The Fifth Day: Laying the Ghost

Reluctant Menage-et-trois

“Would you like to order now sir?” I looked up. It was the barkeep Sally had introduced earlier. He obviously found something very amusing. Perhaps it was the stained panties still lying on the table. Perhaps it was me, sitting there miserable and alone as my wife walked off with someone else.

He knew! He ‘had’ to know. He called her by her first name when she came in and this was obviously where they held their little rendezvous. I closed the envelope I had just opened without viewing the contents. Casually I picked up my wife’s panties, folded them neatly and put them in my pocket together with the envelope.

“Yes, I have an order?” Staring up into the smirking face I said quietly. “I would appreciate it very much if you would take that grin off your face and fuck off!”

His smile was replaced by open-mouthed surprise and I was left staring at an empty space. It was a mild release for the pent-up agonies I had nursed for the last few hours.

It felt very claustrophobic in there, I couldn’t think straight; I was suffocating. I had to get out, get some fresh air and do some serious thinking. I paid at the bar to a different barman, and left.

I pushed my hand into my pocket pulled out the tacky panties and dumped them in a bin near the door, then I made my way out into the night, around the side of the building to the MPV, praying that she would be there, but knowing that she wouldn’t.

Where was she, what was she doing now? My thoughts were running rampant, almost unbearable; was she fucking? Of course she was. Was she sucking him off again, now, at this moment? My head was buzzing with this roller coaster of a day. I remembered the envelope. It was probably a ‘Dear John’ I thought, I opened it. Photographs? No letter, just photographs?

I climbed into the car and switched on the light, no doubt in my mind what the subject of the pictures would be. I thumbed through the selection dispassionately, amazed at how calm I had become with an almost analytical eye, as though the cunt depicted in most of the shots in glorious colour was not that of my wife. One showed the swollen labia, open and ready, the forefingers of a male hand pulling back the hood of her clit, exposing it red and raw looking, distended, alert, above the yawning crimson hole, glistening with moisture, that was evidently about to be, or had just been fucked. That it was my wife there was no doubt. I could see her face in some of the shots and her ‘designer stubble’ in most of the others. She hadn’t lied about his penis either. It was a weird appendage, crowned with what looked like the head of a big mushroom. I was developing a severe dislike for this man.

Another shot showed jets of cum that had been ejaculated onto her belly, a trail of cum hanging from the gaping mouth of her sex. The flash of the camera had lit up the inside of her abused cunt. I could see the greyish-white sperm inside her, contrasting with the redness of her cuntal passage. Yet another showed him wedged belly to belly up inside her. Another with his hand wrapped around his prick poised at her opening, a stream of whiteness spewing from the mushroom end into her. Then, turning to the next one my heart sank. It was the one image I was praying I wouldn’t see. The bulbous head of his cock buried just inside the straining ring of her once virgin anus. In the picture a female hand could be seen. Her hand! Pushing against his groin as though in protest against the unnatural assault. A futile attempt judging by the next photo, he was sunk right in ball deep, their bodies gleaming with the fluids from her orifices. It went on and on, each one superseding the last in its grossness, it’s explicitness. There was no doubt in my mind whose influence had generated them and whose hand was directing the action and taking the photographs.

Staring again at the pictures it suddenly occurred to me that I knew where they were. It wasn’t a hotel room or a car. In some shots, judging by the upholstery, they were in a campervan or motorhome. The same motorhome we passed when we arrived! The same one she went into to get fucked while I sat at the bar worrying about her feelings.

I started up the MPV and drove to the other side of the building. Twenty yards from the motorhome I switched off the lights, parked and sat pondering my options. For a long time I just sat there reliving the events of the day, my eyes not leaving the illuminated windows of the camper.

I knew what I was going to do and once I had acknowledged that, the whole sorry mess began to take on a new perspective. It seemed so obvious. I had created this monster. I would be the one to destroy it.

