Locked Up and Cuckolded (huge free extract - "Oil Rig" author)

Hi all,

My new Cuckolded book, "Locked Up and Cuckolded" is out today. It's similar in tone to "Cuckolded - My Wife on the Oil Rig," which I posted here a few months ago. It's a huge 39,000 words. It's available at four different retailers, including one that takes PayPal and one that allows you to pay via your cellphone bill (if you'd rather not use your normal Amazon account).

Whether you choose to pick it up or not, I hope you enjoy what's below. This is the first seven chapters.

Locked Up and Cuckolded

Chapter 1

She didn't know I was watching her.

I had the bedroom door open just a crack. She was lying on the bed, naked, and I could see all of her from her nose down to her feet. I figured that as long as I couldn't see her eyes, she couldn't see me.

Her legs were so smooth and shiny they looked as if they were oiled. My eyes tracked slowly upward, following the curves of her naked ass and hip. Her skin had that flawless, peaches 'n cream glow other women spent hundreds on moisturizers to achieve. She was perfect.

I'd heard her climb out of the bathtub about five minutes before and had given her time to dry off and lie down before I'd crept over to the door.

This wasn't the first time I'd done this.

The vibrator was made to be discreet. It wasn't a garish pink rabbit or a huge, realistic cock. It was a slender cylinder only about as wide as two of my fingers, with a rounded point at one end. It was so quiet I could barely hear it.

She was just grazing the tip of it up and down over her inner thigh. I saw her mouth open and close a few times, her lips full and softly pink, as she got used to the sensations. The hard head of the vibrator pressed her skin in just a little as it moved and a couple of drops of water, glinting like jewels, rolled down her thigh. Her skin looked so damn strokable that my hand actually tingled. But, of course, I couldn't touch her.

I saw her edge her thighs apart a few more inches, readying herself. My hand slid down my jeans, gliding over my hardening cock through the denim.

She touched the vibrator to her pussy lips, just beneath the little curls of soft black hair. She had her bikini line waxed, but nothing more. I dreamed of seeing her shaved completely bare, like the women in porn, but I knew she'd never do that. She wasn't that kind of woman.

There was a gorgeous moment when the toy touched her flesh and her head went back, her long black hair tossing on the bed.

The vibrator started to move, tracing her lips. Her hips started to move a little, flexing up and down in response. I slid my hand under my belt, stroking myself through my jockey shorts.

The tip of the vibrator began to nudge her lips apart and already, if I angled my head just right, I could see the sheen of moisture there. She swirled her hips and the movement made her full breasts tremble. Her nipples weren't fully hard. Not yet. I fantasized about running my thumbs over them, feeling the soft flesh pucker and stiffen.

She slipped the end of the vibrator into herself—only about an inch or so. She had it angled down so that the thrumming shaft of it could stay in contact with her clit as she moved it in and out. When she's really turned on, her hips start to move almost on their own, helplessly thrusting, and I could see it happening now. She was tracing little circles in the air with her pussy, grinding back against her imaginary lover as he thrust into her. Who was it she was thinking about? An old boyfriend? A Hollywood star?

Not me, that was for sure.

Her free hand slid up the bed and I prayed for a second that she'd play with her own breasts—another porn star move I had a thing for. But, again, she wasn't that sort of woman. Instead, she ran her palm over her flat stomach, smoothing it in little circles. I wrinkled my forehead. That was new. Was she fantasizing about...my jaw dropped. Was she fantasizing about getting pregnant?! About some lover knocking her up and making that smooth tummy swell? A deep chill twisted along my spine, but at the same time I stroked my cock faster. The thought of her pregnant by someone else was deeply disturbing but, in some darkly forbidden way, even that was kind of a turn on. As a fantasy, of course.

I heard her draw in a shuddering breath and saw her stroke the vibrator faster, plunging it in and out of her now-slick lips. With her other hand, she started to tease her clit. Her nipples, long and delicately pink, had stiffened and were swaying back and forth as her breasts tremred. My cock was rock hard. I had to press my lips together so as not to make a sound, going slightly light headed from having to breathe so shallowly. But it was worth it, to see her like this.

She spread her legs even more, the soles of her feet flat on the bed and her knees bent, her back arched as she neared her climax. The vibrator was sliding deep on each thrust, and she had the body of it pressed hard against the fingers of her other hand so that the vibrations went through them to her clit. I stroked faster and faster. She was going to...going to....

Her body suddenly went tense, her back bending like a bow, the vibrator pressed deep and held in place as she tremred. She was silent for a second and then let out a long, broken cry of pleasure. I strained my ears, but it was garred enough that it could have been a hundred different men's names. I'd never know who, exactly, had been riding her in her imagination.

The cry alone, though, was enough to send me over the edge. I felt my cock jump and quickly squeezed it tight, but it was too late. I felt hot ropes of cum shoot into my pants, sticky against my palm, and silently swore. I stayed there a second longer, looking at her perfect, naked body stretched out on the bed, and then scuttled off to the bathroom to clean myself up and change.

When she emerged from the bedroom, there was no evidence she'd been pleasuring herself. She'd changed into skintight jeans and a soft, gray sweater that hugged her breasts. Her hair was straight, shining and perfect, her make-up minimal—just enough to accentuate her eyes and lips. And I was in fresh pants, sitting on the couch browsing the news on my tablet.

"Do you want coffee?" my wife asked, her voice light. "I'm making some."

I smiled. "Coffee would be great."


***


It hadn't always been like this.

I met Sherri in college, her freshman year. I was doing my doctorate at the time. She was one of the few girls studying Computer Science and was insanely hot even with her glasses, loose-fitting clothes and avoidance of make-up. She'd been even shyer in those days, with a deep distrust of men. We became friends first, and I was securely trapped in the "friends" zone for almost a year before finally plucking up the courage to try to kiss her. She'd been shocked at first, but she'd eventually relented and, when she relaxed into it and responded, I found she'd been hiding not just a smoking hot body full of lush curves but an urgent, hungry need for sex that if anything dwarfed my own.

Having a boyfriend made her more confident. She got laser eye surgery and threw away her glasses. She swapped her baggy, shapeless clothes for jeans that hugged her ass and sweaters that molded themselves to her chest, and suddenly she got a lot of male attention. My status on campus went through the roof. I was suddenly a geek dating the hottest girl around.

We got married only a year after she finished college and settled into the tech scene in Silicon Valley, coding websites, sometimes working for the same start up and sometimes for different ones. We weren't rich, but we were more than comfortable. Seven years sped by. Sherri was now twenty-nine and I was thirty-three. Everything was perfect. Except....

The sex had slowly petered out. From twice a day in college to twice a week and then to maybe once a month. And it was always as if we were just going through the motions, Sherri on her back and me on top, a few minutes of thrusting and it was over. I knew she rarely came—she seemed to, but I had a feeling she was faking. I could see the difference when I spied on her masturbating.
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

The spying on her had started by accident. I'd almost walked in on her and had stopped just in time. That's only an excuse for the first time, though. Every time after that—and it was happening a few times a week, now—I couldn't defend. I hated myself for watching my wife, and not just for violating her privacy. Why couldn't I be a real man and just march in there, pull the vibrator from her hand and fuck her? It was obvious she needed more sex than she was getting. And yet I never did that because, weirdly, watching her masturbate turned me on more than fucking her myself. Also, I knew damn well that I wouldn't give her as much pleasure as she got from the vibrator.

Sherri had never said my cock was small, but I was pretty sure she'd been a virgin when we met and she'd never cheated on me, so she wouldn't have anything to compare it to, right? And I knew she wouldn't want to hurt my feelings by saying anything. When we did have sex, she'd sometimes make these little moves...subtly, as if she didn't want to offend me. She'd squeeze her thighs together while I was inside her, as if trying to increase the friction. And she'd grab my ass and pull me in deeper, which should have been a good thing...but she didn't seem to gain any satisfaction from it. I just found my pelvis grinding against hers, as if I didn't have enough length for her.

She looked at other men. Not a lot—it wasn't like every man we met. But when we worked at the same company, as we were then, I noticed certain guys in the office who she'd keep glancing at. Usually slightly older than her, and bigger—Sherri and I are about the same height, which I was a little self-conscious of—and they tended to be more heavily built, too. She never did anything, of course, never even really spoke to them. She was still shy, but I was sure I could see the desire there. And then there was my response, like the thing with the elevator.

The thing with the elevator had happened just a week before. I'd been strolling down the corridor, heading home for the night, planning to meet Sherri in the lobby downstairs. I'd rounded the corner and, right there in front of me, Sherri stood in the elevator with Owen.

Owen was this big guy who worked at the same company as us. Taller than Sherri and me by almost a foot, curly black hair and good looking. He was in sales, not tech, and he did a lot of rock climbing and mountain biking and other stuff like that. An alpha male all round. And I'd noticed him looking at Sherri. And now there they were in the elevator together, about to go all the way down to the lobby.

They hadn't seen me, because they'd turned towards each other to talk. I mean, they were just talking. Nothing was going on and I had no reamister to think anything would happen.

And yet instead of running forward and calling for them to hold the doors, I waited. I stood there hiding around the corner, waiting until I heard the doors slide closed. And then I ran for the stairs.

It all happened so fast that it's difficult to remember exactly what I was thinking...or hoping. I know that I had this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that wasn't exactly lust, but wasn't fear, either. It was like both of them mixed together to create something different. In my mind, I was seeing Owen lean down to kiss my wife, and her tilting her head back to kiss him. His hands cupping her breasts through her sweater. And then him pushing her back against the metal wall of the elevator, yanking the sweater up over her head—

I pounded down the stairs. Ten floors, and I went down them so fast I barely felt my feet touch. I was lucky I didn't slip and break my neck. I was burning up inside with...jealousy? Anger? Hatred for Owen? Lust? All of those.

