Chapter Twenty-Eight
There can be few more beautiful sights than the early morning sun rising slowly over the majestic and ancient city of Istanbul. Despite my current anxieties, my chest tightened with emotion as I stood on the balcony of the five-star hotel and watched brightening sunlight gradually drive the shadows from the dark streets and iconic buildings.
It would have been close to romantic perfection to have been able to share this view with the woman I loved and respected so much, but that morning I was alone with my thoughts, those thoughts were troubled.
Somewhere out in the city Amanda, my beautiful, intelligent wife was in bed with a man, probably fat Pamuk, helping secure our future by playing her alter ego 'Mandy the Whore' for all she was worth.
Pamuk; the man on whom my future career and our family's financial success still depended. The fat, ugly Turk with a taste for sodomy who had already brought my sweet wife both vaginal and anal orgasms the like of which I had never seen before, but which I had been forced to watch in extreme close-up on video by Andy - my Boss, my blackmailer and my wife's regular lover.
A terrible but now familiar nausea passed through me as I fought to reconcile two conflicting forces; the purely masculine mixture of raw anger, green-eyed jealousy and an overwhelming desire to protect the mother of my children and reassert my status as the Alpha Male in her life pitted against my growing feelings of helplessness, of impotence, of meek acceptance of my position of obligate cuckold.
Worse still, along with these dreadful emotions came a powerful and unwanted arousal at the thought of my wife's complicity in her own degradation, along with an overwhelming desire to watch her sweet body being violated and inseminated by another man once again.
Amanda's transition into Mandy was by no means the only transformation that was taking place in our marriage.
Amanda and Pamuk had left last night's smart reception together well before midnight after it had been made clear to us both that a repeat performance of their previous meeting had become obligatory, if the goodwill that had developed between the two negotiating teams was to continue.
We had left our home and children knowing that something like this was inevitable, it was just a matter of when and how. Her acceptance had been unspoken; Amanda's agreement to accompany me to Istanbul was all the confirmation I was to get that my bright, intelligent, stunningly attractive wife would do whatever was necessary to protect our family.
Her absence had left me to entertain the various Government functionaries that international deals always entailed, knowing that elsewhere, my wife was once again entertaining their Boss in quite a different manner.
From previous experience, I had a good idea what form that entertainment would take but once again, I tried to close my mind to the horror and concentrate on my own part of our arrangement - securing 'the deal'.
Knowing that the professional part of my life was probably going to turn out well was some consolation. There were still few a details to be agreed, but the big contract with the Turkish Government that would secure both my own and Sandersons future, was now on the cusp of being signed.
All it needed now was the Minister's signature; the Minister was Mr. Pamuk; Mr. Pamuk desired my wife sexually; she was in bed with him now.
My wife...
Of one thing I was certain; having made her decision, Mandy would not let us down. She would leave Pamuk a happy and satisfied man, whatever toll it took on her.
From there the agreement would move towards ratification where there would be more pitfalls. Though by no means conclusive, Pamuk's liaison with my wife would certainly help oil the wheels of Government. The deal would go through, though I wasn't naive enough not to expect at least one round of last-minute gangplank negotiations, either from the Turkish government, the commission in Brussels, or both.
With a sigh, I looked at my watch, then at the bed in which I had passed a largely sleepless night.
I had expected Amanda to return to our hotel an hour or two after leaving with her lover, but instead I had spent the night alone, watching the clock until the small hours when exhaustion had finally overwhelmed me, and I had fallen asleep.
For the first time, Mandy had been gone all night. Now, with breakfast time approaching, she still hadn't returned. My jealousy turned first to irritation, then to anger, then to concern.
Where the Hell was she?
Images of my lovely wife and that overweight slob of a man in bed together all night tortured my mind. The video of him fucking then sodomising her across the desk in Andy's office and the incredible orgasms that this brutal handling had induced in her were burned on my memory forever.
Whatever psychological techniques Amanda was using to separate her 'home' self from Mandy the Whore, I was quite unable to differentiate the two of them. In my heart and mind, they were the same. There was no Mandy; it was my wife and the mother of our children who was being fucked by other men and my God, did it hurt!
The fact that it had been my stupid dishonesty that had brought this about, made the pain, humiliation and anger much worse! The knowledge that I now held influence over our friend Yvonne and her husband Mike did help me feel a little less powerless, but that relationship remained to be properly tested and besides, was I really the kind of man who would exploit a family friend?