I had pushed Sally into this and I could see now that once it had begun she had little choice but to let it run its course A terrible gamble but one she clearly thought was worth the risk, otherwise she would have gained nothing and lost everything, our marriage, her respect for me and most of all respect for herself. That she had found someone with a voracious unorthodox sexual appetite was my bad luck, but I was absolutely positive now that all things considered no matter who she had eventually chosen the outcome would have been the same, because what is invariably missing from this type of sordid little assignation is respect, responsibility and love. That is why he could do to her the things he did. He had no responsibility towards her, no love and no respect for her feelings. He could please himself what he did, then just walk away. Because of this fact it allowed the sex to be wild and unfettered with no accountability on either side. The onus lying squarely on the shoulders of ‘El Burko’, me! Whereas I loved her, I respected her. I was responsible for her and cared deeply about her well-being and our partnership. Whether this commitment and accountability actually dulled our sex life would remain a subject for conjecture and after tonight no doubt hopefully the topic of intense future discussions. I laughed out loud. She was getting fucked because of me! Now, the way I was thinking, she was getting fucked ‘for’ me? --- Fucking ironical isn’t it.

Okay, with that sorted out in my head I needed to find out for sure that she actually was in the motorhome. Climbing out of my vehicle I made my way across the park trying not to be too obvious and positioned myself between the camper and the shrubbery that surrounded the park and tried to peer, unsuccessfully through the blinds of a side window. I couldn’t see anything but I could ‘hear’ plenty. There was no mistaking the groans of my wife and her occasional Oh!----Oh!---- Oh! I felt a pang of jealousy and dejection as I realized I’d never heard her groans of sexual passion from a distance before.

“Push down on it Sally? Right down! That’s it! Now ride it! Fuck it hard! And all the while her mewing groans resounded through the van.

Why I wanted to see this, to actually see it happening I truthfully don’t know. At this moment I had a sincere hatred for this man who had taken my place, yet defying logic, I wanted to see him ‘in’ her, fucking her! To see what they did, how they interacted, but mainly I think I wanted to see how my wife reacted to him personally. This was madness! Why, for Gods sake! I don’t know.

My heart was pounding. I desperately circled the van looking for somewhere I could see inside. This was totally out of character for me. What was I doing, creeping about like a bloody voyeur, a peeping tom.

If anyone had seen me sneaking around the van with a steaming hard on I’d have been locked up. I felt disgusted with myself but it didn’t stop me. I had to see them.

I noticed that the cab-end had curtains instead of blinds and when I got closer I could see by the side of the door that there was a gap between the drapes on the passenger side of the vehicle and a chink of light was emanating from the interior. I pushed my face against the window and peered in. Where I was standing I could see almost the whole internal length of the camper but that wasn’t the main thing that was occupying my vision just then.

There she was, naked, almost facing me, a couple of metres to my right, sitting impaled on the cock of a dark-haired man whose total attire was a pair of ankle socks. She had her feet up on the seat opposite, legs splayed, hanging wide and using her feet for leverage she was slowly working herself up and down on the shaft that was buried deep in her----arse, for pity’s sake. Her cunt was hanging open, in a lop-sided ‘O’ secreting her lust as she squelched down on him.

“Now push your fingers in your cunt and fuck yourself. Play with your clit and tell me when you’re coming”

“No! Don’t ask me to do that! Just fuck me please”

“Look at your cunt Sally,” he said as he sat there kneading her breasts, rolling and squeezing the nipples “push your fingers in your hole and start fucking”

As if in a trance she leaned over and looked at her swollen, mushy gash with his rigid piston lodged tightly in her straining arse below, then she watched herself as she opened and held herself wider with her left hand then fed the fingers of her right hand in up to her knuckles.

I swear I didn’t take my cock out. it was just there, in my hand. What the fuck was wrong with me? My wife doing unimaginable things with a stranger and me standing watching with my prick in my hand, this wasn’t me! I don’t do things like this I thought as I slowly slid my fist back and forth.

“I’m coming! Oh, God--- I’m coming! Oh!—oh!—oh!”

It was Sally, and she wasn’t kidding. I saw then what she had talked about earlier, that quite frankly, I didn’t believe, my wife ejaculate; her hand was working feverishly at herself; then suddenly a discharge spurted from her, coating her fingers and her shaking thighs. Then I joined her, my cock quivered in my hand then pulse after pulse of semen spattered the side of his van.