I barreled out of the stairwell door, making it just in time to see the elevator reach the bottom and the doors slide open. And there were Owen and my wife, talking happily, with no sign of contact between them. Immediately, I felt relief wash over me.

Relief and something else. Disappointment.

That night, I spent a long time sitting in my darkened office after Sherri had gone to bed. What the hell was wrong with me, that I'd fantasize about another man kissing my wife? When I thought about the idea, I hated it. And yet I loved it. I knew I'd never, ever want something like that to happen in real life, but as a fantasy...something about it turned me on, activating some unexplored circuit in my psyche that I'd never known existed. Was this the same thing as watching her masturbate? Was it because we weren't having sex that this was surfacing?

Or was it this thing that was stopping us having sex?

I didn't even make it to bed that night. I fell arelax in my office chair and lied to Sherri the next morning, saying that I'd had some work to deal with. I swore I wouldn't entertain any thoughts like that again. And then I went right back to watching her masturbate.

Something had to change.


Chapter 2

It started with an email. Job offers weren't unusual for either of us. We were both good at what we did and there were plenty of startups hungry for workers. What made this email unusual was that it wasn't from a recruitment agency or an HR permister. It was from the head of the startup and he was offering me dinner.

I was happy enough at the company I was at—apart from anything else, it was fun to be able to work at the same place as Sherri, even if we were on different teams. But I went along anyway, if only for the free food.

The guy's name was Kyle Dacosta and my first impression was that he was big. He sat with his legs sprawled out under the table, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head, completely at ease with the world. Even sitting down, I could tell he was tall. And he was wide. Not fat, but broad built, like a linebacker. He was like a wall of muscle.

It wasn't just his physique. When the hostess showed me over, she went sort of giggly and smiled way too much. Even as she walked away, she kept casting glances at Kyle over her shoulder.

Even as a guy, I could tell he was good looking. He had that strong jaw, dark hair and very clear blue eyes that women go nuts for. When he got up to shake my hand, he was at least a head taller than me, and his grip felt like it was going to crush my bones.

He seemed pleasant, though, in a back-slapping, jock sort of a way. He made me order food and a beer before he'd even talk about the job offer.

"Have you ever heard," he asked as he began to dig into a huge, rare steak, "of San Relando?"

I blinked. I had heard of it. San Relando was a tiny island nation off the coast of Central America. A fairly poor and moderately corrupt country that no one had ever paid much attention to...until the new president decided to abolish almost all taxes for foreign companies and relaxed all the laws governing porn, gambling and hacking.

Suddenly, every shady website on the planet relocated to San Relando. For the first few years, it was like the Wild West out there, nothing but porn sites, gambling sites and hacker strongholds. Ever had a virus on your computer, or a phishing email? It probably came from San Relando. But then, as the infrastructure improved, more and more legitimate businesses moved out there, saving millions of dollars in corporate taxes. It became the new tax haven of choice, the rich started to move there and the economy boomed. Meanwhile, the country's corruption shifted from moderate to legendary.
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

"It's great," Kyle said. "Great climate and the laws are relaxed. I worked in Dubai for a while, but this is way more fun." He talked me through the start up. Basically, we'd be a bespoke website company, running websites for clients in the US. The US companies could then claim their site was run from San Relando and dodge all sorts of US laws and taxes. Kyle already had the contracts and the office space and had been out in San Relando for six months with another guy, Russ, setting everything up. Now he just needed to bring some s*******ed US workers back with him.

"Can't you just locate the servers in San Relando?" I asked, "And we can do the work remotely from here?"

Kyle shook his head. "The government's gotten wise to that. We have to have a bunch of us actually over there, sitting in an office in San Relando, to get around the law." He leaned forward. "But you don't have to be over there for long. Come out for a year. Property is still cheap if you move fast and you can live like a king on what I'll pay you. You could come back to the US a year from now and have enough saved to buy a house, no mortgage."

It sounded too good to be true. I thought about it but then slowly shook my head. "I'm married," I told him. "I couldn't be away from my wife for that long."

But when I mentioned that Sherri was a web coder like me, Kyle was ecstatic. It turned out he still had one more space on the team to fill. "Call her right now," he told me. "Get her over here!"

Sherri was more than a little surprised to get my call, and pretty thrown by the idea of an instant job offer. But she drove over to the restaurant and sat down with Kyle and me. I was on my second beer by then—Kyle must have been on his fourth, but it didn't seem to affect him at all.
Kyle was charming and polite and I could see Sherri react to him a little, despite me sitting right next to her. He was just so...male, dripping with testosterone. Her eyes went big and her breathing got a little faster. When he wanted to make a point, he'd sometimes lean forward and touch her hand. Sometimes, it was almost as if he forgot I was there. But I figured it wasn't doing any harm. I got the impression Kyle flirted with all the women he met. The fact he liked Sherri was almost a compliment and nothing was going to happen.

"With two of you earning what you'll earn, you can live in a fucking mansion," Kyle told us. "You'll love it. And I work hard, play hard. We'll party like rock stars out there."

It did sound tempting. A new life in the sun, with plenty of money...maybe a change of scene would reinvigorate our marriage. Sex on holiday was always better, and this would be like one long holiday.

One thing made me hold back. San Relando had a reputation for being pretty backward on women's rights. Women were sexualized at every opportunity, from the busty weather girl on TV to lurid stories about what happened to female primisterers at the hands of male cops or primister guards. Did I really want Sherri to live in a place like that?

I looked across at her. She was grinning shyly, her eyes shining. But she left it up to me to make the decision. "What do you think, Tom?" she asked.

I looked at Kyle, who was staring at the two of us with something between excitement and hunger.

I knew that I had a tendency to play it safe. I didn't want to go through my whole life as that guy who never took a risk. "The hell with it," I said bravely. "Let's do it."


***


A few days later, we gave notice at our current jobs. A week after that, having mothballed our apartment, we touched down in San Relando.

At first, my feelings were mixed. The country itself was nothing to write home about. San Relando didn't have fantastic beaches or mountains, or in fact anything in the way of great scenery. The locals—who looked vaguely Southern Italian or Spanish—seemed to be a little surly. And the stories about their attitude to women were true. At the airport I noticed the male guards taking long, wistful looks at my wife and I made sure I stayed close beside her. One very attractive American woman, travelling alone, was taken aside and escorted through a side door by a customs guard, quickly followed by three more. My heart thumped hard as I thought of what might be happening to her in there. Strip searched...by men? Worse?

I squeezed Sherri's hand and she grinned at me in response, thinking I was just being romantic. She seemed oblivious to the attention she was attracting.

When we arrived at our new home, though, everything changed. We'd decided to rent for the first month or so, just to check we liked the country, but when I saw what we'd got for our money I immediately regretted not buying immediately. The place had four bedrooms, an outdoor hot tub, a gated driveway with parking for several cars, a huge kitchen and three reception rooms, one of them done out as a games room with a pool table. And all this for less than we'd paid back home for our small apartment. Kyle had even had groceries sent over so that we didn't have to shop on our first day. We stood on the balcony that first night, sipping champagne and watching the sunset, and all my doubts faded away. "I'm glad we came here," I told Sherri as she snuggled into my chest. "I think our lives just changed."
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

Chapter 3

The next day, we started work. As I'd thought, it was all simple enough. The American companies wanted websites building and they were refreshingly hands-off about it, pretty much leaving us to get on with our work. That might not sound like a big deal, but when you're used to clients changing their minds on you four or five times a day, it's pure heaven. The sites themselves were pretty dull—self-improvement stuff, mostly, where housewives could spend $30 learning how to have more self confidence or find their inner goddess. But judging by how happy Kyle seemed, they were popular.

There were only six of us at the company. Kyle, who ran things, Russ; the finance guy, who'd helped him set it up; myself and Sherri, a guy who ran the servers and a user interface artist. It was a small, pretty tight-knit group and I liked everyone...except maybe Russ. He had sandy-blond hair and a deep tan and he matched Russ in size, but while Kyle was basically a good guy, if overly macho, Russ had a hard look in his eyes that made me uneasy. The only time I ever saw him smile was when I caught him sharing some sexist joke with Kyle. Of course, around Sherri he was perfectly polite...but when she wasn't looking, I'd catch Russ eating her up with those cruel eyes. Sherri had always dressed demurely for the office. Not like the shapeless things she'd worn back in college before she found her confidence, but still conservatively. Long skirts or trousers, for example, low heels, and her blouses were always tightly buttoned up. But that didn't seem to stop the attention from Russ.

As I'd hoped, being in a new place was good for our marriage, at least temporarily. For the first month or so, we had sex at least a few times a week. We even talked seriously about starting a family, but agreed we'd wait until we got back to the US, so Sherri stayed on the pill. As time went on, though, the sex started to wane again. Each time we'd go to have sex, Sherri would start out enthusiastic. But she seemed to get frustrated as I fucked her, and I could tell she was faking her orgasms.

"What's the matter?" I asked. "Do you want to try something new? A new position?"

But she just shrugged and looked away, blushing. The problem was that she was so shy. I had no idea what she wanted, and she couldn't tell me.

Despite the problems, things were good. The money was as promised and San Relando proved to be as cheap as Kyle had claimed. Within a month, we'd decided to stay and got a mortgage on a palatial villa overlooking the ocean, with six bedrooms, a gym and even living quarters if we wanted to take on staff. I'd never even remotely considered getting a maid or a cook before but, if the business continued to do as well as it was doing and our salaries increased as Kyle said they would, it wasn't completely crazy. We really were living like kings, just as Kyle had promised.

