Wendy had spent a sleepless night. The party had ended late but that wasn't what had kept her awake. Her mind was a whirl as she tried to reconcile the fact that when she had hugged her friend, Alison, she had been assaulted by the unmistakeable scent of sex. Worse still, was the equally strong scent of her own husband's aftershave. Peter always wore that brand and it was so expensive she doubted if anyone else at the party would buy it. Besides it was he who had led Alison from the party to show her an email from her own husband but that was obviously just an excuse for them to find some time alone.
The more she thought about it, the more she realised that Alison had been missing from the party for some time. She couldn't remember seeing Peter during that time either but she had assumed he was mingling with the other guests. It was certainly a large enough house, and a large enough guest list for her not to have thought twice about that. Not, at least, until she had embraced her so-called friend and suddenly knew what they had been doing. As soon as she looked Alison in the eyes she knew the truth but, being the professional politician's wife, she did not make a scene. Instead, she had retired to bed as soon as the last of the guests had left and began to think about what to do next. Wendy never did anything without planning her moves in advance but this had totally shocked her.
As soon as Peter had left for work, Wendy went through to his office. Now, sitting at his desk, she wondered what she should look for and what she should do should she find anything. She decided to start with his computer and see if there had been any secret emails between her husband and that bitch. She knew Peter had had countless affairs but he had always kept them away from the home they shared, away from their family, but now he had brought it to their doorstep and she had to find out exactly how much trouble she was in.
A long time ago she had discovered his password which had privately amused her since it was their wedding date he had used. Wendy often thought of that day as the day everything had started to go wrong; or that night. Wendy was still a virgin on their wedding day and it was only when they left their wedding celebrations to retire to the honeymoon suite that she found out just what Peter was looking for in a wife.
She had been shocked the first time she saw him naked, not by his physical presence but by the size of his erect penis. Wendy didn't have anything else to measure her new husband against but it looked enormous and, although she knew what was expected of her, she just couldn't imagine how such a thing was possible. "That" thing could never fit inside her, could it?
Peter had been surprisingly gentle with her and, although it hurt like nothing she had ever known, she gritted her teeth and performed her wifely duties. It was only when he "finished" and she began to feel him soften inside her that things started to go wrong. He suggested to her that she might want to clean his "cock" with her mouth. God, she hated that word. The thought of doing what he wanted repulsed her and she told him so in no uncertain terms.
To his credit, Peter hadn't pushed her that night and they both soon fell asleep in each other's arms. In the weeks and months that followed, however, his demands had become more and more insistent and more and more depraved. Eventually she had to tell him that sex was simply a means of making babies and that was all it would ever be to her. If he had to do these other things then he would have to find someone else to do them with.
And so, over the years, their intimacies had grown less and less frequent and, now that they were getting a bit older, she had thought that there would be no more concerns in that area. She had even considered inviting her husband back to her bed, certain that he would now feel the same way. Obviously, she was wrong.
She entered the password, hit the return key and the computer sprang to life. As the desktop became available she saw to her horror that she wouldn't even have to search through his emails. There, facing her, was a new folder with the simple title, "ALISON".
Wendy simply stared at the folder for a few moments, too afraid of what she might find when she opened it. Having come this far, however, she knew there was no going back. When she did eventually pluck up the courage to click on "ALISON" she was momentarily deflated. She was now faced with two new folders, one entitled "PHOTOS" and the other, "EDITED VERSION".
She decided to play safe and clicked on "PHOTOS" but nothing could have prepared her for what she was about to see. There was the woman she had known all her adult life, the woman whose husband had risen through the ranks of their political Party at the same time as Peter, the woman with whom she had shared all her joys and sorrows and grown closer to every day just as their two husbands had become the two stars of the Party and, now, were the two men vying for the top job.
Instead of the elegant, graceful woman she had known all these years before her was some sort of slut performing all kinds of obscene acts with her own chauffeur, in her own husband's car. And somehow these photos had found their way into Peter's possession and onto Peter's computer.
