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57 From cheating housewife to who knows what? Pt1o
57 From cheating housewife to who knows what? Pt1
My name is Christine Slack, I live in a big west country town and I am married to Jack , yes I can hear you sniggering, Jack Slack! We have been married for 3 years and his name is very appropriate as believe it or not he has not been able to raise much more than a laugh in the last two years poor lamb.
He`s a year or two older than me at 37, we live together in a fairly posh area of suburbia, he is manager of a security company, me, I am a very respectable housewife, at least on the surface. Stand 5ft 6” tall, have a 36C-30-32 figure, hate to be totally naked, have a high sex drive, have a hairless, waxed pussy and have taken myself a lover!
My husband has I hope no idea of my extra activities as though a loving and caring little chap he is just that , a little chap and though he tries hard he is not casenover in any form and I need more. He is a good provider though and I want for nothing (bar a good seeing too occasionally), he is regular in his habits and leaves at the same time each morning, home again on the same train, a real nose to the grindstone hubby.
The postman a hunk by the name of Steve calls for “tea &Toast” 3 times a week; he finds it too tiring to call everyday as my friend Rosy the cheeky cow at the end of the street gives him his breakfast on the other days.
I don’t look on it as cheating more, sort of a marriage saving exercise so naturally I haven’t told Jack about this little ‘arrangement’ what he doesn`t know is not going to hurt him and it keeps the world turning as long as we are discrete.
Well this shall we say ‘arrangement ‘, has been going on for around a year, basically since the frustration factor got just a bit too much for my vibrator to cope, and I had had to sent mail order for another, which Steve delivered pointing out the package was damaged, and that I needed to check the contents.
Cringe making though this was, over tea he explained that a good looking lady like myself shouldn’t use such a crude device, and he said it was a left hander anyway which as I am right handed would not be any use, oh he had all the patter that one, anyway it led to Mondays, Wednesday and Friday, he would assist with my “problem” and no one would be any the wiser.
Now I must say Steve gives good service, the whole 9 yards or in his case 8 inches, he loves kinky undies and so is not bothered about this thing I have about not being totally naked, he loves the feel of a semi dressed woman, so naturally I try and wear something different each day when I answer the door to him, in the whole 12 months he has never missed a ‘breakfast’ or been late, arriving, 9 am prompt just ½ an hour after Jack leaves which gives me just time to dress for him before he trots up my path if you see what I mean..
This in its own way caused the problem, I had ordered some bits from a catalogue, curtains and matching throws and as was my usual practise I had on just the flimsiest of items to answer the door to Steve just stockings and suspender belt with a platform bra as well that expose my stiff expectant nipple`s, the doorbell rang at the expected hour and I opened it to find not Steve but a tall overweight driver from a delivery company with a parcel for me normally I stand inside the door and Steve blocks any passerby’s view as he comes in, however this chap stood to one side and I was forced to lean out towards him to sign the docket. Rather red faced I signed for the parcel conscious of the drivers eyes taking in every tiny detail of my body in a fast but very thorough appraisal of both body and the way it was dressed!
Glowing, I snatched the parcel then stepped back indoors hurriedly the second that docket was signed, leaving an astonished driver looking at a closed door, within seconds the doorbell again rang and I opened it just a crack to see the chap striding down the path and Steve stood on the doorstep, I welcomed him in and things took their normal course of events.
I later realised that there were some more parcels to come, so when the bell went at 9am on the following day I was dressed more carefully in “normal clothes”, the same driver (I later found his name was eddy) was stood parcel and docket in hand, desperately trying to keep a straight face, which I must say registered some disappointment at my attire.
I signed the docket and he wandered away looking glum.
Friday came and again I was dressed for Steve, this time my tits bubbling over the top of a western style waist clincher, balanced on high heels, the bell went and not expecting any more parcels I swooped on the door opening it to greet …you`ve guessed it…bloody Eddy with a parcel and the inevitable docket!
Again those eyes roved over the scant clothing and again I was asked to sign the docket as his eyes devoured my now erect nipples in a slavering gaze.
Snatching at the parcel and scribbling my name hurriedly I was about to shut the door as Steve appeared through the garden gate, the parcel man turned away but I could see some form of understanding forming on his face, as he passed Steve on the path and nodded a greeting.