I knew I should probably learn the language. There was huge variation in how well the locals spoke English: the rich and educated classes spoke it fluently; the middle classes managed, albeit with a heavy accent; and some of the working class didn't speak it at all. I bought a phrasebook and had every intention of learning San Relandan, but I never seemed to get round to it. It didn't seem to matter too much, though. Aside from tipping the guy who delivered the groceries, we had next to no contact with the locals. We'd get up in the morning, make the short drive to the office, work all day and then drive home, having only talked to other Americans the whole time.

We would have felt isolated, but the close-knit feel of the office helped. Kyle stuck to his promise of working hard and playing hard, so there was always something going on after work on a Friday night, even if it was just going to a local bar for a few beers, and Kyle always picked up the tab. Sherri would sometimes head home early, saying she was exhausted, and Kyle would always try to persuade her to stay for "just one more take."

I think she was a little uncomfortable being out on the town with the guys. Even though we didn't mix with the locals, I'd often see the local men eyeing her hungrily in the bars and I quickly realized that her pale skin made her stand out. I made sure I stayed close to her and Kyle was always around to make sure she got into a cab okay. He'd sometimes slip an arm around her waist while we were walking her outside and that bothered me just a little. I knew he was just being protective of his only female employee, but I was her husband and I was right there beside her! Sometimes, I'd slip my own arm around Sherri's waist, just to make a point, and Kyle would release his as if to say Oops! Sorry! I forgot she's your wife! And then I'd feel stupid.

And it wasn't as if Sherri seemed to mind Kyle's touching too much. She'd always go very quiet when he was near her, and she had this habit of twisting a lock of her long, dark hair around and around her finger when he was talking to her. I assumed she thought he was a bit of a jerk, but tolerated him.

The only problem was Russ. While Kyle was always friendly—maybe a little more boisterous than I would have liked, but still friendly—Russ was completely cold towards me. Sherri, though, he got more and more interested in. He would switch his smile on like a torch when she came near, and she'd chat away happily to him. Then she'd walk away and, while I was still standing there, he'd describe how he'd like to "bang her tight little ass," or "slot my cock between those tits." The first few times it happened, I thought he must not have noticed I was there. In time, I realized he just didn't care. I never told Sheri, though. I thought it might upset her. Besides, Kyle was usually around and he'd silence Russ with a sharp glare. That made me warm to him even more.

Another great thing about Kyle was that he liked to throw parties at his place—which was even bigger and more luxurious than ours. There was a huge outdoor area with a pool and hot tub. One night, about two months after we'd arrived, we were standing beside the pool sipping wine and feeling like a million dollars. It was a pretty big affair, with maybe fifty guests. Everyone from our company was there, along with a lot of local dignitaries and other bigwigs—Kyle liked to keep the locals close and stroke their egos.

There were a lot of slightly older guys with the heavy, muscular build common to men in San Relando, their black hair dusted with silver. Some were in suits and some had stripped down to swimwear, as Kyle encouraged everyone to do at his parties. The nights always started out very formal and descended gradually into raucous fun out by the pool. Sherri and I usually left before that point, having heard rumors of some of the things that went on in the bedrooms. We assumed it was mostly just talk, but I didn't want to be around that sort of thing, especially not with my boss!

That night, though, we'd agreed that we'd stay a little later and had worn swimwear under our clothes. When we finished our takes, I bravely stripped of my shirt and then my pants, leaving me in board shorts. I was tense doing it—it felt as if everyone was staring at me. But I soldiered on and stood there in my shorts, my body very pale next to all those tanned men. I couldn't help but feel skinny, too. I'm not that thin, but San Relandan men do tend to be well built—genetics, I guess. I grabbed another take to cover my nerves.

Then Sherri slipped her dress off her shoulders and all thoughts of my own body were forgotten. Underneath, she was wearing a stunning and for her quite daring one piece black bathing costume. It had a plunging neckline that showed off not just the tops but the sides of her full breasts, with criss-cross lacing extending the neckline even lower. At the back, it hugged her ripe ass like a second skin and was so tight and thin at the front that, if it snugged any tighter, I knew the shape of her pussy would be visible.
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

Instantly, every guy at the party turned to look at her. The chatter actually died for a second as everyone drank her in. Sherri glanced around, spooked, and I grabbed her hand. Two guys in particular, San Relandan men in their forties, had their eyes all over her breasts and ass, almost licking her with their gazes. I suddenly felt very vulnerable.

Which was crazy. We weren't in some dark alley somewhere facing a gang of thugs. We were at a classy party with men who were politicians and business leaders. Sure, some wild things supposedly happened at these parties, but no one was going to make us do anything we didn't want.

A familiar voice called from the hot tub. "Tom! Sherri! Get your asses over here!"

I turned and saw Kyle sitting there, waving us over. At the same time, I saw Russ approaching, those cold shark eyes fixed on Sherri. I quickly pulled Sherri over to the tub. Normally, I would have been a little more nervous about climbing into a hot tub with my boss, but getting under the cover of the water suddenly felt like a good move—anything to take all those staring eyes off Sherri. She seemed to share my unease, because she almost scramred into the water, gasping with delight as the heat hit her.

Behind Kyle, Russ sidled up long enough to get a look at Sherri's chest, but couldn't really stand there without his gawping looking obvious. He turned away, looking disgruntled, and I gave a smirk of satisfaction at having avoided him.

Kyle passed Sherri a take. "You both look great," he told us. He gave me a friendly but not completely convincing smile, and I glanced down at my flat, scrawny chest. The smile he gave Sherri seemed a lot more genuine. He saw her all the time at work, of course, but he'd never seen her like this, with her lush, creamy breasts squeezed and offered up seductively by the thin black fabric, glistening with water. I could feel my cock hardening as I looked at my wife. Her smooth cleavage looked to be just waiting for something to be shoved between those soft but firm mounds: a hand, a tongue, a cock.

I flushed as I realized what I was thinking. This was my wife, for God's sake! But something about all the men looking at her—even Kyle looking at her....

My stomach turned. What was wrong with me, that the idea of other men staring at my wife was a turn on?

"You okay?" asked Kyle. "You look kinda pale."

I couldn't tell if he was being serious or just mocking my almost-white skin. Despite being in San Relando a few months, I'd barely tanned at all. I burn easily, okay?

"I'm fine," I said unconvincingly.

He picked up my take from where I'd left it on the edge of the tub and held it out to me—just a nice guy helping his friend relax. Except that he didn't hold it far enough out. I had to move away from Sherri to take it from him, spacing the three of us out in a triangle around the tub.

I took the take and sipped gratefully. It's nothing, I reassured myself. You're just horny. Sherri in that costume would turn anyone on. That's all it is. It's nothing to do with the other guys looking.

Kyle turned to my wife and started to chat to her, leaving me to take. I watched the two of them, him with his huge, muscled body, relaxed and at ease in the millionaire lifestyle. And me, pale and skinny and looking uncomfortable. It hit me that, now that we were spaced out around the tub, it wasn't obvious to anyone looking who was with whom. In fact...I noticed that Sherri had sidled just a little closer to Kyle. Not a lot—no more than a foot, in fact. But it was enough that it now looked like they were a happy couple and I was the outsider.

Kyle had organized a big fireworks display. Sherri had pinned her hair up so as not to get it wet and her long, elegant neck was exposed as she craned her head back to watch the explosions. With his good looks and her beauty, if Kyle kissed her there they'd look like a much more believable couple than if I did it.

Wait...why am I thinking about him kissing her?!

I'd stopped listening to their conversation, but now I tuned in again. I noticed that Kyle was talking much more quietly than normal, and that Sherri was having to lean sideways to hear him over the din of the fireworks, probably unaware she was giving him a great view down her bathing costume. I could see Kyle's eyes roaming over every inch of her body, just as the San Relandan men's had.

A cold prickle of fear went up my spine. Was that why Kyle was talking more quietly than normal? To lure her over to him, so he could gawp at her? Or even do more?

I shook my head. That was insane! Kyle might be a bit of a player, but even he wouldn't try to steal my wife away from me, right under my nose. Even so, I moved alongside Sherri and snugged an arm around her waist, just to make the point.

"I'm really glad you two joined the company," said Kyle smoothly. "You look so happy together." I felt my fears begin to ease. It had just been paranoia. You idiot! Kyle's your buddy!

"Are you...seeing anyone?" asked Sherri.

Kyle shook his head. "There was someone," he said sadly. "Alexa. But we split just before you guys arrived."

I nodded sympathetically and pulled Sherri even closer. Whatever had happened between Kyle and Alexa, I sure as hell wasn't going to make the same mistake. We were together for life.

"She was a little like you," Kyle told Sherri. "I mean, different—she was blonde, for one thing. But you kind of remind me of her."

Something inside me twisted. I wasn't sure I liked this. But Sherri said brightly, "Oh? How?"

Kyle tilted his head to one side. "Well, you're sort of shy. But I think inside you're adventurous."

Sherri blushed down to her roots and I felt a hot, tight anger grow inside. I'd been right after all. He was damn well flirting with her, as if they were alone in some bar, while I was right there beside her! He was probably thinking about—

Pulling off her wet swimsuit and fucking her right there beside the hot tub, his big, tanned hips pounding between hers—

I swallowed and grabbed Sherri's hand. "We should be going," I said. I couldn't get the image of Kyle and my wife out of my head.

"So soon?" asked Kyle forlornly. He reached out and grabbed Sherri's other hand, so that she was caught between us. He only gripped her lightly—playfully, even. But he gripped her all the same.

"Yeah," I said firmly, my face hot. He'd pull down the front of her swimsuit and shove his cock between her breasts—

Sherri looked uncertainly between us but, as usual, went along with what I wanted. She'd always been very responsive, that way, happy to follow where she was led. "Okay," she said. "Sure."

I helped her out of the tub and she grabbed a towel and started to pat some of the water off her. I went to stand up myself and—

Shit.

