Chapter 3

The phone rang:

Peter gave it a brief glare, then looked back at his reflection admiringly. The phone rang again and again, demanding his attention until he could ignore it no longer.

"Fuck it." He muttered, carefully walking across the bedroom. Why his wife had to have the damn thing in here as well as downstairs was beyond him, much of her was, and he'd given up trying to be the man about the house, exploring alternative avenues of pleasure when alone.

He reached the phone and greeted the unwelcome caller with irritation, surreptitiously caressing his body in the lingerie he'd borrowed from his wife's wardrobe, while looking in the full length mirror, wobbling slightly in the high heeled shoes that pinched his toes but made him feel so much sexier. Luckily for him, she too was a well built woman and her clothes fitted him well enough. Tonight he was wearing a particular favourite; her red corset and matching garter belt that held up his stockings, which he always bought himself, and panty hose which felt so good next to his skin. He briefly stroked his erection, soothing his annoyance and keeping his arousal hard, mentally promising it the satisfaction it craved soon, while running his hand up to cup his breast, shaved smooth for the occasion; he'd make sure his pyjamas were buttoned up tight tonight to prevent any discovery by her - not that she cared for that sort of thing anymore. His sex life had been in intensive care for some time now and showed no signs of pulling through the crisis. Although he was hugely aroused by dressing up this way, he'd never acted upon the urge to meet with other men yet. This was as much an act of rebellion at his wife's tyranny as a way of getting a response from his flagging libido.

"Listen to this." A sultry voice breathed, blowing his irritation gently aside to be replaced with mild curiosity as he heard a muffled groan.

"I'm listening." He said, feeling his taut balls gratefully, unsure what he was actually listening to. The groan became a moan that melted into a sigh and rose into a plaintive cry which made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

"Have you satisfied all your fantasies?" A sultry voice whispered in his ear, startling him out of his reverie.

"Are you sure you got the right number?" He snapped, squeezing his nipple.

"Oh Yes!" The woman breathed. "There's no mistake."

"Why me" He asked suspiciously.

"Why not? She retorted. "Do you want to know what I'm wearing right now?"

"Not really."

"All i'm wearing is a pair of stockings." She purred. "And something special for my lover."

"I don't really give a fuck." He snapped, tottering towards the mirror to get a closer look at his bulging panty hose.

"Oh I love to give a fuck."

"Well, fuck off then!"

"You sound all tense!" She laughed, taking no offence at his rude suggestion. "You need to get a load off, ease the stress."

'That's true enough.' He thought, watching his reflection stroking his erection.

"I get ratty unless i cum at least twice a day." She went on, talking as though he was an old friend and not a complete stranger, picked at random from the phone book. "I like it best when my man cums inside my pussy or mouth."

"You're a dirty cunt." He said, giving his balls a friendly squeeze. "Does your old man know you're doing this?"

"What do you care, you gay or something?"

"NO! I'm married." He said defensively.

"That matters?" She laughed. My lover's married and likes a good cock as much as i do!"

"You're full of shit." He said, turning to admire the profile of his throbbing cock in the mirror at this revelation.

"I'm full of cum actually." She purred. "He's cleaning it up at the moment like a good boy."

He grinned at himself and wondered if that was true. "Who the fuck are you?"

She laughed lewdly. "The kind of girl your mother warned you about!"

"You filthy fucking cunt!"

"Maybe so... listen to this you dirty bastard."

A shocking sound, like a thirsty dog on a hot day, filled his ear. Peter began to rub between his buttocks as he listened to the tongue, lap-lapping busily in her crack. It paused for a moment and a deep voice moaned; "Mmmm she tastes so good."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah, sat on my face, cum dripping down... yummmmmmmmmmm" The man's tongue went about it's lewd business once more and Peter licked at the receiver as though he too could savour the slippery juices.

"Fuck you, you filthy fucker!" Peter sucked on his fingers once more, squatting in front of the mirror as he imagined sitting on the guys face, feeding the plum of his hot nob in that wet mouth.

"Fuck me? You want to fuck me?"

"Fuck off, i'm not like that!" Peter lied, slipping a hand under his balls, rubbing along the smooth incline of his arse.

"Oh yeah, fuck me with your finger baby." The stranger went on, licking slowly. "Fuck me with your tongue too." He added, groaning as she complied with his rude request.

"You fucking pervert." Peter said contemptuously while leering into the mirror, unsure if he meant the stranger or himself, but certain of the effect this was having on him. His cock bulged manfully through the pantyhose, contradicting everything he said to the stranger who continued to lick noisily into the receiver. Peter held the phone tightly and gripped his balls in a no-nonsense manner, churning the big load he could feel building up. It felt like the man was sticking that tongue in his ear!

"Give me the dildo baby... yeah, put it there, right... in... my arse. Oh FUCK!" As he said that Peter felt his cock throb harder and, placing the phone on the floor between his legs, reached down to tear at the thin material covering his loins until a ragged hole enabled his hot flesh to breathe easier. He dipped a finger into the pool of precum on the tip of his cock and slipped it into his puckered hole, then picked up the phone again to hear the heavy breathing.

