May 19th.
Mr Bolton came round yesterday with his camera, and a few people, who I was informed, were actors. A pretty girl took my interest. She wore a long black wig. My girls stood back and watched as the actress took off her coat. Underneath the coat she wore a short pale blue uniform, like my old care home one. It was not lost on me that Mr Bolton was using my experience for the photos he would take.
My girls stood giggling, as the girl was involved in a mock chase in the wood, which is part of my brothel. All the men were older than the girl; one was seated in a wheelchair. Candy whispered that he would not be able to move it along on such uneven and rough ground. He got out of the wheelchair several times, and Mr Bolton, with the aid of several of the actors advanced the wheelchair, and then more photos were taken with the actor seated. The woman was captured and held against a tree, and close up photographs were taken of hands going up her uniform. I moved away and went back to the house leaving them to it.
They came in after an hour and Mr Bolton thanked me. We had a discussion, and I sent my girls to the cinema for the afternoon, all but Tanya my black dominatrix, who goes by the name of Madam Roxanne. She was willing to help out, but sworn to secrecy, or she would no long be my employee, and she was paid 30 pounds out of my own purse.
May 24th.
Dear diary, at last my photos have arrived, and an excited shiver ran down my spine. Mr Bolton hand delivered them, and once again he assured me they would not be used in his magazine, and that he would not show them to anyone else. To keep to our bargain, I told him I would let him use the wood for free, and have promised him the use of my dungeon, several times, for more photos of his actors and the actress, again free of charge for another two photo shoots.
The photos brought back all the memories of that day. I will tell you dear diary, my hand shook as I looked over each photo, and even now writing in your white pages, you will note an unsteady hand. The photos are a present for my husband on his birthday next month, and I cannot wait for his reaction.
May 30th.
Rick's father has decided to sell his garage, after the new large Ford garage opened in the next street. My husband has made an offer for the land. After I had suggested while it was only big enough for four houses, he would make more by putting up a block of flats. It was just a thought in passing which my husband was amazed by. He said I was turning into a proper clever little so and so, and he would call the flats Pauline's Place after me!
He said his deal only had one stumbling block, the boy Rick. How I loathe that boy. His Father is going to France to live, and Rick is not. My husband is supplying Rick with dwellings, free of charge for a year, until he finds his feet. I do not like the thought of that at all, but it is out of my hands.
June 5th
My husband's birthday was yesterday. I gave him a box with a pretty bow and he sat opening it. I think he was expecting cigars. He flicked through the photographs slowly without one word, as I stood silently in front of him praying he would like them. I did not know what his reaction would be, and he looked up at me and just stared. I reached behind the couch, and pulled out a long object wrapped in bright paper. On the card attached I had written, "For the Master of the house."
He ripped off the wrapping, and stared at the brown leather whip in his hand. I gulped and asked him to use it lightly to start with. His eyes did not leave mine for a whole minute, as he thought things through. Finally he grinned slightly. He picked up the photographs again, and patted the couch next to him. I sat with him, and put my hand on his erection and slowly rubbed it through his trousers. He went through the photos again, this time more slowly.
The first photograph showed me running through the wood in my work uniform. My face fixed with in terror. Behind me you could see four men, one in a wheelchair in hot pursuit.
The next photograph was of me being stood over, my hand up in a defensive manner, as three of the men, one carrying a chain with cuffs, stood looking down on me grinning.
The third photograph showed horror on my face which at the time was real, as I did not expect the man in the wheelchair to really push his finger in my anus!
The next picture I was going to destroy. There I was bent over the man in the wheelchair my tights down to my knees, while my buttocks had been spread open by two hands. That same picture clearly showed the grinning man in the wheelchair, with not one finger, but two pressed in my anus up to his knuckles! My husband's cock twitched at the sight of that particular photograph!
Dear diary, had I stayed and watched the actress I would have seen an identical photograph of mine being taken, and I would not have allowed it to happen to myself. I should have realised giving Mr Bolton free license to do as he wished was not my best judgement.
In the next photograph, the chain was looped over the branch of a tree, and my hands cuffed to rings on the ends over my head. My face was screwed up feigning disgust at the unsavoury act that was going on between my legs. The man in the wheelchair had his face buried in my black tights, kissing my pussy. The next photograph showed my tights being ripped open, and my dress undone, and my braless tits were being fondled by two different grinning men. One had lifted my breast quite a way, which indeed did cause me a little pain. The third man standing had his hand down my panties, and he fingered my pussy, as I stood helpless.
The next three photographs showed Madam Roxanne whipping my bare backside, while the men looked on grinning and pointing at me. The truth is Roxanne did not whip me as you would think. She just flicked the whip, while Mr Bolton captured the image, making it look very real.
The next seven photographs showed each of the four men fucking me, as I was still strung up. Every man did fuck me and that is no lie. Although they stood on a box, which Mr Bolton cleverly kept out of the photographs. There were four different close-up shots of each man's cock, hard, and half way in and half way out of my pussy. Each cock looked different, and my husband compared each of these photographs.
The closing photographs, Mr Bolton had to convince me to do. I was down on my knees with my arms tied behind my back with rope. Two men stood either side of me. My head was pushed between Madam Roxanne's legs, while she grinned down with her hands on her hips, and the whip trailing from her left hand, over my shoulder, and down my back.
The last photograph was of my bare ass, tights shredded, with painted on red blotches on my backside, bent forward on my knees kissing Madam Roxanne's boot.
My husband's cock was throbbing through his trousers. I got his cock out and within a few seconds of my hot lips touching his head, Mr Cox exploded in my mouth!
Albert asked me quite a few questions about my photographs, and what went on in the woods. I gave him an honest account, and sometimes it was quite embarrassing. To think I could be so open with my husband, a man who I was forced to marry is something quite remarkable. Dear diary, I have grown used to the wealth I have, and I have grown used to the man who would put me in such a situation. My own sexual desires are very much a part of this, and I wonder what life would have held in store for me if I was not married to him. Would I have brought up my baby alone, and what would I have become? It is a chilling thought, but now and then I have romantic feelings of what might have been also. Would I have been swept off my feet by a dashing young man?
As I looked at my body after a nice hot bath, I feel I have cheated myself in to this, because it was I who forced the judge's hand. I'll never forget the look on his face as he sat at his place in the courtroom, leering at my hard nipples as he took an unknown future away from me, and handed me to Mr Cox. It was my intention after all to force the judge into this. It is my fault, but again if I had not made the choice to phone Albert from that hotel, I might well have ended up on my back, working in a brothel, instead of running one.
I know I am an odd sort for these strange cravings, and the photo shoot, but believe me, I did not expect to be fucked in the wood. Mr Bolton had a knack of pushing me further and further. He kept saying, just a little more Pauline. The cocks were not suppose to enter me, but Mr Bolton cajoled me to agreeing to let them in half way, before I knew what was happening, the first cock was fucking me for real!