For some reamister, I had a raging hard on. I told myself it was nothing to do with the image of Kyle and Sherri. Nothing at all. I tried to will it away, but it wouldn't go.

"Going, or staying?" grinned Kyle.

I had no choice. I quickly climbed out of the steaming water, my hard cock clearly visible as it tented the front of my shorts. My eyes locked with Kyle's for a second and I saw his eyes flick down to my groin and then back up, knowingly.

He doesn't know what I'm thinking about! I reassured myself. He probably just thinks I'm thinking about Sherri. Which I am. That's all I'm thinking about.

I toweled myself off and got out of there before anything else could go wrong.


***


I thought it was over but, at home that night, I couldn't help but raise it. I guess I was trying to reassure myself that Sherri wasn't interested in Kyle.

"He was looking at you, you know," I told her as we lay side by side in bed. We hadn't had sex—but then, that was rapidly becoming the norm again.

"Kyle?" she asked.

"His eyes were all over you. And that comment he made about you being adventurous...."

She blushed. "He was just being a guy."
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

But I'm a guy, and I don't say things like that.... "It was still inappropriate. He's our boss."

She shrugged. "It was no big deal."

We lay in silence for a second. Then I asked, "Do you like him?"

She turned to face me. "Kyle?! Honey, you know I'd never cheat on you!"

"I know, I know. I just meant...do you?" I had to know, and I had to find a way to ask the question so that she wouldn't feel guilty. "I mean, if you weren't with me, if you were single...is he a guy you'd go for?"

She squirmed, embarrassed, and I nearly regretted asking. Then she said, "I guess. He does have a nice body."

I nodded.

"Yours is nice too!" she added quickly. "Just different."

I nodded again, seething inside. But I'd been dumb enough to ask the question. What did I expect? I didn't even know why I was so interested in what she thought of him. I told myself I was just trying to reassure myself that nothing was wrong but, deep down, I knew it was more complicated than that. It was something to do with those images in my head of the two of them together and the way they'd made me feel. I hated the idea of her fucking someone else. Yet, at the same time, some tiny part of me loved it.

I ran my hand down her body. She'd changed into an old t-shirt and a pair of panties to relax in. My palm slipped under the bottom of the shirt and skimmed along her flat belly, then toyed with the top of the panties. She jerked, surprised, and a bemused smile crept across her face.

"Did you think about it?" I asked her. There was an edge to my voice that wasn't normally there. I can't really explain, but it was as if I was angry and turned on at the same time. "About fucking him?"

Her eyes widened. I never normally used words like fucking. "Of course not!" she said. But I could see her cheeks redden.
My hand slipped suddenly under her panties, finding the soft curls of hair and then her pussy lips. She gasped, astonished, as I touched her.

She was wet. Wetter than I'd ever known her.

I felt my eyes narrow. "You were thinking about fucking him, weren't you?" I said, grating out the words from between my teeth. "You're wet, just imagining his cock!"

"No!" she said, her voice too high and too tight to be telling the truth.

I ripped her panties down her thighs and off one leg, leaving them dangling from her other foot. My mind was fogged. I was rock hard. When had that happened?

"You're been thinking about him," I grunted, and thrust into my wife, my cock disappearing into her almost all the way in one hard thrust. She groaned, but offered no resistance, not even when I grabbed her t-shirt and wrenched it up to her armpits, baring her breasts. She even opened her thighs wider for me. I started to fuck her, my hands braced either side of her head, staring down into her eyes as I pumped into her. Her breasts were shaking and swaying, her eyes wide and—

She was smiling up at me, surprised and delighted. She likes me fucking her this way—angry and dominant!

Then I saw her eyes flutter closed and her expression change to one of concentration. Or is she imagining Kyle fucking her? She was much wetter than normal and her breathing was definitely different, too, faster and more ragged.

I hammered into her and she spread her legs wider, opening herself up, and then wound her long legs around me, pulling me into her. I couldn't remember the last time she'd done that. Her mouth was open and she was panting...and I thought I could almost hear her gasping words. Her eyes were still tight shut, so I leaned in close. She was saying something, but I couldn't make it out. My name? His name? I wasn't sure.

And all of this: the fear, the doubt, the knowledge that she might be thinking about someone else...it did the opposite of what it should have done. It turned me on. I was harder than I'd ever been and I was pounding into her with a desperate need that I couldn't control, her satiny tunnel hotly slick around me.

Down in my balls, I could feel my orgasm approaching. I wanted Sherri to come first, for once, and I gritted my teeth and hung on for as long as I could, putting more of my weight on her as I reached in and fondled her breasts. She was twisting and groaning under me, eyes still shut, her hips circling and grinding just as they did when she masturbated. The sensation of her smooth thighs rubbing against mine, urging me on, was incredible. She definitely wasn't faking. In fact, it looked like she might—

She went suddenly stiff under me, her back arching and her head going back into the pillows. Her eyes flew open and she stared up at me, shock and delight on her face as the orgasm swept over her. Her cheeks flushed, her eyelids fluttered, her lips stretched wide as she gasped for air. I watched my wife come, and there was nothing sweeter. And then the sight of her straining face sent me over the edge. I groaned as I buried myself deep inside her and shot and shot, filling her with my hot seed.

When we could both breathe again, she told me, "I wasn't thinking of him, you know."

I knew she was lying. "It's okay," I said. Now that the orgasm was past, the thought of her with Kyle made my skin crawl and the anger rise inside me, but she didn't need to know that. "I don't mind."

"I'd never do anything about it," she said in a small voice. "You know that, don't you?"

I pulled her close and cuddled her. "Of course I do."

We stayed like that, entwined in each other's arms. We hadn't fallen arelax like that for years, usually rolling to the outsides of the bed. It was a victory, I told myself, as I drifted off. We'd been married seven years. It was normal to need some fantasy to keep things alive in the bedroom, right? And what harm did it do for her to occasionally fantasize about our boss. Hell, I could even admit to myself that it turned me on a little—just a little, when I was all fired up. I'd never want to share her, of course, but as a fantasy, if it helped to save our marriage...it didn't seem so bad.
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

Chapter 4

The next morning, Kyle didn't mention what had happened, which reassured me that it was no big deal. He probably flirted like that with every woman he met—in fact, he'd probably already forgotten about it. Life returned to normal.

About two weeks later, I had some slack time. That wasn't all that unusual at our company. It's amazing how much more efficiently you can work when the clients don't call up to hassle you every few hours. I was spending the time working on a little side project to analyze traffic to our websites. It was only half finished, but I tried running an early version on a selection of the sites we ran.

That's weird.

For about ten of the websites, I got the same traffic statistics, as if I was looking at the same one repeatedly. I thought it was a bug and spent a fruitless hour trying to fix it. It was only when I ran it again and got the same result that I dug a little deeper. And then my red ran cold.

The program was working just fine. The traffic to those ten sites was the problem: it was identical for every site. Something was very, very wrong.

I dug more. Almost all of the traffic to those websites was fake. Most likely, someone at our company had paid hackers to install clandestine software on hundreds of thousands of PCs across the world, creating an army of slave machines that would visit our sites without our users knowing, clocking up millions of "hits." But why would anyone do that?

Client finances definitely weren't my department. Kyle handled all those with Russ, the money guy, and we were strictly forbidden to look at them. But I was closing in for the *******—I had to know what was going on.

Once I started following the money, it wasn't difficult to figure out. American companies had paid us to create those websites and had also paid huge sums of cash into a separate account. I was pretty sure that money was going straight to hackers who used it to finance hundreds of thousands of credit cards, which in turn were used to buy content on our websites. We were laundering money, plain and simple. Dirty money went in and was fed back to the websites, minus a generous fee, through millions of small credit card transactions. Nice clean untraceable money came out and was paid back to the clients.

I suddenly understood why the clients didn't hassle us for changes to their websites, and why there was so much slack time. No one cared if the websites were any good or not. They were just front businesses.

A lot of the names on the client bank accounts sounded Italian. I thought I was going to throw up. We're laundering money for the mob!

I closed down my screen before someone saw what I was doing, then took an early lunch. I walked around the building again and again, trying to figure out what to do. I had no idea who at the company knew what was really going on. Clearly Russ did. That made sense—I'd never trusted him. But who else? Did it start and end with him, or could others be involved?

I stopped in my tracks. Could Kyle be involved? What if the whole company existed just for this purpose?

I slowly shook my head and started walking again. No. No way. We ran many legitimate websites alongside the ten fake ones I'd found. Kyle was just as oblivious as me.

I wanted to believe that. Because the alternative was that he'd hired both Sherri and me specifically to work at an illegal enterprise, that our whole life in San Relando was based on a lie. And that didn't bear thinking about.

I decided that I had to go to the authorities. Every hour that passed increased the likelihood that someone would find out what was going on, and now that I'd dug into it and had knowledge, if I didn't report it I could probably go to jail along with Russ and whoever else was behind it.

Should I tell Sherri? That would complicate things. The authorities would probably want to question all of us. Better that she remained oblivious until then—her story would be simpler to tell.

I'd reached the entrance of our office building. I looked up at the door, biting my lip. What if I didn't say anything to the authorities? What if I just went upstairs and told Kyle what I knew? If he wasn't in on it, we could go to the authorities together. If he was, he'd no doubt agree to cut me in. The generous amount he was paying me was nothing compared to the money passing through the company. If I agreed to keep quiet, Sherri and I could be rich....

No. I wasn't that sort of permister, and Sherri wasn't, either. If Kyle was innocent, as I suspected, he'd come out of the whole thing fine. Better to avoid the temptation, just in case he was involved.

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed.