Peter could hardly control his own respiration, breathing loudly through his nose as he dug a finger between his cheeks, rolling his balls in the palm of his hand. "I bet you'd like my cock up there now eh?" He rasped, rudely thrusting his finger in and out.

A shocked gasp echoed in his ear and he chuckled. "Oh you can dish it out but you can't take it!" He laughed. "I'd shove my dick right up your fucking arse."

The breathing grew louder in his ear, rising to an angry pitch as he went on: "Take it all you dirty fucker, come on take it." He groaned, seeing his cock oozing a thick rope of precum. Another finger found its way between his cheeks, thrusting deep and hard. "You love it up there don't you?"

"And just who do you think you're talking to?" A familiar voice replied, shocking Peter into confusion.

It sounded like his wife, but it couldn't possibly be her! She was at her friends and wouldn't be back until 11pm at the latest. He thought frantically, staring at the phone as though it was some kind of poisonous snake. There was an ominous click and a steady thump-thump of booted feet on the stair. Transfixed with panic he stared wildly at the mirror, looking over his shoulder as the terrible sound approached the bedroom door. It swung open slowly and he held his breath, watching her apprehensively as she walked in to catch him, literally, red-handed.

"I always knew you were a wanker - and now i know it for a fact." His wife said, entering the bedroom; and as he thought his worst nightmare had arrived, his dreams began to come true.

()()

He looked down in shame at his predicament, letting her scornful laughter assail him mercilessly. She approached, like a cat stalking a mouse, placing a booted heel between his shoulders, pinning him to the mirror, forcing him to face his perverse alter ego, eye-to-eye.

"I've come home early thanks to Mrs. Lord's troublesome son, Gordon." She informed him

curtly. "Were you talking to him earlier?"

"NO!" He gasped." Certainly not."

"Are you sure?" She spat venomously, grinding her boot into his back.

"Absolutely sure." He said, genuinely bewildered by the question.

"We caught him, just as i found you." She said, apparently satisfied with his answer. "Cock in hand. I was about to call Mrs. Barton when i got home, only to find you talking filth. Now tell me. Why?"

Peter saw there was no other option but to tell all and he did so, leaving nothing out.

Honesty may not always be the best policy, but with an angry wife's boot on his back he felt obliged to throw himself on her mercy - and hope for the best - while fearing the worst.

"And is this why i find you wearing my clothes?- and my shoes!" She shrieked.

"Yes dear." He lied, unable to bring her to the truth of that part of himself.

"So, some stranger phones up, talks filth and persuades you to dress up like... like..." Words failed her and she picked up one of her shoes, hitting him out of frustration as much as anger.

He took it all. What choice did he have? She had him bang-to-rights. Although her wild aim brought the heel of the shoe dangerously close to his most tender spot and the thought of it up there shocked his cock into fresh awareness of the situation. This was actually beginning to turn him on!

"Look at yourself!" She screamed, grabbing his hair, lifting his head up to make him stare once again into the mirror, only this time to look through her eyes at the ridiculous spectacle he really made. A middle-aged man in lingerie, with thinning hair, a pot-belly and a hard-on fit to burst, jutting rigidly upwards at his wife's furious face.

"You're disgusting!" She yelled in his face, flecks of spittle raining over him. "Why would you do this?"

'Because it feels great.' He thought, wisely keeping his mouth shut in order to let her get off steam.

"My carpet!" She shrieked, her voice cracking in disbelief at what she saw, an unmistakable stain between his legs that meant only one thing. "You're as bad as he is you dirty wanking bastard!" Her hand smacked down onto his buttocks repeatedly, cracking like a whip in the ensuing silence, broken only by their harsh breathing.

Peter found himself aroused beyond his wildest dreams as her hand landed unerringly on his buttocks, and could only nod helplessly when his wife observed the effect this was having on him.

"Clean it up you fucking pervert." She demanded.

Now he knew her anger was white-hot as she rarely swore like that unless severely provoked, but it merely spurred him on and he shuffled back to kneel like the dog he was to obey his mistress.

"What the hell did i marry?" She asked contemptuously, putting her boot on top of his head and grinding his face into the thick carpet.

Unable to reply, he contentedly snuffled in the mess like a pig scenting truffles, reaching under to give his cock a sneaky stroke. She caught act in the mirror and gave her withering opinion in one word: "MEN!"

Peter couldn't care less what she thought of him by now. He'd crossed his personal Rubicon and intended to see this through to the bitter-sweet end. Her boot released him and he spat out a piece of her precious carpet, licked his lips and kept stroking his inflamed cock, defiantly looking into her blazing eyes.

"I'm going to get off whether you like it or not." He said defiantly.

She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. "So. The worm has turned?"

"The worm is turned-on."

A flicker of a smile twitched at the corner of her lips and she gestured for him to continue. "I could use a good laugh. But don't spill any more on my carpet or you'll regret it for the rest of your life. Do you do this every week when i go out?"

"Yes dear." He admitted, shuffling round in order to face the mirror once more, glancing over his shoulder to see her eyes upon him as he jerked himself off.