For the Firm

We have a good life, Gillian and I. We have a nice, large, detached house in the outskirts of the city where it's quiet and the air is clear. We get time and have the money to engage in a variety of interests. And Gillian is still, at thirty-three, drop-dead gorgeous. I often think that, whatever other successes I've had in life, marrying Gillian eclipses them all. Se has a great personality and a brilliant sense of humour. She also has a fantastic body: five feet nine inches tall with long, straight raven black hair and dark brown eyes; a toned body (I love that we can afford gym membership) with a beautifully curved arse and firm, round 36C breasts. You can tell, can't you, that I love to buy her sexy lingerie for Christmas.

About the only thing missing in our lives is children. This nice house and our holidays to exotic places come at a cost and we have both been working very hard at our careers to pay for them. Gillian left university and, not long after we married, joined a rapidly-growing new legal firm. She's worked really hard for them for the last eight years and there's been talk of her being made a partner. I left university with a degree in electrical engineering and set up what is now a fairly successful business selling hobby electronics and doing bespoke design work on home and business security - that sort of thing. We both work really hard but we have always had one clear rule: when we come home to this house - and especially when we go to bed - we close the door on our work lives and we make time for each other.

Six weeks ago - it was a Saturday - we were both at home for the weekend. I was planning a nice meal for us and Gillian decided we needed a nice, expensive, red wine to go with it. On the spur of the moment she took the car and drove off to the wine merchant to get it. As she didn't expect to be more than fifteen minutes she left her phone on the kitchen table. It was just beside me as I was poring over a recipe book. Suddenly it buzzed and a text flashed up on the screen. It disappeared after a moment or two, but not before I could read it: "4th May 1:00pm Imperial Hotel Room 607 Dress appropriately". I knew the Imperial. It was a big, flashy hotel in Docklands. What the appointment was about, though, I had no idea. No doubt Gillian would tell me about it.

She didn't. Days passed - a week then two weeks. I'm not a suspicious man by nature but I'd never found her to be a secretive woman. And there was something off about her - a nervousness and an evasiveness. I asked her if everything was OK and she just talked about her prospects of being a partner. As I say, we generally don't talk about work much at home. Still, there was a part of my brain that would not let this go, that niggled at me and nagged at the back of my mind. At last I did something which was, when I think about it, quite stupid. I told Gillian that I had to go away for a couple of days - the third and fourth of May. I made up some nonsense about having to see some new kit in Edinburgh. What I actually did was book Room 607 at the Imperial hotel for the third of May and a room at another, nearby, hotel for the fourth of May.

So, on the third of May I found myself in Room 607. The Imperial is an expensive, modern hotel and the room reflected that. It was a large, bright and airy room. One wall, looking out over the river, was all glass that could be covered with silky light-grey curtains. The floor seemed to be white marble and the bed was large and extremely comfortable. The furnishings were in shades of pale ivory and the en-suite facilities were of the finest quality. I'd like to say I had great night's sleep in that really expensive and comfortable room, but I didn't. My stomach was knotted. I got up early the next morning, but before I went down for breakfast, I installed a tiny video camera and microphone along with a short-range radio transmitter. Whatever happened in that room later that day, I would be able to watch.

At twelve-thirty I was sitting in another hotel room: one that was by no means as plush as the one in which I had spent the night. I opened up my laptop and connected the radio receiver to it. I could bore you with the technical details but I won't. Google it if you want. Fifteen minutes later I had a clear image on the display of the room in which I had spent the previous night. There was one person in the room and I recognised him as George Winterson, the senior partner in the law firm Gillian works for. I say 'senior partner': in many ways he is the company. He founded it and he has been the driving force behind it ever since. There are two other partners - Grant Marshall and Stuart Michelson - but they are very much under George's authority. He is a big, powerful man of forty-five with short, black hair with few traces of grey. That day, in that room, he was wearing a white shirt and black business suit trousers. His jacket was hung on the back of a chair and his tie was draped over it.

At one o'clock precisely there was a knock at the door in Room 607. George answered it and, opening the door wide, invited my wife into the room. She was wearing a black, belted double-breasted raincoat that came down to her mid-calfs and black high-heel shoes. Closing the door behind her, George asked, "Have you come appropriately dressed?" By way of answer Gillian unfastened the belt of her raincoat, slowly, hesitantly unbuttoned it, then held it open. Beneath she was naked. Her lovely round breasts stood proud and her soft pale skin shone in stark contrast to the black of her clothing. My wife's beautiful body was open to George's gaze and I noticed that the patch of trim black hair between her thighs was absent.

"I see you were able to accommodate this morning's last minute request," said George, his voice a soft rumble as he slid my wife's coat from her shoulders allowing it to tumble to the floor at her ankles.

"What will I tell Colin?" Gillian asked, a tremble in her voice and she shuddered as George ran his hand over her beautifully rounded buttock.