***


I'd expected the authorities in San Relando to take days or weeks to act. I'd thought they might want to follow the money trail before they swooped. But that very afternoon, a small army of police officers swarmed into the building and ordered us away from our PCs, while a guy in a suit from the San Relando Organized Crime Unit waved an official-looking piece of paper. "I am Prosecutor Marcorlo," he told us in accented but very good English. "I am suspending this company's business on suspicion of money laundering. You will all be questioned." And the cops separated us into different areas of the office.

Our office didn't have many rooms so, even with just six of us, the cops had to get creative. I watched in horror as Sherri was taken into the supply room—a tiny space no more than six feet square—by two very well built male officers. Meanwhile I was taken into the women's restroom and made to stand there in silence as two officers stared impassively at me.

Kyle was the first to be questioned, in the comfort of his own office. Then Russ and then me. I told my story as clearly as I could and the organized crime official—Marcorlo—nodded and took notes. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I swore I'd seen him somewhere before. And, weirdly, he didn't seem anywhere near as happy with me for reporting the crime as I'd expected.

Sherri was next and I watched as Marcorlo walked into the tiny supply room to question her. I caught a glimpse of her: she was standing flattened up against the wall, staring at the two cops who were guarding her, her chest rising and falling beneath her blouse as she took panic breaths. The room was so small, and the men were so big, that even pressed up against the wall she couldn't get them out of her permisteral space. No one was actually touching her, but she was clearly intimidated as hell. And with a third man in the tiny room with them, it would be even worse. My hands tightened into fists. This was ridiculous! I'd gone to the authorities with the information and they were treating both me and Sherri as suspects!

The door closed, cutting off my view just as Sherri threw a desperate, scared look my way. I told myself that this was probably just standard procedure. Maybe they're looking out for me. By treating all of us the same, they prevented Russ knowing who had ratted on him. I told myself that, but it didn't make it any easier. They kept her in there for hours.

When the remainder of the office had been questioned, Marcorlo gave some orders in the local language and I was taken to one side. "The rest of you can go," the official told them.

That's pretty relaxed, I thought. What if Russ flees the country?

Then they put the handcuffs on me.

"What?!" I almost screamed. "What are you doing?"

"We're detaining you on suspicion of money laundering connected to organized crime," said Marcorlo. I waited for him to say all that stuff about me having the right to remain silent. And then I remembered that I was in San Relando, and I didn't have any rights at all.

"But I—" I was going to say I was the one who called you, but Russ was standing right there. "But I didn't do anything!"
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

Marcorlo jerked his head at the cops and they bundled me downstairs and into a patrol car. Most of the other employees in our office building—hundreds of people from tens of companies—were hanging out of their windows to see what was going on, some snapping pictures with their cell phones. They saw me being pushed roughly into the back of a car, hands cuffed behind my back. They're going to think I did it! I thought.

Sherri rushed down the stairs behind me, just in time to see the door close. We stared at each other in horror as the car pulled away.


***


The interrogation room was underground, deep enough below the police station that the walls and air were damp. The only furniture was a steel table and two chairs, all bolted to the floor. I was pushed into a chair and my handcuffs were unfastened. I watched numbly as they were refastened in front of me and the chain secured to the table. "There's been a mistake," I told the cop. "I'm not guilty. I'm not even a suspect! I'm the one who reported it!" The cop just looked boredly at me. He probably doesn't even speak English. Why hadn't I taken the time to learn San Relandan?

I was left alone for an hour before Marcorlo walked in. I was still sure I knew him from somewhere.

"The charges against you are very serious," he told me, his voice pious. "We do not like people who exploit our country's laws to help criminals. You will be found guilty and sent to primister—maybe for as long as twenty years."

I shook my head. "This is crazy! I was the one who called you! It was Russ! He ran all the financial stuff!"

Marcorlo just stared at me. "He says he knew nothing about the money laundering."

I blinked. "That's it?! He said he didn't do it, so he didn't do it?"

"This man, Russ Harding, is a trusted and respected member of our business community. You, though—you seem to have come over from America and brought these disgusting, criminal deals with you. You betrayed your employer's trust and used his legitimate company to disguise your crimes."

My jaw dropped. It was the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard. "That's—that's—"

Marcorlo sat back in his chair. "If you won't give us the truth, we'll have to get it elsewhere. Does your wife know what you've been doing?"

My stomach turned. "No! She knows nothing about it!"

"Ah, so you admit you have been keeping things from her!"

My face reddened, even though I knew I was innocent. "No! I didn't mean it like that!"

"I questioned her today, Tom. Your wife is very pretty. She seemed nervous, when I was in there with the two male officers. Why do you think that is?"

I glared at him, not liking where this was going. "She was scared of you!"

"Really?" He put a hand to his chest. "Why would anyone be scared of me, and a couple of our finest police officers?" He put his head to one side. "I hope you haven't been listening to those awful lies about how we treat women. You Americans come up with such tales. What did you think?" He leaned closer. "Did you think we'd order her out of her clothes, just to put her on edge? That we'd make her stand there naked in a supply cupboard with us while we questioned her?"

My chest went tight, his words slicing deep into my soul.

"Or did you think we'd do more? Did you think we'd threaten her into getting down on her knees like a whore and sucking us off, one by one?"

I stared at him, terrified and enraged.

"How do you know we didn't already do it?" he whispered. "We were in there for hours. When Sherri came out, did you check if the same number of buttons were done up on her blouse? Did you check her hair for traces of our seed?"

My face had grown hot with anger throughout his little speech. Now I roared and threw myself at him, but my handcuffs pulled me up short against the table.

Marcorlo leaned in to whisper in my ear. "You think on that for a while," he told me. "Decide whether you want to confess, or whether we should get Sherri in for another round of questioning."
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

Chapter 5

I was led upstairs, my mind numb at what he'd told me. It was just an intimidation tactic, I told myself. They hadn't really made Sherri take her clothes off. Or made her get down on her knees. Or—

Stop it!

But what if they had? Or what if they would, if I didn't talk? But if I confessed I'd be sent to jail!

None of it made any sense. On the one hand, the authorities had swooped incredibly fast, only hours after I'd called them. Everything was proceeding at breakneck speed. Weren't cases like this supposed to take months or years? On the other hand, they didn't seem to care at all about getting the right man. For some reamister they were ignoring Russ entirely and focusing on me.

I was taken up into the main office of the police station, surrounded by bored cops filling out reports and takeing coffee. I was pushed into "the tank," the holding cell where everyone who'd been arrested that day was waiting. There must have been twenty men in there, milling around and glaring at each other. Most of them were locals, arrested for bar fights and gang violence, many of them takes. There were a couple of scared-looking young American guys, but I was the only one in a suit and I stood out a mile. We all had to stand because there was no seating, and there was just one stainless steel toilet to share, right out in the open, against the bars that formed the walls. I decided I'd wait.

Two hours later, Sherri and Kyle walked in. Immediately, my heart lifted. Seeing Sherri was fantastic, but seeing Kyle was almost as good. Throughout the questioning at the office and the interrogation, I'd been hoping against hope that he wasn't involved. Despite the way he'd flirted with Sherri and his macho posturing, I liked Kyle...or, at least, I liked him a hell of a lot better than I liked Russ. I didn't want to think that this whole job had been a set up, or that he'd lied to us from the beginning. It was looking as if Russ had been operating on his own, hiding the ten fake websites within the company's legitimate portfolio, just as Marcorlo had accused me of doing. They'd just got the wrong guy. Luckily for Kyle, they hadn't made the same mistake with him.

There was a selfish reamister I was glad to see Kyle, too. With him on the outside, I had a much better chance of getting everything put right. Kyle could speak San Relandan and he had connections.

Sherri ran over as soon as she saw me. I watched as the police officers—almost all male, I noticed—reacted to her, giving her wolf whistles as she hurried along, her breasts bouncing under her tight office blouse, her long legs gleaming in her hold ups beneath her black skirt. In some ways, their reaction was worse than that of the primisterers. The guys in the cell with me were much louder and more raucous than the cops, wasting no time in telling my wife exactly what they'd like to do to her—for once, I was glad I didn't understand the local language. But at least their lewdness was to be expected. Seeing the cops acting not much better was truly scary, given that I was in their care.

Kyle glared at the primisterers and his physical size made them quiet down a little. I was grateful for that, although it stung that he'd protected my wife when I couldn't.

"I didn't do it," I blurted as Sherri took my hands through the bars. "You know that, right?"

She nodded, tears in her eyes. "Of course I do!"

Kyle came over and clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll get this all straightened out. Just stay out of trouble and do as you're told."

I nodded. I couldn't tell Sherri about the threats Marcorlo had made. He had been just trying to intimidate me, hadn't he? I looked at her clothes, her hair. Was her lipstick smeared? I couldn't tell, which no doubt was Marcorlo's intention. He wanted me to drive myself crazy. He wanted me to confess out of fear.

"Are you okay?" I asked Sherri.

She looked around her with big eyes, shying away from the other guys in the cell who were all trying to touch her through the bars. "Y—Yes," she said.

I swallowed. "Sherri, when they questioned you at the office, did they—Was everything alright?"

She shuddered, and my stomach twisted in knots. Then, "There were two cops in there with me. They kept staring at me...and then the guy in a suit came in, and he was asking all about you, for hours."

I hesitated. "Nothing else?"

She shook her head.

Is she telling the truth, or just trying to save my feelings? I was pretty sure Marcorlo was just playing mind games with me, but I wasn't completely certain...and that little bit of doubt was all it took. Even if he and his men hadn't done anything to my wife yet, they could always call her in for more "questioning." I was in an impossible situation, stuck between confessing or putting her at risk.

Unless...

I leaned up to the bars and gave Sherri a kiss, as best I could. "Can you give Kyle and me a minute together?" I asked.

She nodded and hurried out, the lewd cries of the primisterers and the lustful gazes of the cops following her out the door.