I heard the guttural groans of a male voice reverberate from inside. “My turn girl” he groaned. “I’m going to come! Keep your cunt open,” he said as he withdrew his glistening prick from her arse and held it at the mouth of her cunt. She stretched the lips of her labia away from the widening gash with both hands and stared down at the mess between them as thick globules of sperm spewed from the bulbous head and splattered her inner thighs and belched up inside and around her cunt hole.

Once I had cum I could not rationalise with the emotional turmoil that engulfed me. Sadness, jealousy, anger. But the most disturbing was the undeniable underlying feeling of unrequited lust. I felt like an interloper. Like I did not belong to this act of intimacy between these two people, even though one of those people was my wife, yet, disturbingly, with a real deep yearning to participate. All of this only served to strengthen my resolve to end this nightmare now.

While these thoughts were seesawing through my mind I saw the man lift her from him, then, turning he ran his hand between her legs and offered it to her. She took his fingers into her mouth and sucked.

At first my sole intention was to get Sally regardless of her possible protests and take her home but even as I was thinking this I knew it was not the way to end it. I needed more. We needed more. This episode had exposed a part of me I was never consciously aware of. I felt an uncanny need to explore this part, then to end this thing completely and totally. No strings. I’d seen all I’d wanted to see and soon, hopefully, we could walk away from it.

I made my way to the rear of the camper and rapped on the door. Nothing. Silence --- then a male voice with a typical response

“Who on earth can that be?”

He opened the door and stood there in nothing but his underpants. My immediate assessment, a man shorter than me, perhaps slightly heavier built, dark-skinned, a definite Romany look about him. He recognised me instantly.

“You know me then?” I said.

“Well --- er --- yes, I do!”

“Okay! Introductions over. Aren’t you going to ask me in?” I said, pushing past him. He made no protest as I made my way through the van.

No Sally? --- I opened a side door and --- there she was, sitting on a loo with a hand towel pulled over her nakedness, the nipple of her right breast impudently peeking from the side.

“Peter!” she squeaked, wide-eyed “What are you doing here? You know what I said!” trying to recapture some of the overbearing attitude she had shown earlier, but failing.

“I know what you said. You didn’t think I could just wait and hope did you? Now you are going to listen to what I have to say” then a voice piped up behind me.

“I don’t think Sally wants you here, and I’d appreciate it if you would leave. Now!” he said with an attempt at conviction.

I turned and glared at him. “Up until now you have been nothing more than a ‘tool’” I said “ an instrument Sally has used in desperation to try to redress the balance for my thoughtless indiscretions. Believe me, if I were you I would be content with that. You are simply a pick-up, accept that fact.” I said pulling myself to my full height and leaning towards him.

In the step back he took, he relinquished credibility as an aggressor. It seemed he was allowing common sense to over-ride any desire he might have had for confrontation. His stare wavered and fell from mine, he looked towards Sally, still sitting there, looking ridiculous on the loo bowl.

“I have things I must say to you Sally, and I don’t think being crammed in here in this loo is the place to say it.”

With an elegant sweep of his arm my reluctant host ushered me through to the lounge area.

“Take a seat, make yourself at home” he said, with more than a hint of sarcasm. I walked through and sat down followed by Sally, still holding her towel and still with her nipple poking out. There had been a supple change in the psychological hierarchy I noted, and I had become the dominating presence. My confidence was easing into overdrive.

I looked directly at Sally as she perched herself on the edge of a seat looking decidedly uncomfortable as though she didn’t know quite what to do or say. It was then that I noticed he had covered his upholstery with a sheet. I smiled. I could well understand why, the way Sally had been ‘expressing’ herself lately.

“There are two men here Sally” I said “and though I hate to admit it, both know your body intimately --- don’t you think you can dispense with the towel?”

She looked first at me, then at him, then again at me. She removed the towel and placed it beside her on the seat.

I looked at my beautiful wife sitting there naked, her hands covering her pussy, her legs tight together, so lovely, so vulnerable. I wanted desperately to hold her to me, to throw something over her nakedness, to take her home, and yet, even as I thought this I was acutely aware of an underlying, unmistakable sexual tension permeating the atmosphere, almost tangible, compelling, urging. There was something I needed to see and do. ‘The Fifth Day’ wasn’t over yet.