"Tell him you wanted him to experience something different next time he goes down on you," replied George. He placed his hands on my wife's shoulders and I watched as they moved down her body to cup her breasts. I thought I heard her sigh softly. Then, returning his hands to her shoulders her guided her to sit on the bed. Bending a little at the waist, he stroked her arms before taking her small, delicate hands and placing them on the buckle of his belt. Straightening up he began to unbutton his shirt as my fife unbuckled his belt and unfastened his trousers. Unzipping his fly she pulled down his trousers and boxers to reveal his manhood. I am no expert in these things but to my eye it looked longer and thicker in its unaroused state than mine.

Kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks George instructed Gillian to take off her shoes and lie on the bed. Complying she lay flat out in the middle of the bed, her face - as far as I could make out from the camera - registering a mixture of apprehension and confusion. George walked around the bed to its foot and sat down on it. "You've been with firm long enough, Gillian," he began, gently easing her legs apart, "to know that we look after our employees. Now, while I look after you, why don't you tell me why you want to be a partner."

"Well, as you know, I've worked for the firm a long time," my wife began, her voice nervous and hesitant. As she did George gently parted her knees and buried his face between her firm white thighs. She moaned softly and I assume his tongue was teasing her pussy. "I've picked up a lot of experience and....oooohhh". A soft moan escape her lips and she closed her eyes. Her face became a little flushed. "I....oh...oh my.... I can't.... I feel I've contributed a lot to... OHH!!" George's tongue had clearly found her clitoris and was making it hum. She tried to keep talking, but it was clear that the pleasure welling from her groin was becoming overwhelming. "Oh my God!" she gasped and began to stroke George's thick black hair. "OHH!"

So there I sat, hypnotised by my laptop's display, watching as another man drove my wife ever closer to orgasm, his tongue rolling over her clit, her thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure flowed through her. I knew where this was leading - of course I did - but I was rooted to my chair, aware that, even if I felt able to intervene, by the time I could be at that other hotel room my wife would likely already be impaled on his thick shaft. So I just sat there and watched.

I watched as, my wife clutching at the bedsheets, George rose from between her thighs. "It seems, Gillian, that you have become a little incoherent. I think you need to work on your oral skills." With that he flopped on his back on the bed beside her, his now hard cock pointing rigidly upward. It was big. It was hard to gauge but I reckoned it to be a good eight inches and thick with it. I watched with a terrible sense of inevitability as my wife rose to her knees and bent over his groin. Her lovely red lips shaped into a wide circle she took his swollen, purple crown into her mouth and began to suck his engorged cock.

Gillian's long crow-black hair caressed George's toned torso as her head moved up and down, gradually taking him deeper into her mouth; her cheeks hollowing as she sucked on his thick shaft. "Oh yeah." George moaned as my wife felted him. "You are a really great cocksucker. I hope your husband...Ohhhh... appreciates you." I did - do! I knew exactly what he was feeling. I knew exactly the sensations that my lovely wife's hot, sweet mouth could evoke in my groin and jealousy raged as I watched, helplessly, in another room, in another building. I watched as another man's cock, glistening with her saliva I imagined, throbbed against her tongue.

After a few minutes George encouraged Gillian's head away from his groin. "Now," he said, "it's time to to show me how much you want to be a partner. Come ride my cock." By this point I no longer knew whether there was any reluctance at all in my wife's behaviour. All I knew was that she rolled to sit next to him, then turned, sweeping her left thigh across his groin. Reaching down to grasp her boss's rigid pole she guided its head to her entrance. I heard her moan as it entered her. Then, her hand running through her silky black hair, she slowly impaled herself on George's thick, hard cock.

My heart in my mouth, barely breathing, I couldn't look away from the screen as Gillian began slowly ride up and down on George's dick, as over and over again her pussy enveloped it. I could hear her moaning and panting as she alternated between rising and falling and grinding forward and backward, his shaft filling her. As I watched her movements became more rapid, more feverish. As I listened I could hear her moans becoming higher and higher in pitch. George's big strong hands were on her breasts, pinching her nipples between his fingers.

Minutes passed but they could have been hours; time seemed meaningless as I watched my wife driving herself ever closer to orgasm on another man's cock, as I listened to her cries growing ever more passionate, as her movements became ever more frantic. I knew, from experience, those cries, those movements and the way she was clutching convulsively at George's arms. I knew that she was moments away from shrieking out in ecstasy. Abruptly, though, George rolled her off him. Maybe I'm imagining it but I thought I heard Gillian moan with disappointment and frustration. For a second time her boss had stopped when she was so close.

Panting a little George rose from the bed, a sheen of sweat, it seemed on his body and his still rigid manhood glistening with my wife's juices. Offering her his hand he led her from the bed to the wall of glass that looked out over the river. Their backs to my camera he gestured out to the city beyond and said, "See that? See that great city with all those money-making businesses? Each and every one of them needs lawyers. That's what makes our firm so successful. That's what makes the firm I created, that I run, so lucrative. Do you understand?" She nodded and he continued, "That's what makes becoming a partner in my firm so worthwhile; why it's worth doing anything to get there. I fucked Grant and Stuart before they became partners. Fucked them both in the arse. I considered fucking your arse." He ran his hand over the delightful curve of my wife's bum, gliding a finger between her cheeks. A chill ran through me. As far as I knew Gillian had never experimented with anal. Would her boss now take a virginity that I had been denied?