Kyle looked deep into my eyes. "Tom, I'm really sorry this has happened. I had no idea anything like this was going on. What can I do to help?"

Something inside me relaxed. Any doubt I'd had about Kyle was gone, which was good because I needed his help. I told him about the threats Marcorlo had made. "I need to know Sherri is safe. Can you make sure they don't pull her in for questioning?"

Kyle nodded. "They trust me. I can write something up to say that Sherri definitely had no part in this, and they won't question her again. It's how it works, here. You'll need to sign it, once it's written."

It sounded almost too good to be true. Once Sherri was safe, I could get a lawyer and, with Kyle's help, fight the case. I nodded to Kyle.

He went off to find paper and a pen and then spent a good ten minutes crafting a statement excusing Sherri from the investigation. When it was done, he handed it to me and pulled a cop over to witness me signing it.

I took a look at the statement. It was in San Relandan, of course—once again, I was glad Kyle had taken the time to learn the language. I signed at the bottom and handed it back to Kyle. The cop signed as a witness and it was done. Immediately, I felt a weight lift from me. With Sherri safe, I could focus on undoing the whole mess.

"It's Russ," I told Kyle. "At least, I'm pretty sure it's Russ. It's the only thing that makes sense."

Kyle nodded. "Don't worry," he told me, slapping me on the shoulder with one huge hand. "It'll all be over soon." Then he hesitated, as if there was something he couldn't bring himself to say.

"What?" I asked.

He sighed. "Look, don't freak out," he said, "But there have been some break-ins not too far away from your place, over the last few months."

I nodded, not sure I understood. Burglaries were a minor concern next to what was happening.

Kyle must have read my expression, because he bit his lip and then continued. "Thing is, when I say burglaries...they're really more like home invasions. Local men, angry at the rich foreigners." He paused. "Groups of local men." He looked ill. "If the woman's home alone, they—"

"Stop!" I didn't want to think about it. God, Sherri was going to be all by herself, and the story of my arrest for massive financial crime was going to be all over the newspapers. I thought I was going to throw up. "You have to get her out of that house, Kyle!"

He nodded slowly. "I could put her up in a hotel until this whole thing is fixed. It's the least I could do."

But I didn't want to think of her alone, even in a hotel. "No. Kyle, I know it's a lot to ask, but—"

"What? Go on: anything."

I hesitated for a fraction of a second, just time for my brain to tell me that this felt wrong, and my fear to override it. "Could Sherri come and stay with you?"
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

He stared at me for a while. "You sure that would be okay? I mean, it wouldn't be weird?"

Again, that twisting disquiet that screamed don't do it! And again, my fear overrode it. My mind was filled with images of Sherri screaming as our front door was broken down. "Absolutely," I told Kyle firmly. "Please, Kyle. Do this for me."

He nodded and clapped me on the shoulder again. Then he fetched Sherri and I persuaded her to go to stay with Kyle. She was deeply uncertain at first, throwing little sideways glances at him while she tried to talk me out of it. But I was unwavering and, eventually, she relented.


***


The next morning, unshowered and unshaven, I was hustled out of the holding cell and put into another police car. I had no idea where we were going, since everyone spoke only in San Relandan and didn't bother to translate for me. I was barely awake, having not slept at all in the holding cell.

We pulled up outside an impressive, white stone building that looked suspiciously like a court. I figured they were going to read the charges against me in front of a judge. The idea that I might be formally charged was scary, but at least justice was moving quickly. Hopefully that meant we could get to the trial soon, and I'd be able to prove I had nothing to do with the crime.

Inside, I found I was right. The courtroom was half full and I recognized Prosecutor Marcorlo from the interrogation amongst those seated. Kyle was there, too, but not Sherri.

Everyone stood up as Judge Sandini walked in. An older man, although he would have been considered young for a judge in America. He still had dark hair, with traces of silver—

Something twisted around and locked into place in my brain. I recognized him. He'd been one of the men at the party, the night Kyle had flirted with my wife.

My head snapped around to stare at Marcorlo. I suddenly realized where I'd seen him before. He'd been at the party, too.

Marcorlo saw my look...and smiled.

The judge began to speak in San Relandan. A man who I took to be some sort of clerk of the court prodded me to confirm my name when the time came. Then the judge gave a long speech that sounded quite angry. I frowned, wishing I could understand.

"He's listed your crimes," whispered the clerk helpfully. "Now he's going to decide your sentence."

The floor seemed to drop out from under my feet. "SENTENCE?! But I haven't even had a trial yet!"

The clerk frowned at me. "There's no trial," he explained, not unkindly. "You pleaded guilty."

"WHAT?!"

"You signed a confession, last night," said the clerk.

My whole world turned upside down. I spun and stared at Kyle. Suddenly everything—the breakneck-speed investigation, the prosecutor focusing only on me, the judge...it all made sense. I gaped at him, too shocked to be angry.

Kyle stared back at me. And then, just as Marcorlo had done, he smiled.

The judge said something and banged his gavel.

"Twenty years in the Central Primister," the clerk translated for me. He sounded sympathetic.

Now the rage started. I ran towards Kyle, my face contorted with rage. "You mister of a bitch!" I screamed. The cops were so startled that I made it right up to the audience seating and dived across it, my hands straining uselessly at the handcuffs behind my back. For a moment, my face was only inches from Kyle's. "I'll ******* you!" I shouted. "I'll fucking ******* you!"

Kyle just stared at me, his eyes cold.

A cop grabbed my collar and I was dragged out of the courtroom kicking and screaming.
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Chapter 6

I had plenty of time to think on my way to primister. I sat on a bench seat on the ancient primister bus, sweltering in the summer heat and trying not to knock against the massive San Relandan primisterer next to me as we bumped over potholes.

I'd been set up. Kyle—and, presumably, Russ—had been running a very profitable money laundering operation. He'd bought himself a prosecutor from the organized crime department—Marcorlo—and a judge—Sandini. He'd been untouchable. The company would have probably gone on quite happily for years or decades to come, protected by his friends in San Relando and outside US scrutiny. Hell, Sherri and I could have carried on working there and getting rich for years, without either of us being any the wiser.

Except I'd had to go digging. And then, when I found something, I'd had to run to the authorities like a goddamn boy scout. If I'd just gone to Kyle, he'd probably have cut me in, or just told me to keep quiet and reassured me that prosecution was impossible. By going to the authorities, I'd powerd an investigation and his San Relandan friends had swung into action to protect him. I could already see how it would play out in the press: A rogue operator, working alone, operating without the knowledge of his company. With me gone and the investigation closed, Kyle and Russ could get straight back to work.

There was one tiny grain of comfort: at least now, I knew what was going on. For the first time since I'd met Kyle, the blinkers were off and I understood how evil he was.

My stomach twisted as I thought about rotting in jail for twenty years. I'd heard some stories about the San Relandan primister system. Most of them concerned female primisterers and how they were treated by the male guards. But the whole system was rife with corruption and, as a foreigner, I wasn't going to be on the right side of it.

And so it proved. We drove out into the desert—San Relando kept its primisters far from the public eye. The primister itself was a massive, sprawling complex of starkly white stone blocks. As we were herded off the bus and I stood there under the blazing sun, it almost seemed as if it would be a relief to get inside and away from the heat. And then it hit me that, in all probability, this would be the last time I saw the sun for decades. There was no exercise yard in sight, and I'd heard the primister extended far underground. I began to panic as I was pushed toward the dark entrance, the sun on my face suddenly feeling like the most precious thing in the world.

Inside, I was ordered to strip out of my clothes. Not in a private room, but right there in the main admissions corridor, alongside twenty other primisterers. Both guards and primisterers found the sight of my scrawny, pale body very amusing, especially when I took off my shorts to reveal my cock. All of the San Relandan men were built like football players, with cocks like those on a horse.

"Don't worry," one told me in broken English. "You make good wife for someone."

I felt fear rip through me. God, were they serious? I didn't have a gay bone in my body! I'd heard what happened in primisters, especially corrupt ones, but—

I didn't have time to think any more about it, because the guards were donning latex gloves and searching our mouths...and then, with us bent over and clutching our ankles, our asses.

I was given an orange jumpsuit which was too big and a pair of boots that were too small. And then I was led through to the huge, echoing space of General Population, my home for the next twenty years. The best years of my life, I thought numbly. I was thirty-three. I'd be fifty-three by the time I got out. Too old to start a family. Too old to find a job. And what about Sherri? Would she wait for me? For twenty years?

I was shown to my cell, a bare concrete box with no windows, bunks for four men...and nothing else. At least they'd put me with some other white collar criminals, not a bunch of heavies. They eyed me with a mixture of suspicion and distaste, but they didn't appear to be about to shiv me.

Primister life, I discovered, was pretty simple. There were a few hours of free time which, without a yard to exercise in, essentially came down to shuffling around the endless corridors, head down, not looking at anyone. Meals were odorless, tasteless brown goop with rice, or odorless, tasteless gray goop with rice. There was no sign of anything resembling a vegetable. We sat at long tables, watched by guards, and ate in near silence. The only difference between the locals and myself was that they had muttered conversation to keep them occupied. I sat there stewing, thinking about Kyle and how stupid I'd been.

This is it, I realized after the first few hours. This is all there is, for twenty years.

On the second day, I met another American. I didn't ask what he was in for—rule one, I learned, was not to ask. He confirmed many of the stories I'd heard about the women's floor. Incredibly, the women were kept in the same primister, just on a different floor.

"We don't have it so bad," the guy said. "The women? All male guards. Strip searches any time they want—and cavity searches, too, so if your wife is banged up, you got some guy shoving his fingers up her holiest of holies twice a day. They watch 'em the whole time—getting changed, takin' showers...hell, they even charge tour groups to come round the women's floor!"

I shook my head in dismay. I was glad it was me in jail and not Sherri.

