One - Lexi
Sharon 'Shaz' Johnson purred and rolled over to give me a last, long, lingering kiss. There was still some residue of her husband Richard's cum on her cheek and there was certainly still plenty of it on mine. She glanced at him, kneeling on the floor next to the bed we were entwined upon, his once impressive erection now a thing of memory, a last dribble of cum that we somehow had missed dripping onto his inner thigh.
"Well pay the nice lady then, ya tight-arsed little shit!" Her gravelly Cockney accent always grated on me, but she was great in bed and the way we teased poor old Richard was right up my street. We had cavorted in front of him for almost an hour while he watched on, tied and helpless until Shaz was finally sated and allowed him release.
He knelt up, sweat glistening on his chest and matting his silvery grey hair. His voice was very different to hers - refined and mellifluous. "Certainly, my sweet." He reached into the pocket of his jacket hanging on the back of the bedroom door and pulled out his phone. Within a few seconds, I heard a chime on my own phone to say that the transfer had gone through.
I nodded. "Thank you, Richard."
Shaz glared at him, her huge false eyelashes batting. "Now you fuckin' well thank the nice lady or I don't blow smoke on yer cock next time!"
Richard looked at me clearly embarrassed, his lined faced reddening. "Apologies. Thank you, Miss Lexi. That was most satisfactory as ever." He hastily began to get dressed.
Five hundred pounds for around ninety minutes. I didn't consider it to be work - why should I? I was getting paid for something I loved doing anyway. I was making up for lost time. I'd had seventeen years of sterile, boring sex with the guy who had been my childhood sweetheart and became my husband far too young. The last four years since my divorce had been far more fun and if as they say, life begins at forty, I only had a few months left until I could let my hair down and really begin to enjoy myself.
Shaz's strident voice lifted me from my reverie. "Love this new place o' yours, Lexi - right cosy like. Much better than bloody London! See ya in four weeks then!" She was stuffing her oversized, over-enhanced breasts into a bra that could have doubled for a hammock. Just the thought of having that sort of work done to me made my eyes water and when she had told me how much Richard had paid, they almost started bleeding.
Despite being the epitome of the word 'chav', I always looked forward to the sex with Shaz, but I was also usually glad to see the back of her and her rich husband. She was a bit of rough alright, with her fake tan, enhanced breasts and lips and piercings in places that made me shudder just to think about. But boy, could she fuck and the torrent of filth that emerged from those over inflated lips as she commentated on our sessions not only drove poor Richard to the brink, but spurred me on as well.
Once I heard the front door close, I turned out the remaining dim lights and walked to the window. She was tottering down my driveway on high heels that she could barely walk in, the inevitable cigarette on the go, chattering away in her abrasive accent; the complete antithesis to her gentlemanly, refined husband.
He was wealthy, much older than her and she had him around her little finger. She was late twenties and he was just one side or other of sixty. She loved cuckolding him as much as he loved it himself.
Similar to my story, when he was widowed in his fifties, he decided to fulfil all his pent-up fantasies and more or less paid Shaz to be his wife and tormentor. I knew they saw escorts other than myself and judging by the marks I had seen on Richard's thighs and buttocks on occasions, I could only imagine what went on. It appeared that he loved to hear her tales of dogging and 'fuckin' anyfink wiv a pulse', in her own inimitable words. He was like a puppy on a leash and if she had free reign to do as she pleased, she certainly made sure all of his little perversions were very well taken care of.
She had told me once when we were alone that she was purely in it for the money. "He's alright, bless 'is little 'eart. I Iove teasin' the shit out o' the poor old bastard but once 'e pops 'is clogs, I'm set up fer life!"
But he was happy and that was all that mattered to me. He had never so much as touched me in all our liaisons - when Shaz told him it was time, he would tear the tissue paper bonds that held him captive and obediently walk over to her and unload on her paean to the breast-surgeons skills. The tissue paper made it all the harder for him; we had started with him being strapped to the chair arms with Velcro, but Shaz had decided that wasn't nearly enough. Even one session with ribbons had not made it hard enough for him, so she decided on tissue paper. If he so much as tore a single millimetre of it, he would not be allowed his release - at least not on Shaz's tits. Sometimes his knuckles were white as he gripped the chair-arms, desperate not to tear his bonds and forfeit his prize as he watched us turn each other inside out. So far, he had been successful and I had always got to share his load with Shaz as I licked her breasts clean and we swapped the cum from mouth to mouth.
I saw her take one last drag and grind out her cigarette under her heel as she got into their very upmarket silver car, her boobs bursting out of a leopard-skin print dress. I turned away, brought up the lights a notch and went into the bathroom to clean up the last of his mess before a nice long session with a large glass of Chablis and a sex toy the size of a cucumber.
I thought about doing one of my dirty-talking masturbation videos - maybe with a few naughty jerk-off instructions thrown in - but it was getting a bit late to set up the cameras. Instead, I got myself comfortable, sipped my wine and fired up my fave rabbit vibe.
I had come a long way in a short time, and in that time, I had come more often than the previous seventeen years combined.
It was both a kick in the teeth and a relief when I found out the reason I had been so neglected in the bedroom for so long. My dear husband was fucking the living shit out of his secretary and had been for years - doing all the nasty things to her he should have been doing to me. It was she that told me, the smug little cow. At least she wouldn't have been able to blow him for a while with a split lip. I nearly broke my bloody hand doing it, but it was worth it.
Oh well, at least the pent-up frustrations that had been building in me over the years could now be acted upon. It only took me two weeks after the split to begin to make up for lost time. I picked up a guy in my hotel on a business trip to America. I did more things in the three nights we spent together than I had done in seventeen years of courtship and marriage. When he went down on me, I almost wept when I thought of never having had that done to me before. My dear husband could never bring himself to do it, and as for me going down on him - that was what whores did, apparently. Whores and his secretary of course.
