bathroom to hide her freshly fucked body from me. But as the weeks passed and her infidelity became part of our lives - albeit an unwelcome part - she became less anxious to conceal herself.

As a result, I could often see how red, inflamed and distended her vulva usually was after Andy's attentions; something sex with me had only rarely produced even in our younger years. On a few occasions, I could tell she was having discomfort sitting or walking too, especially on Thursday mornings when her body had stiffened up overnight.

My mind boggled as I tried to imagine what she and Andy had been doing.

There were other marks on her body too. On one Thursday morning I saw small dark bruises on her upper thighs and on her breasts, another time her buttocks bore thin red stripes as if they had been whipped with something long and slim. Once when I hugged Amanda goodnight, squeezing her breasts against my chest she yelped with pain.

I could only imagine what she and Andy might have done that could have left her nipples so sore.

My frustration at not knowing was almost unbearable, but as we had agreed and as I had solemnly promised, I never asked for any details about what had taken place during Mandy's appointment. Though by now my curiosity was almost physically painful and it took all my rather weak self-control to keep my questions to myself, I kept my promise.

After her eleventh appointment she was unusually coy, even for Amanda, wrapping herself in towels going in and out of the shower and wearing a full-length night gown in bed afterwards. It wasn't until two days later that I noticed her sparse blonde pubic hair had entirely gone, leaving her smooth and pale, almost child-like between her slender thighs.

For some reason this deliberate alteration to her body to please her lover disturbed and aroused me more than any of the previous signs of infidelity. No doubt Amanda could have explained the psychology behind both Mandy's actions and my responses, but of course this too was one of the many questions I was not allowed to ask.

Unsurprisingly, our previous, near-daily sex life slowed down considerably. As I have explained, sex straight after her dates with Andy was unthinkable, but over time, the rest of our lovemaking began to suffer too. Daily sex became weekly; weekly dwindled to monthly and then even less frequently.

And when we did make love, Amanda seldom reached orgasm anymore, no matter what I did in the way of foreplay or penetration. Even our favourite, most successful positions proved ineffective. Only my very best efforts at cunnilingus could bring her anywhere near the releases I so badly wanted her to enjoy, and even these orgasms didn't seem close to the incredible climaxes the state of her body suggested Andy was now routinely giving her.

I noticed a gradual change to her wardrobe too. On a day-to-day basis there was little to show; perhaps her newer skirts were just that little bit shorter or her tops a little tighter, or she carried herself a little differently, but that could have just been my imagination. However, one day when I was replacing freshly ironed jeans in her closet, I noticed a bundle of unfamiliar items in a bag at the back.

Looking carefully around and with guilt written all over my face, I opened the bundle and looked inside, my heart thumping. The garments had clearly been worn but I had never seen them before. Presuming they had been bought for Mandy's appointments with Andy, I pulled them out to look at, curious.

At first all I found were two cocktail dresses, one red, the other blue. Both were much shorter than my wife would usually wear - the blue dress would barely have covered her bottom - but as I searched further, I discovered more hidden purchases.

Beneath the rails I found a box containing a pair of ludicrously high heels; so high they could not possibly have been used on the street, although the scuff marks on their soles suggested otherwise.

I looked further and found, concealed at the far left-hand end of the closet rail, a handful of very short, very tight skirts unlike anything I had seen her wear in all our marriage. In a low drawer I found some new lingerie too.

The skirts were so short and of such cheap, tacky material that I was sure she would never have worn them in public, at least not when out with me. And the lingerie? Well, in addition to expensive matching silk bras and panties, there were other, cruder items including, to my amazement and horror, a pair of crotchless red knickers and a tiny black bra with no ends to its cups. My wife's long, sensitive nipples would have poked straight through them.

All these items had clearly been used and from their condition, more than once.