"There's rumors, too," he told me, lowering his voice. "Like, if the guards take a likin' to a woman? Well, maybe they pay her a visit after lights out. And they say they put some of them—the pretty ones—in a 'labor program'. Pimping them out, is what it is, as strippers n' hookers. And if some woman is in the system and is makin' the primister warden money? Well, don't think she's ever gettin' out. They'll drum up fake charges or find haves in her cell—hell, they can just lose her in the system and she disappears!"

I gaped at him. I couldn't believe such things were possible.

"That's not the worst of it, though. Sometimes, rich guys agree to rehabilitate a primisterer in the community—like, give them room and board in return for doin' jobs around the house."

I nodded. That didn't sound so bad.

"But what it really is, is slavery. See, some rich guy tours the primister and sees some woman he likes, and he pretty much buys her from the state. Oh, they dress it up like he's doing society a favor, takin' her in. But at his mansion he dresses her up however he wants and has her scrubbin' floors on her knees, or suckin' his cock. And he decides when she's rehabilitated so, if he wants, he can hang onto her forever."

I felt sick. Suddenly, the glossy skin of San Relando had been peeled back for me and the dark, oily corruption within was clearly visible. I was very, very glad they hadn't thrown Sherri in jail alongside me. Primister was bad enough, but the idea of being sold, essentially made a slave....

On the third day, I was told I had a visitor. My heart lifted. As I hurried down the corridor to the visitor's room, my mind was filled with dreams of Sherri arriving, perfumed and beautiful, with a presidential pardon she'd worked day and night to secure. She'd have brought in the US embassy, contacted CNN about the miscarriage of justice, and Kyle and his co-conspirators would be on their way to jail! They'd arrive, sobbing and broken, just as I was released into the sunlight. The San Relandan government would probably even compensate me for the whole mess—

I stumred to a halt as I saw who was waiting for me. It wasn't Sherri; it was Kyle.

Very slowly, I walked over and sat down. All visits were conducted in a carefully-monitored visitors' room, to stop primisterers being slipped haves. Each primisterer sat in a booth, separated from their visitor by a thick sheet of toughened glass that blocked most sound. Conversation was through old-fashioned telephone handsets. Kyle and I stared at each other as we picked them up.

"Hello, Tom," he said.
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I was disgusted to find tears prickling my eyes. "You mister of a bitch," I hissed. "I'm going to ******* you."

Kyle raised an eyebrow and tapped the inch-thick glass. "How?" he asked mildly.

"I'll hire a lawyer," I told him. "I'll have the case reopened. I'll have Marcarlo and Sandini investigated."

"What will you use for money?" Kyle asked. "The state has confibrownieed all your assets."

I went quiet.

Kyle leaned forward, just for effect. "You want to know the really fun part?" he asked. "As the victim of the crime, my company was actually compensated for the crime by the state. You besmirched our good name...so they actually gave me your cash!" He chuckled while hot, useless anger boiled inside me.

"You won't—" I started.

"'I won't get away with this?'" Kyle said. "Is that what you were going to say? I already have gotten away with it, you moron. People like me don't go to jail!"

I stared at him, the anger filling every last cubic inch of me. I was shaking and sweating, my hand clutching the handset so hard it hurt. But there was nothing I could do. If I raged and smashed the handset against the glass, I knew it wouldn't break—it was designed to withstand much worse. All I'd get would be a trip to solitary. He had all the power and I had none.

"What did you come here for?" I asked weakly. "You got what you wanted. I'm locked up."

Kyle frowned at me. "You screwed things up. Not badly—we're already up and running again, and in a way it's easier now because the 'bad apple' has gone—people think we've cleaned house. But you were disloyal to me. And that means you need to be punished."

Now I frowned. I looked around at the bare primister walls.

Kyle stared at me. "Oh, Tom. You didn't think this was your punishment, did you? This is what the government does to people. I'm much, much worse than the government."

I stared at him. "You've already taken my job, my money, my life...I don't have anything left."

"Well, that just shows how little you value what should be the most valuable thing in your life."

It took a few seconds for the penny to drop. Then I sat bolt upright in my chair. "NO!"

He grinned. "That's right, Tom. I'm going to take Sherri."

"She'll go to the police! She'll have you arrested!"

He shook his head. "Oh, Tom. What do you think I am? I'm not going to power myself between those sweet thighs. Everything she does will be of her own free will." He spoke slowly and deliberately into the handset. "She is going to jump—jump—into my arms, Tom. And she's going to moan, over and over, as I fuck her again and again."

I wasn't breathing. I swore my heart had stopped beating. "She—She won't—"

"She will, Tom. She has needs. Things I bet you couldn't give her even when you were out there with her. But now you're in here and she's in my house."

I could feel my red slow and turn to icy slush in my veins. She was already relaxing under his roof. And I'd put her there! I'd actually pleaded with Kyle to take her in!

I shook my head determinedly. "I'll tell her. I'll tell her what you're doing. I'll tell her that I know."

Kyle stared impassively at me. "How? I never gave you the number for my house. And do you know what I did this morning? I gave Sherri a brand new cell phone, on behalf of the company, with a new number. Seemed like the least I could do, under the circumstances. I said I'd pass on her number to you, but do you know what? I think I might just forget." He grinned. "By the time you talk to her, Tom, it'll be too late."

"She still loves me!" I said desperately. "She won't cheat on me!"

Kyle let out a snort of laughter. "Tom, she thinks you're guilty."

The revelation hit me like a slap in the face, stopping me cold. Kyle laughed again at my expression. "What, did you think she'd believe you, no matter what? You signed a goddamn confession, for God's sake! She's devastated! She thinks you've been lying to her, all this time!"

I sat there staring at him in absolute shock.

Kyle got to his feet. "Well, I better be going. I promised Sherri I'd be back in time for dinner. She's cooking some pasta thing with shrimp.

My stomach rumred. Linguine aux fruits de mer—my favorite! And she was making it for him!

"Honestly," Kyle said, "I don't really like seafood. But I'll pretend it's delicious and I'll be real nice and comforting to poor, lonely Sherri, and maybe I'll get a good feel of those tits tonight."

I couldn't contain it any longer. I hurled myself against the glass and screamed at him, pounding with my fists. He sat there and laughed and laughed and laughed, until two guards came to drag me off to solitary.
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

Chapter 7

The next day, when I returned from solitary, there was a package waiting for me on my bunk. I was already noticing the disparity in how the primisterers lived. Some cells had comfortable bedding, TVs, even laptops and phones. Some guys ate separately from the rest of us, gorging on food shipped in from outside. These were the men who belonged to one of San Relando's many crime families. If your friends on the outside had influence, your life in primister could be pretty good.

Or pretty bad, I thought. Kyle had influence, but I knew he wasn't interested in making my life more pleasant. I unwrapped the package with trepidation.

It was a portable DVD player, with a DVD already in it. I had a terrible feeling I knew what I'd see if I played it, but the idea of not knowing was much worse.

I hit "Play."

It was a living room, with hardwood floor and plush leather furniture. It only took me a couple of seconds to recognize it as Kyle's. I'd passed through the room a few times at his parties.

My guts clenched as I thought about how happy I'd been. I'd known that he'd been looking at my wife even then, but I'd let it slide—hell, I'd even been turned on by it! Why hadn't I seen him for what he was, and run with Sherri back to the US?

Sherri was sitting in one of the armchairs, side-on to the camera. She was still in her work clothes, and I imagined Kyle driving her home to his house—their house—after work. She was in a loose black skirt and white blouse, but she'd taken off her heels and stripped off her stockings. That was bad. That meant she was already relaxing around him.

Kyle stepped into the shot. He passed her a glass of white wine and went to stand behind her armchair.

"How is he?" asked Sherri, and the sound of her voice made my heart ache. She didn't turn around to look at Kyle, just kept staring straight ahead.

Kyle leaned on the back of her armchair. "He's doing okay," he told her. "It's not such a bad place. The food's good. He gets plenty of time outdoors and his cell's like a hotel room."

Part of me was actually glad that he'd lied to her. Sherri would go crazy if she knew what my new life was really like. But most of me wanted her to worry. Given what Kyle had planned, the last thing I wanted was for her to think I was happy and okay...and put me out of her mind.

"Has he told you why he did it?" Sherri asked in a small voice.

Kyle's hands slid down from the back of the chair to land on her shoulders. She jumped at the contact, which was good. But then, as those enormous, warm hands began to lightly massage her muscles through her blouse, she relented and sank back in the chair.

"No," said Kyle sadly. "He didn't. I don't understand it either. He had such a great life with you, and he threw it all away."

I wanted to punch the screen. I wanted to grab the DVD player and stamp on it until his lying face shattered into a million pieces. But then I'd just be left not knowing.

Kyle's hands kneaded and squeezed, working at her shoulders like a machine. She looked so small next to him, so fragile. The thought of his big, hulking body on hers, pushing between her thighs...my stomach twisted.

Sherri shook her head. "I just—We were so good together. And now I feel like I don't even know him."

Were?! Did she say were?! When I'd first arrived in primister, I'd been worried she wouldn't wait for me, that maybe after a few years she'd be tempted by someone else. But I'd always assumed she'd still love me, that we'd be together. This was much, much worse. She thought I'd lied to her. In her mind, I'd split us apart and our marriage was already over.

I let out a howl of anguish as I watched. Kyle's hands moved inward, caressing Sherri's neck, and then slid outward along her shoulders again. Except this time, they slid under her blouse, against her bare skin.

Sherri didn't protest.