As it was, he stepped behind her, pressing his rigid shaft to her arse and said, "Turns out, though, that your tight, married cunt suits me just fine." His hands moved to my wife's hips and he pulled her a couple of feet backward then, encouraging her legs apart with his foot he pressed her shoulders forward. Instinctively she placed her hands on the window, bracing herself against the glass. From my camera's perspective it was hard to see exactly what was happening, but the tremors that ran through my wife's body told me that he was teasing her opening with the tip of his cock. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Are you sure you want me to fuck you?"

"Yes!" she moaned, nodding her head. "Please. Oh God, please! OHHHH!!" With a single, long thrust George drove his hard, thick shaft deep inside my wife's body. Then he was pounding her, his buttocks dimpling as his groin slapped again and again and again against Gillian's round, soft arse. With each thrust she cried out in sheer, unadulterated sexual pleasure and with each thrust he drove her ever closer orgasm. A knot in my stomach I realised that this was only the sixth floor. If anyone walking on the other side of the street were to look up they would get a clear view of my wife, naked and wantonly being fucked hard and fiercely. If they had binoculars or - Oh God! - a zoom on the camera on their phone - they would see her face distorted with lust as she came ever closer to the edge.

"Do you want me to fuck you 'til you cum?" roared George as he sheathed his rod ever more rapidly into my wife's pussy.

"Yes! Oh God Yes!" my wife was shrieking. "Fuck me! Fuck me! FUCK ME!! OH... MY.... GOD!!!" Then, with an ululating cry my wife came on another man's cock. It may have been seconds, but time seemed to freeze as I listened to the love of my life screaming obscenities as he drove her through orgasm. At length as her cries began to subside. George withdrew from her, his shaft still rigid and shining with my wife's juices. He drew Gillian, her body trembling, back to the bed and pushed her face down upon it.

Then he was astride my wife's parted thighs. This time I could see clearly as he placed the engorged head of his still-rigid dick at her vulva then, with force and passion, he again drove into her. Her pussy was now sensitised and every thrust brought a shriek from Gillian, occasionally muffled as she buried her face in the pillow. Clutching the sheets and the pillows convulsively, every movement seemed to bring a cry or a moan. And George was now pounding into her, his arse rising and falling like an engine driving a piston home. Faster, faster his thrusts became and he began to grunt as he fucked my wife fiercely and with animal hunger. "Ugh!...Ugh!... Ugh! Getting...Ugh!...a good view...Ugh!... Ugh!....Colin?....Ugh!" I froze. He knew. He knew I was watching. He knew I was watching him fucking my wife, fucking her to a state of frenzy. He knew I had heard every word she had cried out as she came on his cock. I couldn't look away now as he roared like a rutting animal then five, six, seven long deep thrusts and I knew he was emptying his balls inside her.

He lay still on top of her for a few moments as she trembled beneath him. Then he sat up and turned her onto her back. Her face was flushed and she was panting. Gently he kissed her lips and said, "Congratulations. Partner". Then he got off the bed and, seemingly, walked straight toward me, his now softening manhood glistening and swaying as he came. His hand suddenly seemed enormous. He had known exactly where my camera was all the time. There were a few moments of unclear, indistinct images and I heard George saying, "The cleaning staff here are very, very good and I am a regular customer who tips well." Then the camera was still. It took a moment for the automatic refocus to work but then I saw that he was holding the camera close to Gillian's vagina. Her lips were engorged and open and her clitoris was standing proud. But all I could really see was the trail of George's cum oozing from my wife's pussy. "Your wife did a great interview Colin," George said. "Be sure to congratulate her when you get home."

That's where I am now. This is May the fourth. I'm sitting in a hotel room looking at my laptop and on the screen, in a window I can't seem to bring myself to close, is an image I wouldn't anyway forget: my wife's shaven, used pussy, framed by thighs slick with the sweat of sex and another man's semen seeping obscenely toward her arse. I said I'd done a stupid thing. If I hadn't done this I would have had my suspicions - they may have worked on me for weeks - but they would have passed. Now I know. Worse, Gillian knows that I know; she knows that I watched him fuck her. So what do I say, what do I do, when I get home to her? Start to break up the wonderful life we've had together? Congratulate her on her new job? Do I suggest using the video I have to launch some kind of legal action, knowing this would mean a whole pile of guys watching my wife wantonly fucking at a window, on display to the world and begging another man to make her cum? Hardest of all, do I tell her that there is a part of me - how big a part and to what degree I'm not sure I want to know - that will want to watch that video again and again.