Who could say? It wasn't long since I would have laughed in, or even punched the face of anyone who had suggested I would connive at my own wife's prostitution.
And yet there I was, waiting both for her return and the profits I would receive from the sale of her body.
To my wife, I had become little better than her pimp.
And what about Yvonne, what had I become to her? Her blackmailer? Her Abuser?
If so, she was hardly a reluctant victim. Since our first and only sexual encounter in the country park, she had messaged me a dozen times, asking when we might next get together, inviting me to use her however I wanted, as if welcoming a new, exploitative presence in her life.
Coming from a woman I had thought I knew well and had considered a close family friend, that offer alone was unsettling enough. But worse, what I actually wanted from her was unclear, even to me. Although the feeling of having power over her and her husband both then and in the future had been a thrill, I had no pressing desire to hurt her or fuck her.
The only woman I really wanted to fuck was blonde, had deep blue eyes and at that moment was being fucked by someone else, somewhere in the city.
Perhaps if Yvonne had been with me then, I could have taken out some of my anger and frustration at being cuckolded once again on her plump, compliant body. I had seen Andy do it with a powerful effect.
But neither she nor Amanda were there. I was alone with my nightmares; nightmares made far worse by the near permanent erection that had tented my sleep shorts throughout the sleepless night, that no amount of shameful masturbation could satisfy, and which had continued unrelenting into the early morning.
I picked up the phone and ordered breakfast for two from room service, then turned away from the world-famous view, went into the en-suite bathroom, undressed and looked at myself in the mirror.
It was not a pretty sight; I looked like what I was - a man who had just spent a tortured night awake. Physically I was in good shape; the time I spent running and in the gym to keep up with my newly inspired wife was paying dividends but could not distract me for long from the predicament I had put us into.
I was shaving carefully in an attempt to look professional for the day's work, when I heard what I thought was Room Service at the door.
"Come in!" I called hoping desperately that breakfast would help me feel more human.
My shave over, I stepped straight into the shower without risking displaying my nakedness to the attendant. A few minutes later I returned to the bedroom with a large white towel wrapped around my waist to find a linen-covered trolley bearing croissants and hot coffee standing in front of the window.
I poured a large cup of the strong black liquid and sipped it, staring out of the window once again. The sun had risen higher now, the permanently gridlocked roads were noisy and colourful, and the river traffic had become even more chaotic.
I turned to look at the clock on the bedside table wondering how long I should wait before calling the Ministry to try and trace my missing-presumed-fucked wife.
"Amanda!" I exclaimed in astonishment as I saw a familiar shape in the bed.
The sight of her slender body curled up under the thin duvet took me by surprise; she must have slipped silently into the room along with the breakfast while I was in the shower. She looked so slight, her hair was fanned almost angelically over the pillow and her face was all but invisible under the white cotton cover.
"Mmm?" she moaned incoherently.
"Are you all right?" I asked anxiously, "I was so worried."
"I'm okay... just tired... need to sleep..."
Her voice was slurred, almost as if she was drunk.
"Did it go... okay?" I asked hesitantly, bending over her inert frame and knowing her reluctance to discuss anything to do with Mandy.
"I'm back. Isn't that enough?"
"Sorry," I mumbled in apology. "I was worried, that's all."
"It's okay," she replied dozily, "I'm sorry too... I just need to sleep!"
Reluctantly, I left her in silence and finished dressing for the day's important meetings.
If things went well today, especially if Pamuk was in a good mood after his long night with Mandy, we might even close the deal that morning. I tried to keep my eyes on the prospect of a bright future for us all, and not even to think of the night my wife had just spent in bed with the fat, ugly man on whom our futures depended.
Needless to say, I was not successful but five minutes later I was a smart, if bleary-eyed businessman again, and the bedside clock demanded my departure.
Amanda would normally have accompanied me to the negotiations but today she was obviously in no fit state.
I crossed to her side of the bed, stumbling over the mess of discarded clothes on the floor as I passed, and looked down on the sleeping body of my pretty wife. The bed sheet was almost transparent in the morning light and through it I could tell she was naked, the white cotton moulding itself to the contours of her slim, athletic frame. Her breathing was slow and deep. She was indeed exhausted.