I watched his strong fingers working at her muscles. Sherri closed her eyes. She'd always gotten tense shoulders after a long day at work, especially when she was stressed. His hands on her probably felt amazing. Kyle's fingertips worked slowly outward, his wrists stretching the neck of her blouse apart. I couldn't see much from my angle but, standing behind her, I knew Kyle would have a great view straight down her blouse. I imagined the creamy cleavage, her breasts nestling in one of her delicate, lacy bras. He was drooling over my wife's breasts, and his hands were gliding over her warm, bare flesh.

Sherri squirmed a little in her armchair and pulled her feet up onto the seat, getting comfortable. She kept her knees demurely together, but her skirt fell away, gathering around her upper thighs. She was decent, but a lot of bare leg was suddenly on display. Her eyes were still closed.

Kyle lifted his head, looked right at the camera, and smiled at me. Then he looked down the neck of her blouse again and I saw his fingers edging lower, lower. Down over the fronts of her shoulders, down to what might politely be called her upper chest. I could see the outline of his fingers through her thin blouse. They were just beginning to leave the firm muscle and press against the softness of the tops of her breasts—

Sherri opened her eyes. "Kyle...." she said warningly.

Immediately, his hands slid smoothly from her blouse as if nothing had happened, as if it had just been an accidental touch. "I'm going to get some work done in the den," he told her.

She nodded absently, clutching her glass of wine. "I—I'm going to take a shower. Then I'll fix dinner."

Kyle walked out but Sherri didn't move. She sat there in the armchair, turning her head to follow Kyle as he left, and I saw her gaze flick down to his muscular ass as he went through the door.

That doesn't mean anything, I told myself. It doesn't mean she's going to cheat. She stopped him touching her!

This time, a little voice added.

Sherri stayed there for a good few minutes, chewing her lip and staring at the doorway Kyle had disappeared through. Her face was forlorn, and I leaned in close to the DVD player's tiny screen, brushing her face with my finger. I wanted so badly to hold her.

The scene changed abruptly, taking me by surprise. The camera was moving and there was the sound of rushing water, and a light up ahead.

The camera steadied and I saw that we were in a dark room, looking through a partially-open door. Inside, steamed-up glass and a flexing, twisting body.

Sherri. She was in the shower and the bastard had crept into her bedroom to film her.

The camera focused on the shower stall. It was partially steamed up, but I still had a great view of Sherri as she stood naked under the spray, her ripe breasts swaying and bouncing, pink nipples glistening. Her ass, shining wetly, was round and perfect.

He's looking at her naked. The bastard is staring at my wife naked. Worse, he'd had this experience live, just feet away from her. I had to watch it second hand, hundreds of miles away.

Sherri turned towards the camera, running her hands over her body. Her breasts lifted as her soapy hands pushed past them, then sprang back into place, deliciously pert. Between her thighs, I could see the small triangle of dark hair and, beneath it, just a hint of her pink lips. God, he's seeing everything!

Despite how it was happening, the sight of my wife naked was a turn on. And yet it was the cruellest *** imaginable because I couldn't be there with her, couldn't just burst into the bathroom and kiss her, push her up against the wall and—

You could have done all that, a voice inside my head reminded me. All those times you spied on her, but were too chicken to go in. And now it's too late.

As I watched, it got worse. Sherri's hands traced lightly down her body, playing over her hips and thighs, and then—

No! God, don't, Sherri! Not with him watching!

But her eyes were closed tight against the spray. She had no idea she was being filmed as one hand slid up between her pale thighs, fingers hooking around the curve of her sex, and she began to stroke herself.
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The idea that Kyle had seen just what I was seeing horrified me, but that couldn't stop my body's reaction. I could feel my cock hardening as I watched. Unthinkingly, I reached towards my pants—and then stopped.

I was sitting in my shared cell. Fortunately, all my cell mates were out walking the halls, stretching their legs while they could, but there was still no privacy. One wall of the cell was bars. If I jacked off, everyone passing by would see.

I had to sit there, my cock growing harder and harder, unable to even brush myself through my primister jumpsuit, as my wife's fingers glided up and down. She spread her thighs slightly as she turned to one side and I saw her fingers sink between her shining pink lips.

Suddenly, the camera moved. It rotated downward, so that I was looking at Kyle's body. The camera became a little less steady as Kyle shifted to hold it in one hand. With his other, he unzipped his jeans.

Oh, God, no! Not that!

He freed his cock. I bit my lip. He was much, much bigger than me, by a good four inches, and a lot thicker, too. He was still hardening, his cock rising and stiffening as I watched, a drop of drooling pre-cum at the tip. He wrapped one hand around the shaft and started to stroke and I saw his cock swell, the head shining and silky-smooth, it was so engorged with red. The sight of another man getting hard for my wife made my mind explode. He didn't move the camera back to Sherri. He stayed there, powering me to watch his cock, as his hand moved faster and faster. For a moment, I thought he was going to come like that. But then the camera swung back up to catch the final few seconds.

Sherri had her ass pressed against one side of the shower stall, bent forward at the waist as her hand worked between her thighs, the other palm flat against the glass for balance. She was gasping, audible even over the crashing water, two fingers sliding inside her as her thumb rubbed at her clit. The camera was shaking as Kyle jacked his cock—I could actually see his orgasm approaching....

I was rock hard at the sight of what Sherri was doing. And then my lust twisted and turned dark. Something about Kyle watching her...Kyle jacking off to her...Kyle fucking—

No! I clamped down on the idea hard, pushing it down into the depths of my mind.

Suddenly, Sherri let out a cry and flattened herself against the wall of the shower stall, her breasts thrust out. Her hips ground at the air, ass clenching as she spasmed. She tremred like that for a few seconds and then slumped against the front wall of the stall, panting, her breasts pillowed against the glass.

She was thinking of me, I told myself. Not of him. Not of how his hands had felt on her, or of what might have happened if she'd let him continue. She was thinking of me.

But I didn't believe it.

The camera swung down again, showing me Kyle's throbbing cock. He'd stopped short of coming, and as he held his stiff cock out for my perusal his message was clear: not yet, but soon.

There was another cut. When the picture returned, we were in the dining room, looking towards Kyle and Sherri as they sat across from each other at a table, eating Sherri's linguine. Just as he'd promised, Kyle was making all the right noises about it being delicious. Sherri was lapping up the praise—the novelty, I guessed, of hearing it from a new permister. She'd put on a dress and styled her hair, making much more effort than she'd have done if it was the two of us having dinner. Hell, if it had been us we would probably have chowed down in front of the TV.

Again, that cruel little voice. The one that said this is all your fault. Kyle was trying to steal her away, but I'd made her vulnerable to it.

The camera cut again. My stomach tensed, praying that the next shot wouldn't be of them in bed together—

But it wasn't. It was a darkened corridor and the camera was moving again. Kyle was spying on my wife, which was both better and worse than what I'd been dreading.

Kyle slowly pushed open the door in front of him. Just enough moonlight came through the window to show Sherri arelax, sprawled on her side on the bed. She was wearing a tank top and panties, her arms thrown languidly up over her head, her long dark hair spread out in a fan. Kyle gave me a long, lingering shot of her bare legs, the warm skin touchably close, and my skin crawled.

Then he walked around to the head of the bed and showed me her relaxing face. Her soft lips were slightly parted, her face peaceful as she dreamed.

The camera swung down. Kyle already had his cock out and was stroking it.

No! He's not going to—Not while she's arelax! I wanted to scream and wake her up, but I was helpless.

Kyle moved the camera to focus on Sherri's chest. The tank top was low cut and had ridden down even lower, one strap off her shoulder. Her breasts were soft and inviting, one nipple almost exposed.

Sherri moaned in her relax and rolled onto her back. Her legs flopped apart.

Immediately, Kyle moved to the foot of the bed and stood facing her groin, still stroking his cock. It was pointing right up between her legs, a few feet away from actually touching her but no less powerful a statement for that. I'm going to fuck her, he was telling me. I'm going to fuck your wife and there's nothing you can do to stop me.

Just as when she'd been in the shower, he didn't come—he even showed me him putting his cock away. He didn't want to just masturbate over her, he wanted to fuck her. And he was prepared to wait.

I suddenly became aware of something, the same thing that had strayed into my mind when I'd watched Kyle jacking off to my wife in the shower. This time it had crept up on me, and it was front and center in my mind before I had a chance to push it away.

My cock was hard again.

It's just looking at her, I thought desperately. Her breasts, her legs...who wouldn't be turned on by that? But I knew it wasn't just that. It was—

My mind cracked and fractured. No!

It was...seeing Kyle hard for her. Knowing that soon, he was going to—

NO!

I felt ill. Jesus, what was wrong with me that I'd find that a turn on? This was my worst nightmare, my enemy exploiting my vulnerable, lonely wife, making her cheat on me! I didn't want to see that!

I closed my eyes in disgust and, when I opened them again, the DVD had ended.

I took a deep breath and pushed the feelings down into the deepest hole I could. Then I sat staring at the blank screen in fear. How long before the massages and the shared dinners turned into something else? I had to get a message to her. I had to let my wife know that I wasn't guilty, that Kyle was manipulating her. Then I could get her out of his house, out of her job, away from him completely...and then, with our marriage safe, I could start working to somehow get free.

I thought that I understood Kyle's plan. I thought that I could disrupt it, somehow.

I'd badly underestimated him.

<<<<>>>>

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The paperback is now out: The hyperlink is visible to registered members only!
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

Victoria,
Thanks for the reminder here, I don't look at my (peak) email often enough to pick up on the 2 day offer period usually. I actually bought this last night and I'm already beyond the section above. Not regretting it so far! I think I've said it before, I think this sort of marketing has a mutually beneficial effect. We get good stories and the option of more (if we want to take it up). You get the exposure to an appreciative market. The moderator gets the warm glow of the traffic it generates.

Either way, good story. Well done. It seems Brits understand villains yet again ...

peakmb
Thank you! Glad you're enjoying it
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

Is there a kindle version??

Does anyone have this story?