We live in a bungalow in a leafy suburb, ½ way along a well spaced out lane. At the foot of our front garden in fact enclosing the whole garden is a fair height hedge to stop nosey people gazing into our lives, Jack keeps it well trimmed, and other than through the open gate passersby can`t see into the front garden or house at all, however if a lorry or van is parked in the roadway a view over the gate can be had from the driving cab a fact that did not escape the eager Eddy, who took to sitting in our roadway to eat his breakfast sandwiches each morning from about eight till sometime after nine.
I though didn’t notice this, being busy dressing myself for Steve on alternate days and doing household chores on the other days. It seems Eddy`s hobby is photography though that fact escaped me at the time as well.
Steve usually lets himself out after his “meal” so it came as a surprise when the bell went shortly after he left one day. I took it Steve had forgotten his hat again, or his mail sack, something he had done before, so I trotted to the front door and opened it to find a smiling Eddy, who invited himself in by barging past into the front hall. I began to bluster a bit shooing him towards the door but he`s a big guy and he put his finger to his lip in a gesture that I should be silent. Somewhat scared I did stand silently, ever conscious that I was dressed in just a blue basque, barefoot with my tits on show and with Steve`s cum still dampening my thighs.
“Mrs Slack “he began with no small talk or preamble at all “I know all about you and the postman I have photos of his pimply arse between your lovely thighs on the front room sofa, so let`s not start by going round the houses with this, your hubby doesn`t know I will be bound, and he`s not going to be a happy man if he finds out is he?”
Oh shit what do I do now? I thought, while standing in silence my jaw dropping heart thumping as he showed me just one or two snaps he had taken to prove his point, good clear shots of Steve greeting me on the step and leaving the house putting his cap straight, adjusting his tie that sort of thing.
“That proves nothing “I shouted hoping bravado would win the day “Now get out!” Eddy leered at me then pulled from his pocket a bunch of shots of the living room taken from a long lens, the detail was incredible, Steve mid stroke and the mantelpiece clock showing 9.15 as clear as day, I knew the picture would not be a one of. The game was up, my marriage, the shame, even Jacks work depended on integrity and security, god what could I do as damage limitation.
He asked my name, as he said we needed to be less formal if we were to do any business, saying his was Eddy and that he did not want to bring me a lot of grief so not to look so worried.
Worried! At that precise moment my head felt light and I was in fear of fainting.
I staggered into my kitchen and collapsed on a padded bench beside the table as this loathsome bastard followed me into the room his huge frame filling the doorway and blocking the light as he joined me in the room.
He offered me a glass of water; here in my own kitchen this calculating lump of a blackmailer was offering me water from my own tap, in my own cup! I took the proffered cup and sipped at the water desperately trying to get my head round the whole situation, as he silently stood watching as I regained my senses, again he asked my name and in a whisper a voice I barely recognised as my own said “Christine.”
“Do you want money?” I asked, to which he shook his head, shock registering in his eyes as if nothing could be further from his mind. Slowly he said again that “he didn’t want to cause me any matrimonial problems,” he went on that he “just wanted some of what the postman was getting” and to have a photography model, as I was such a lovely chunk of womanhood.
My jaw dropped open, I am just another woman in the street no great deal, I don’t think of myself fabulous bodied model though its true some folk fancy me a lot but here was this great chunk asking just to take my picture like I was something special, not for him money or whatever, I suddenly understood that he just wanted companionship perhaps by being so outsize he felt no woman would want him and this was his only way of introducing himself.
I asked him to sit with me which he did, and we talked for a while, as he laid before me all the copies of pictures of me he had, there were about 30 in all, slutty ones, dressed ones, tidy ones and ones I would not want my mother to see, pictures of Steve screwing me over the table, the sofa back, and with my hands hanging on the mantelpiece while he gave it me from the back giving a blow job and who knows what else. He was a good photographer, no David Bailey but good nonetheless he had captured the moment well my face showing the emotions of each separate occasion, the feelings, even the joy in each separate act.
I thought I would try talking, for at least a start, he being not that ugly in a craggy sort of way.
“Tell me about your home life,” I asked “have you no woman in your life?”
