Introduction

To an outsider my life had to have looked ideal, after all I was only 35 and married to a rich and powerful husband who always seemed to dote on me, I had a mansion of a home outside London, to top it all I had a strong, intelligent, healthy 16 year old son who professed to love me. Yes, to an outsider I had everything a woman could want or wish for out of life. It was only if you got past the external veneer that anyone would discover that my life was not all it seemed to be!

In a day and age when "arranged" marriages were only an oddity you read about in a history book or newspaper my marriage was arranged. That it let my parents retire in the lap of luxury was a good point of the arrangement, that neither they nor I were to attempt to contact each other after the wedding was a big down point, but my dad had simply commented that everything came with a price tag attached. When I stepped out of the church on my new husbands' arm was the last time I saw my family.

Then came the honeymoon, 'disaster' just didn't describe it, it was in the solitude of our bridal suite with me a naïve virgin of 19 years that I discovered why my husband had to arrange his marriage. It was nothing to do with the fact that he was twice my age, nor that he was seeking good "breeding" stock to continue his line with strong children. No, it was something no-one would have guessed of him least of all me; he was gay! When he told me I stood there feeling stunned and trapped into not only a loveless marriage but also an unfulfilling one to boot. Then it came to me that I had an out, by law, both secular and religious, the marriage had to be consummated to make it a true marriage. With a feeling of relief I pointed this out to my non-husband, my feeling of relief faded when he pointed out that he was fully aware of the law and had figured out a way to consummate the occasion, despite the fact that he abhorred females to a degree that was almost hatred. He took some men's clothes out of a small case and thrust them at me with a command to change into them.

So I did as instructed and felt stupid dressed as a young man in trousers, underpants, shirt and jacket, when I presented myself to my husband he nodded and ordered me to lean over the bed. Needless to say I had no idea what to expect, but I resolved to submit to whatever it was, both for the sake of my parents and their comfort and because I had made a bargain and signed it, the terms of the bargain meant I would get nothing if I ever failed in the role of "wife" as set out for me by my "husband".

As instructed I leant over the bed, I felt my husband come behind me, felt him run something along the under seam of the trousers then felt the material stretched open. Again I felt something run over the material of the underpants I'd had to put on and it dawned on me that my poof of a husband was cutting open the rear of the clothes so he could imagine himself taking a boy! Being gay he focussed on my anus and although I can't say he was rough I can't say that I gained satisfaction from his actions to consummate the marriage. I suppose it should not have been any surprise to discover that my anus was the first part of me to lose it's virginity, at least he was decent enough to use a lubricant, but even then it hurt like hell as he fucked my arse. Typically, just as I started to gain small tingles of pleasure amongst the pain my sod of a husband pulled out of my arse, gritted his teeth and pushed his cock into my pussy in one long hard thrust that burst my cherry painfully, then he grunted and for the first time in my life I felt the warmth of male juices spurting into me. And that was that, he pulled out of me with a grimace of disgust and rushed to the bathroom to clean himself of his contact with "female" flesh. As for me, I lay down on the bed and cried, something I would soon be doing on a regular basis.

If god exists he must have a practical joke department and this time their victim was my gay, woman-disliking husband. His single thrust and ejaculation in my pussy got me pregnant, for me it at least meant the joy of raising my own child, for my husband it was a major annoyance, but he could not have the child terminated without the world finding out who and what he was. With concealed ill grace he accepted his position of fatherhood publicly while in private he would have nothing to do with my pregnancy or me. On my 20th birthday I gave birth to a strapping 8-pound baby boy, my husband did not attend the birth ostensibly because "urgent business affairs" prevented it, but he did visit the next day and did a photo opportunity posing with his new son and his "loving" wife.

And so passed sixteen long, tedious, lonely years, admittedly they were not uncomfortable in the physical sense; I had money to burn and "things" in abundance. What I did not have was companionship in the wee small hours, a warm body to make satisfying love to or even any close friends to gossip with. I suppose I could have tried taking a lover, but I knew I would not get away with doing so and would lose everything for both my parents and myself, and perhaps even for my son Victor. So I learnt the art of solo sex, which, to my surprise, my husband begrudgingly gave his approval and it didn't take me long to pick up a whole range of vibrators, dildoes and even a blow-up male doll. And what, I hear you ask, of the son I had expected to get so much joy from raising, well my husband got his revenge for me falling pregnant by him by employing nannies and wet nurses. From the moment Victor and I arrived back home I was under strict instructions to keep my contact with the baby to the minimum, the nannies and other house staff were under similar instructions to ensure I followed my instructions! Apart from a couple of hours spread across the days I had little to no contact with my son, until, that is, three months before Victor's 16th birthday.

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