As I bent over to close the bottom drawer, the large, hard erection that had been pressing painfully through the seam of my underpants made its presence impossible to ignore. My head spinning, I took the crotchless panties into the en-suite bathroom, lowered my trousers and underpants, then wrapped them around my cock and, once again, masturbated in front of the mirror.

My reflection looked at me contemptuously as I pumped my rock-hard erection, first slowly, then with increasing force and vigour as vivid images of my wife's body being pounded by my boss tortured my mind.

Of her lying on her back, legs raised and spread as his hips slammed into the soft underside of her buttocks. Of her climaxing freely and helplessly as his cock battered the smooth peach of her cervix. Of her begging him to fill her with his seed, her orgasmic enjoyment putting my own efforts deep into the shade, ruining her forever as far as our rapidly waning sex life was concerned.

The pain was both exquisite and unbearable, but blessedly did not last long. Soon release overtook me and I began to cum noisily, my whole body shaking as a full-on, copious ejaculation began. Semen spurted wildly from the tiny lips on my rounded end as my pumping hand became a blur, spraying the silvered glass with thick, creamy sperm-free fluid.

Afterwards, my body still tingling, I wiped the bathroom clean of all traces of my ejaculation, then carefully replaced every item of clothing exactly as I had found it.

I did not mention any of this to Amanda when she came home later that day - though it took all my self-control.

***

As we lay in bed that night, sleep was impossible; my head was overflowing with images of Amanda, Mandy or whoever my beautiful, intelligent wife wanted to be.

Of her parading herself in front of my boss, her pointed nipples standing proud through the bra's tiny, half-filled cups, her crotchless panties displaying her newly shaved vulva like a wanton slut.

Of her lying, legs spread beneath the man who had taken my place as her only lover, her slender, sweet body being repeatedly and willingly penetrated by a cock as thick as her wrist, her eyes open, her mouth, her body and soul begging to receive his seed.

And throughout the agonising hours of darkness, as these horrific images burned themselves indelibly into my mind, one dreadful though prevailed.

It was all my stupid, stupid fault.

Chapter Sixteen

Perversely at work, things were going better than I had imagined. I was adapting well to my new role, though the workload was enormous as the proposed date approached for signing the contract with the Turkish government.

As expected, negotiations had been complex and tortuous, involving both the EU and Turkish authorities on multiples levels and I had made several visits to both Brussels and Ankara to deal with important issues as they arose.

This meant that I had to spend more and more time at the office or working from home late into the night. One unexpected benefit of this was that it helped take my mind off my wife's now regular Wednesday afternoon assignations with Andy, if only for an hour or two. It also felt good to know that, however important Amanda's sexual compliance had been in getting my promotion, fundamentally I was there because I was bloody good at my job!

The negotiations from the Turkish side were being handled by a team from their Finance Ministry headed by a Senior Minister, Mr. Pamuk. Their objective was to get as much approval from the EU monitors as possible without giving away any more information than absolutely necessary. The EU team headed by Mme Flauret was considerably more idealistic and wanted to know and understand every last intricate detail of the Ministry's operation.

My job, in brief, was to get more information out of Ankara than they wanted to give and to persuade Brussels that the information I had gleaned was more valuable and detailed than it actually was. It was not going to be easy.

In true EU style, the negotiations were punctuated regularly by social events such as drinks evenings, presentations and the occasional dinner. Amanda played her part to the full on these occasions, being both extraordinarily attractive and extremely well-informed company. Mme Flauret, a tall, ascetic, slightly unworldly blonde in her late fifties took to Amanda well and the two of them spent long periods engrossed in lofty intellectual conversation, much to the disappointment of Mr. Pamuk who was clearly attracted to my wife for rather more earthly reasons.

Amanda had to play a delicate game with Pamuk, one in which she spent just enough time with him to appear polite, attentive and flattering, but not long enough for him to feel encouraged enough to press his attentions further. His somewhat dubious reputation suggested his would certainly happen at some point.