He told me his wife was unable now to enjoy sex in any form and that he found it so frustrating that he needed some other outlet, as he was afraid of where his desires may lead him if he did not find a way of venting his sexual energy and soon. He was frightened of one day committing a **** or worse just to vent his sexual needs, and he had had the idea of taking photos of me when he had seen me at the door, the first time the pieces of the jigsaw falling in place when he saw I only dressed like a slapper when the postman called, he had grasped the nettle and begun taking his breakfast break outside, I thought he was going to begin sobbing so sad did his face become, relief flooding through my body as I realised that a few photographs and the odd sexual favour would save me from divorce and worse.
More in relief than anything else I gently kissed the face of this would be blackmailer, he looked at me through his damp brown spaniel eyes as he realised I would play the game and would perhaps allow him some liberties.
The hall clock struck 10 30, he looked as though he had been shot, he leapt up saying he was now late on his round, could he see me that afternoon as the round finished by about three and he felt we needed to talk again.
I agreed and as he rose I remembered the pictures, scooping them up as his bulk again filled the kitchen doorway, he turned and shook his head, saying “no they are yours Christine”, and that he felt he had been wrong to try blackmail, but that he would be back. With that he left the room and the little place somehow empty now this huge insecure presence had left. Questions rapidly swirled round my fuddled brain, had I imagined it all? But no the pictures strewn across the table proved that, what had I let myself in for? Was he to be trusted? Instinctively I felt both sorry for the man and excited about the prospect of sharing something with him, I sat for some time still in a puddle of one lovers spend, thinking like a slut about that lump of a driver, now rattling his way rapidly across the countryside rushing to be here with me for whatever it is he hoped to achieve. I began to laugh, near to hysterics, I staggered away to the bathroom and a shower to fetch me back to reality.
That afternoon passed in a whirl I had dressed in one of the more conservative basques, matching black knickers, flat shoes a dark skirt and a white blouse, I smiled as I smoothed the skirt down, thinking to myself I looked nothing outwardly sexual but a reserve if necessary in the form of the basque,
A dab of perfume and a look in the mirror finished the preparations as I waited for his return, musing that I could do with losing a couple of inches from the waist still and idly daydreaming that perhaps Eddy would enjoy waist training me.
The pictures went away in a safe spot, no sense in upsetting the apple cart with Jack. I shook my head as I thought about my poor husband who I hoped would never meet or even hear about either my lover or this new man in my life.
It was shortly after 3 when I heard the big van stop outside, the bell rang and the giant practically fell inside as I opened the door for him, he was clutching a camera and a small bunch of flowers, freesias, which he thrust at me, like a small boy giving his mother a gift from his pocket money.
We again sat at the kitchen table, and he began to outline his ideas about us.
He said His round varied he said and by ‘slipping the time’ he could forgo breakfast and be finished by about two every day if that would be exceptable. He would first like me to act as his sex slave, to take pictures of me in and out of clothes, both vanilla and occasionally in bondage; he would enjoy sexual adventures, both with finger and tongue, but would not require any other sexual favours in return to start with at least as he wanted me to be his willing slut and for me to be the one to beg for him to use me like some slag from the local red light district.
He said he was “sorry he had started this like a blackmail scenario and though I was not in a position to refuse him anything”, he reminded me, and then he whispered that “he did hope he would never need to use that power to remind me of my place!” The exciting feelings of sexual slavery this sent through my veins’ as I realised that he could tell me to do anything in the world and I was now unable to refuse any single one of his demands was one of the most powerful sexual surges I had ever till then experienced.
He said as time was short today we would just talk, and then he asked for my telephone number and for Jacks. These he wrote in a pocket book before he asked for a list of anything I really hated, or that I really liked and these too went in the pocket book, I listed the fear I have of being completely naked, I`ve had that for years and how I disliked s**t, or anything but very light pain, or being marked in any way as that would give us away to my husband. I said I would enjoy being waist trained as I would like my waist restricted by a corset or to give me an hourglass figure, I Like to be dressed like a slut, so stockings and suspender belt is good or if you like a like a Basque, or wispy lace.
His pen scribbled away and his tool began to rise as he wrote, I at that time had not seen the thing so it was all imagination on my part, he did explain s**t was out and he understood about pain or marks and had no intention of either hurting or marking her body to any extent.
He looked at his watch apparently decided he had a short while to spare and began gently sliding his huge paws over my encased breasts, which had the nipples stood stiff in just seconds after the hours I had spent in expectant waiting during this long day.
With a swift nip at my hidden nipples he was soon up and away back to the depot no doubt to load for the next day leaving me with frustration and stiff nipples to await the return of my husband at six.
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