Chapter Twenty-Four
Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny as if nothing had happened to darken our lives. The world still turned, the kids still needed taking to their sports activities and Amanda and I started the day as if the extraordinary events of the last two days had not taken place.
The terrible anger of the previous evening had resulted in wild, passionate sex, as if both of us were trying to expunge the memories of all I had seen, and all Mandy had done in Andy's office.
Neither of us able to wait, there was no foreplay; no romance, no oral sex given or received. Instead, our bodies came together with a brutal, feral energy that burst from deeper within us than I at least was prepared to contemplate.
Amanda had thrown herself into our copulation with a lust and energy that had been all but missing since her first fucking by Andy, tearing at my clothes as I stripped away hers and meeting my barely controlled lust blow for blow.
As more and more of her body was revealed, I could see the faint but unmistakeable marks of Pamuk's assault that it still bore. There were small bruises around her waist and hips where his fingertips had gripped tightly, pulling her bodily onto the powerful forward thrusts of his cock over and over again. There was a sore pink patch at the tip of the cleft between her buttocks too, presumably where his wiry pubic hair had ground hard against her soft skin as her anus was brutally penetrated from behind.
My wife knew this and knew I had noticed, but she was undeterred. Indeed, there was fire in her deep blue eyes as she stood naked before me, challenging me, as if demanding to know what I proposed to say or do about it.
To my shame, I said nothing. Far from driving me away, this clear evidence of her recent infidelity simply drove me on to even greater efforts in my lovemaking - though that is hardly an appropriate word for the violent, passionate coupling that followed on both sides.
I fucked my beautiful, intelligent, half-whore of a wife fucked me - or perhaps she fucked me - with a frenzy I hardly recognized as my own, slamming my cock into her already-sore and still-swollen vagina with a violence I had never suspected lay within me.
Driven by perhaps the most basic male instinct to assert my claim over her body, spurred on by my wife's unrepenting attitude and the cruel, taunting gleam in her eyes, I took her like a man possessed.
Amanda offered no resistance as I almost dragged her towards the bed, kissing her hard on the lips, my tongue thrusting deep into her mouth as our teeth clashed clumsily. She responded in kind, sucking and biting as her own tongue writhed over and around the invading creature.
My hands moved to her small firm breasts as we kissed, crushing them cruelly in my fists. She gasped, then grabbed my head in both hands, pulling my mouth away from hers and directing it towards her tightly gripped globes.
Taking her right breast far into my mouth, I sucked on and bit into its long, dark nipples. Amanda gasped again and raked my shoulders with her nails as began to nip her teats between my front teeth, pulling and twisting them as my fingers kneaded and pinched the smooth pale globes on which they stood increasingly proud.
Amanda bore it all, sucking me with a passion and energy I had not seen in her for many months then complying with every demand I put on her. On her back, on her knees, astride me and beneath me, my unfaithful wife allowed me free, unfettered rein over her well-used body.
I took full, cruel advantage of the opportunity, hammering my painfully erect cock into her from every angle I could imagine, and with a force that had never before featured in our lovemaking. Like a crazed demon, I fucked her face and breasts, but most of all her well-used vagina, her slit still gaping wide between angry red, freshly shaved outer lips.
The only time she objected was when I rolled her onto her front parted her legs with my knees and for the first time in our relationship, tried to thrust my cock through the tight ring of her battered, still slightly gaping anus and deep into her rectum; the darkest of her caverns and the one into which I had never ventured.
Once, twice, three times she took my swollen head firmly in her fingers, directing it away from her bruised sphincter and into the gaping mouth of her vagina once again, thrusting herself powerfully backwards each time as if to ensure no diversion from its intended target would be permitted.
"Please! Not there!" she hissed into the pillow. "I'm too sore!"
Frustrated at being denied her back passage, I fucked her loosened vagina even harder from behind, my mind filling with images of Andy and Pamuk, the two men whose erect cocks had succeeded in going where mine had failed.
Had they looked down on the same long, smooth back and flowing blonde hair? Had they gripped the same tight, athletic waist and hips in their fists? Had they pulled her bottom back onto their cocks with every powerful thrust as I was doing now, barely giving a thought to her pleasure or pain?
And what had her tight rectum felt like, wrapped around their thrusting cocks, gripping them tighter and tighter until they had ejaculated deep within her body?
Brutal it might have been, but my assault of Amanda's body was successful. For the first time in many months, my wife actually climaxed beneath me, her vagina clamping hard on my cock as she began to cum, biting hard on the pillow to stifle the animal noises that escaped from her open mouth.
Driven by a jealousy this powerful, the strength of my climax and the volume of my own ejaculation that soon followed hers were as intense as any in my life, before or since. I became almost violent as it struck, thrusting my spurting cock into her as if in a passionate determination to re-assert my supposed rights over this incredible woman's well-used body.
As I joined her in near-simultaneous orgasm, biting my lips to silence my own climactic grunts, I wished with all my love and lust that the semen I was ejaculating deep inside her body still contained the sperm needed to make her pregnant and truly mine once again.
And then it was over.
Amanda fell forward into the mattress then rolled onto her side of the bed, panting for breath, her face and chest both pink. Sweating and with a sorer cock than I had known for years, I lowered myself alongside her.
No words were spoken. None were necessary; our actions had said all that needed to be said. The fury of her resentment and my jealous anger were for the moment, spent.
With our kids asleep close by, neither of us had been able to let ourselves go as freely as we needed, but for me at least, it was the most passionate but most deeply disturbing copulation I had enjoyed for many years.
And Amanda had been an enthusiastic participant every step of the way. Except one, I corrected myself.
Following so quickly after her ordeal with Pamuk, Amada was exhausted by her experience with me and fell asleep without dressing or even cleaning the sticky evidence of our copulation from her slender frame and hairless vulva.
I lay awake alongside her for a long time, severely troubled. Although at the time it had felt simply amazing, there was no escaping the fact that since her enforced infidelity, Amanda's bedroom performance had been transformed. Always a delight to make love with, my sweet, pretty wife had acquired stunning new sexual skills that at times had literally taken my breath away.
The woman I had just fucked so hard and who had fucked me every bit as hard in return, had looked like my wife and had spoken like my wife; she had even smelled like my wife, but in bed had been very, very different from the woman to whom I had believed I was married.
I began to understand what she had meant when she told me that sex with Andy had been better than she had dreamed sex could ever be. If this evening was anything to go by, it had been better than I had dreamed it could be too.
I had just been given a glimpse of what my wife could be like in bed with the right man.
I had to accept that the right man might no longer be me.
***
Amanda had been sore when our lovemaking had started and was sorer still the morning after, but despite this, as we went about our usual Saturday morning chores, her demeanour was astonishingly normal. I could see she was walking stiffly, and her frequent, visible wincing when sitting down or bending over was a constant and painful reminder to us both of all that had occurred, but she said nothing.
As we shared a coffee at the kitchen table mid-morning, she was very much Amanda again. No one seeing us together would have guessed what had happened over the last forty-eight hours; even I found it hard to believe at times, but I knew how important it was to keep up appearances.
The fiction that Amanda and Mandy were two different personalities had to be maintained if our marriage weas to survive.
Once again, I understood what an extraordinary woman my wife was. Her ability to compartmentalize her life was uncanny. When she was Mandy she could be as much a whore as she needed to be without shame or regret and, as I had twice witnessed, often with considerable enjoyment.
