The gloryhole became part of our schedule at the weekend. We'd often go out for a few drinks first, before stopping in for some anonymous sex on the way home. Word must have got out that it was a good time to show up, a Saturday evening, as there appeared to be larger numbers of cocks available for Suzanne - when she pushed the button a new one appeared almost immediately, and she was easily managing fifteen to twenty in one sitting.
Every session was recorded in full, and I had to buy some more storage drives to keep it all, such was the size of our collection.
Until now, Suzanne Sharp's professional and private life had been kept strictly separate. The first cracks in her professional facade began to emerge not long after her delightful Sunday session with Dave and Keith.
"So something interesting happened today," she began, after returning from reading the news, as usual arriving after eleven p.m. I expected to hear an anecdote about someone messing up the teleprompt for her lines or something else equally bland. But my ears perked up when she said:
"I flashed one of the young assistants tonight, before we went live," she smirked.
"Oh really? How?" She had my full attention.
"It was totally accidental. Honest!" She'd spotted my disbelieving look. "I was getting changed, I had a robe on, and my bra underneath. There was a knock on the door, and Tristan came in, he had some last minute notes for me to read over, and he'd brought me a coffee. I dropped the papers on the floor, and bent to pick them up, and the robe fell open a bit."
"What did he see?"
"Just this." Suzanne unbuttoned her blouse to demonstrate. She had a lovely black, lacy bra on, which was ever so slightly too small for her. It did conceal her nipples, but only just, and it helped promote an excellent cleavage. Certainly nothing obscene, and an innocent mistake, you might think. But something which any young man would no doubt have treasured.
"What did he do?"
"Nothing. I mean, he definitely got an eyeful, I saw that much. But then he sort of scuttled away. I had to go live not long after, but I can't stop thinking about it."
"How do you mean?"
"I mean, I get Tristan in and out of my dressing room all of the time in the hour leading up to me going on air, and sometimes again afterwards. I know it's not very professional, but it might be nice to have some fun with them."
"What sort of fun?"
"You know, tease them a little bit. It wouldn't do any harm, would it?"
"That depends on what you do. And who finds out," I said, with a slight warning tone.
Suzanne began coming home flustered, even more so than usual. Until now, work had been a leveller for her burgeoning sex drive, which she'd unleash once home, and especially at the weekends. But now, it seemed, even preparing to interview the Prime Minister on her Sunday morning show wasn't enough to take her mind off her desire to be seen, exposed, lusted after.
She'd taken to casually inviting Tristan, who looked after her on weeknights, and Dermott, who did the job on a Sunday morning, into her dressing room on the premise of fetching her something, checking a question, a line, nothing unusual in that. But she'd do so in her underwear. And my wife had an amazing range of very beautiful, attractive and revealing underwear.
She somehow managed to restrain herself from taking things much further, but both Tristan and Dermott had regularly caught a glimpse of a naked breast or between Suzanne Sharp's famous legs. She made out like she was so focused on her work clothing was an afterthought, and the boys made out they didn't notice as they were so dedicated to solving their boss's latest problem.
This seemed to suit everyone, but as it went on, it simply had the effect of pushing my wife further towards the inevitable. Even the weekend gloryhole sessions, whereupon she'd devour the growing number of visitors with an impressive appetite which made for some superb video, began to lose their impact. Something had to give.
"I feel like it's time for me to take things in a different direction," she began, one Saturday morning. I was making breakfast, and she was sitting thoughtfully at the breakfast bar.
"How do you mean?" I wondered. I assumed, naively, that she had received a job offer, and would be off to some new presenting job, or something similar.
"I feel like I've got nothing left to prove as a presenter, a newsreader, an interviewer," she mused. "And god knows, we've got enough money now, right?"
We were, indeed, very comfortable. I worked exclusively from home these days, and managed various investment funds in the US markets. This was proving very lucrative, and our combined income had left a large surplus which had been invested very wisely. It had been several years since I'd observed that we probably didn't need to continue work at all - not for financial reasons anyway.
"What have you got in mind, then?" I wondered. I was intrigued to see my wife looking somewhat nervous. This was a rarity, as was the indecision she was clearly experiencing.
"I..." She stopped herself, looking down at her mug of coffee for a while before raising her head with some determination.
"How would you feel if I just gave it all up? The news, the interview - being on the TV in general, really."
"What brought this on?" I wondered, not answering her question. I was worried about her. I needn't have been.
"Everything, really. All the stuff we've been getting up to, it's completely changed my mindset. I feel like there's a limited amount of time you get, and we're incredibly lucky to be where we are, and to be with each other, and so happy. I look at my friends and their lives are all just so dull. And ours is just so amazing.