Considerably shorter than both Amanda and me, and considerably overweight into the bargain, our evenly tanned Turkish colleague was nonetheless pleasant, well-educated and interesting to talk to. His English faultless, he had been part of the Government for less than two years and his rise had been meteoric.

His current position was by no means secure though and as a result, he was keen to show quick success in his dealings with the EU via Sandersons. For Pamuk, this success involved maximizing his personal publicity in Turkey for consumption by the more traditional, orthodox sector of society that had delivered him his small but workable majority in the recent elections.

His considerable history of philandering was not well known outside a small group of associates but among those 'in the know' he was infamous, especially in his ability to entice, persuade or intimidate the wives of colleagues into his bed. Through my growing network of contacts, I was well aware of this and had warned Amanda on many occasions to beware.

"He's always charming with me," she insisted whenever I mentioned the subject. "I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself in this type of situation."

I knew this to be true but having once seen my wife 'in flagrante delicto' with Andy and knowing that for many months he had been fucking her - or rather, fucking Mandy on a weekly basis - had changed me.

Having seen with my own eyes the orgasmic heights which my wife could reach in the hands of the right man, I knew I would never feel quite secure in our marriage again.

To my relief I did notice that Amanda spent as little time with Pamuk as politeness required, preferring to talk to Mme Flauret, or Elodie as we were now permitted to address her.

It was June by the time the complex negotiations with the Turks had been completed. All that remained was the final approval and, of course the formal signing of the contract. There was an excited buzz around the Sandersons building, not least in my own office as one by one the objections were dealt with and the possibility of success became first possible, then probable, then almost certain.

I had to keep reminding myself that the signed contract was really just the beginning of the hard work, but the feeling of relief and elation as the date approached after so many months of tortuous negotiation made me light-headed.

The actual agreement was due to be signed in our offices on a Friday late in June. The whole Turkish contingent including Mr. Pamuk would be there, along with a substantial number from Brussels. There was to be a dinner and reception on the Thursday night followed by the formalities of the Agreement Signing on the Friday morning. After that, the weekend was available for our guests to enjoy all that London had to offer at the expense of the EU.

I was able to tell my wife truthfully that both Mme Flauret and Mr. Pamuk had expressed considerable pleasure at the news that she would be at the reception, along with the other Partners' spouses. Amanda had positively glowed with delight at the opportunity to move in such exalted and intellectually stimulating circles again.

To my chagrin, my wife's appointments in Andy's apartment had continued throughout the months of negotiations, his workaholic nature apparently applying to the bedroom as much as to the office. Mandy had barely been given a week's release from her sexual obligations since they had begun, and that had been for our single seven-day holiday.

Thanks to my wife's strength of character and the continued existence of her alter ego Mandy's, against all the odds Amanda and I were still married and, astonishingly, still relatively happy together though the 'elephant in the room' of her infidelity did raise its head from time to time. Although the intensity of my own work regime coupled with Amanda's extraordinary ability to separate Mandy's activities from her own had made the arrangement just about bearable, it was by no means acceptable.

My own character was much weaker. Nevertheless, by focusing on my job and the kids, for days at a time I was able to forget that my wife was routinely having sex with another man, and that my own dishonesty had led directly to this terrible situation. Whenever the reality hit me, for example on one Thursday morning when Amanda woke up with two large 'hickeys' on her neck, I had to remind myself severely that, if I was to continue avoiding prosecution and maybe even jail, neither she nor I had any choice but to live with the current bizarre arrangement; one with which Andy seemed increasingly content.

Given the amount of work that had to be done that week before the signing of the contract, I had hoped that he would release Mandy from her obligations on the Wednesday afternoon, but that was not to be; just before four o'clock she left for her appointment as usual dressed in her gym kit. I was far too busy to work from home that day, so Amanda's parents had come over to take care of the kids while, unknown to them, their bright, highly intelligent daughter was being fucked hard by her husband's Boss.