I really didn’t think she was prepared for this turn of events, my sudden appearance at this point didn’t figure in her equation.

“What is it you want Peter?” she said resignedly.

“Simply for you to allow me to speak --- uninterrupted.” She raised her hand in a gesture of assent, leaving her other hand still covering her pussy. Staring directly into her eyes I began.

“What I did was thoughtless and selfish, never realizing or even considering the possible consequences of what it might do to us. To explain how I felt at the time. Tina was giving off sexual signals directed solely at me, and quite frankly I was flattered. Tell me honestly that you have never been propositioned and perhaps, at the very least, just wondered what it would be like. Well, I did --- but I crossed the line. The point I’m trying to make Sally; is that although what I did was wrong, it was not premeditated; it was not done to hurt you. It was an erotic adventure with an attractive woman, nothing more. No whispered endearments, no swearing of undying love, or to put it in layman’s language and to echo what you said earlier --- a fuck. If my head had over-ruled my hard, we would not be sitting here now, because believe me, between you and her, my love, there is no contest. I am not making light of what happened, as I have said a dozen times. You Sally, are my world, and I have no intention of living my life without you.”

“Now then” I said, lowering my voice and putting in as much emotion as I could muster. “Your response to my stupidity was something else. You knew what you were doing. You deliberately did what you did to hurt me. I cannot condone what you did, ‘are doing’ but I can understand it and I can forgive you.” Then I added “I also know you can forgive me and that you never intended going off with him!”

“Oh,” she whispered “and what makes you so sure of that?”

“You went to an awful lot of trouble to set this thing up Sally. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. If you didn’t care for me --- really care, then you wouldn’t have bothered. But you did take a terrible gamble with what you did.”

I stretched out my arms and took her hands in mine. “Tell me I’m right, don’t take this thing any further Sally, please. I think we’ve both suffered enough, don’t you?” Before she could reply he spoke up.

“I can answer that one!” he interjected “She’s already told me she’d never leave you.”

She looked a forlorn figure as she sat there, her lips quivering, her eyes full.

“Yes! You’re right!” she gushed. Her shoulders shook. “What a terrible mess we’ve made of things, you and I.”

“I don’t think so sweetheart, we can survive this and come out stronger” I smiled “if we are truthful we have to admit to becoming complacent, taking each other for granted, and our sex life had lost some of its zest, this is a blessing in disguise, this has given us a new lease on life?”

“How can this disaster help us?” she sniffed.

“Well,” I said “ in the past there were things I would have liked to have tried with you but was afraid to ask in case I upset you.” I leered at her. “But now! After the eye-opener I’ve had, we’ve ‘both’ had. Watch out!”

I grinned. “There is a side to my lovely wife neither of us knew existed and by becoming aware of it, it exposed a side to ‘me’ I didn’t know existed.

“What do you mean?” she looked at me doe-eyed.

“Well, let me explain something first then you’ll see. When you hit upon this idea of revenge you made the lucky mistake of telling him you would do anything he asked whereby relinquishing control and with it responsibility for anything you might do, at the same time allowing him to be as perverse and outrageous as he wished. Consequently it evolved into the most erotic episode of your life. Then it occurred to me that you really got off on having someone control your actions, and I mean ‘really’ get off!”

“I don’t think so?” she said with an element of doubt in her voice.

“I’m sure of it --- and I’ll prove it to you?”

“How can you do that?” she quizzed. I had the distinct impression she regretted having asked that question.

“By you answering honestly---and doing what I say---will you do that?”

“I’ll try.” She mumbled.

“Has he fucked you since you left me in the restaurant?” I thought the question would have unsettled her but it didn’t. She looked at him then back at me.

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“Once.”

“Did you cum?”

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“I----I don’t know?” I raised my eyebrows.

“Three times I think.”

“He made you cum three times?”

“Yes.”

“How many times has he fucked you now?”

“Fifteen times.”

“He fucked you in the arse didn’t he?”

“Look! Peter, where are you going with this?”

“Just answer the question sweetheart---please.” She dropped her eyes and sat staring at her feet. I didn’t think she was going to reply, then almost in a whisper.