Slowly, almost in shock, Wendy got up from her husband's desk and walked on shaking legs over to the drinks trolley. Pouring a very large measure of gin into the crystal glass, she added a small amount of tonic water and sat back down. Clicking on each of the small photos in turn, they enlarged to the full screen size but, if anything, that was even worse.
The first showed Alison with the chauffeur's penis in her mouth. As if that wasn't bad enough, the second showed her topless, sitting on top of the chauffeur, tugging at her own nipples. Yet another showed Alison, on her hands and knees with the chauffeur kneeling behind her, pulling her head back by her blonde hair and the expression on her face told exactly what the chauffeur was doing to her. She was dressed in a way Wendy could never have imagined dressing herself. Her tiny black bra failed miserably to contain her swinging breasts and her stockings were torn, obviously from the attentions of the chauffeur. But it was Alison's knickers that both excited and disgusted Wendy. She knew what thongs were, had seen enough of them in lingerie boutiques to know that they existed but Wendy had always dismissed them as something a whore, a slut would wear. Now she could see that her friend's only protection from near nakedness was a tiny strap that separated the cheeks of her bottom but did nothing to hide her dirty hole nor anything else for that matter. Wendy was horrified and, at the same time, utterly fascinated. As she clicked on one photo after another, each one more and more depraved than the one before, she could feel her face burning in embarrassment.
Getting up from the desk once more, Wendy poured herself another drink before returning to the record of her friend's depravity. As she sat down again, Wendy inadvertently squeezed her thighs together and realised with a start that she felt moist between her legs, moist in a way she hadn't felt for years.
She looked back at the screen and continued to examine the photos, one by one. The more she looked, the more she drank and, transfixed as she was, Wendy realised she was getting quite drunk; quite drunk and quite aroused. She took a deep breath, took another long drink then pulled her skirt up over knees. Touching herself through her knickers, she traced her fingers up and down her slit, realising she had never touched herself like this. She wondered if she had been missing out all these years, wondered if Alison was simply doing what all her friends were doing and that she was the odd one out.
Still clicking her way through the sordid photos, she hooked a finger under the elastic of her knickers and pulled them to one side, vaguely aware of how brazen she was being and of how any of the staff could walk in on her at any point. She ran one finger along her wet slit and then back up to circle her clit, her lips beginning to swell and her nipples tingling like never before. Almost instinctively her legs parted wider and she pulled her knickers further to the side before sliding her finger deep into her pussy.
She realised her nipples were now as hard as bullets and quickly unbuttoned her plain blouse. Looking down she looked at her plain cotton bra and just knew that Alison probably never wore anything as plain and sexless as this. Undeterred she pulled her bra down and freed her large breasts, squeezing her nipples between fingers and thumb, one after the other, and the touch sent shock waves throughout her body that she barely recognised.
Standing up she reached behind her back, opened the clip on the waistband of her skirt, pulled the zip down and let it fall to the floor. Taking another mouthful of her gin and tonic, she sat back down, pushing her plain knickers down to her knees. She couldn't believe she was doing this but seeing the image of her friend on the screen, her friend who seemed to be crying out in ecstasy as her chauffeur pummelled her pussy from behind, she pulled earnestly at both her engorged nipples before slipping one hand down to her desperate cunt.
Still staring at the screen, Wendy began wanking hard, rubbing furiously at her engorged clit with two fingers while squeezing and pulling at her nipples. Her breathing was becoming fast and shallow.
"'Oh my," she gasped, still the polite wife of the leader-elect of the Party, as she felt herself edging inexorably towards her climax.. "Oh, Wendy. Oh, Peter, is this what you've been talking about? Is this what I've been missing? Yes! Yes!"
Her pussy was on fire now and Wendy couldn't have stopped even if the whole household staff were to suddenly walk into the room.
