Behind The Screaming Headlines Part 1

Behind The Screaming Headlines

This is my first attempt at writing a Loving Wives story. It was based on or inspired by a celebrity whose life was embroiled in scandal some years back but it’s not a retelling of her story, rather an active re-imagining of her life. Originally intended as a novella, life and distraction intervened, so apologies for what is likely to be a read riddled with gaps and questionable relevance.

I tried not to wince but it was near impossible. However accustomed you may be to seeing your name in the media, when it’s coupled with the words “cheating slut”, it’s never a pleasant affair.

They had got it all wrong naturally. I suppose, after all the years of being in the business, it was to be expected. And in retrospect, it was a small price to pay for the vengeance I had exacted.

Lifestyle guru cheated on husband!

Sordid affair revealed!

I regret this betrayal of a good friend!

It was all there in the screaming headlines. And I knew the picture presented to the public was of an adulteress running away from public attention and condemnation because of her scandalous deeds. Frankly, I could give a damn but didn't. I simply drove with little in mind other than relief that my long plan for vengeance was almost over and I was finally out of it all. I looked into the rear view mirror at my teenage daughter and son and suddenly, I just felt tired. All the scheming and pretence simply to fulfil that deal Patrick had made to secure our future. The years of guilt and acting had taken their toll and I was just drained.

I was driving away from London, away from home. Fittingly, I had no real idea where I was going but for once, I could discard that perfect image and farcical role. For once, despite the "reputational damage", I'd succeeded.

And it was with the one thing I'd craved for a long time. I bested them all, even those screaming headlines...

How it all began

None of this would have happened if I hadn't cheated on my first husband. Well, technically, he gave his permission.

Patrick Henry Hays. The guy who took a dowdy, chunky plain Jane whom no one noticed in college except for her ridiculous tent-like sweaters and turned her into a celebrity food critic and lifestyle guru who was also the cable channels’ resident sexpot.

Ever since he transformed me, no one doesn't not notice me anymore. Of course, they notice certain parts of me more than others. The tits once hidden behind those ridiculous tent-like sweaters I wore in college are often on full display these days. Paired invariably with pouting lips in a forward leaning pose that basically says, 'C'mon over to sexy momma' in a decorous British manner of course. No one outside of our closest friends knew that before Patrick, there was no Nichola Parsons, the sexy lifestyle goddess. Only Nichola Elizabeth Parsons, the whale of an honours student in history, whose own mother hated her and whose father barely recognised her during the obligatory family holiday gatherings.

Family issues aside, I was closest to my younger brother and sister, Thomas and Eveline. Evie died 3 years before Patrick succumbed to stomach cancer, cancer it seems, likes taking away people I loved. It took away my mother when I was just about to make peace with her at age 25. It took away my sister when she was barely 24 and I didn't even get to see Evie for the last time because I was in labour with my first child when Evie was on her deathbed. Naturally my daughter's middle name was Eveline. Isabella Eveline Hays. Honouring both my mother and my beloved sister. But I'm digressing.

It’s easy to get distracted by your own stream of thoughts when you're driving alone in a car stolen from your latest husband while escaping his malicious media campaign against you. Ladies, that's why it’s not a great idea to marry a media tycoon. Sure, the fame is great but so is the bonfire when they decide to make you the substitute for Guy Fawkes in the middle of a delicious summer scandal that involves sex, money and abusive husbands.

Before you're confused further by my random thoughts, I must clarify that the media tycoon I call husband at this point in time is not Patrick but Martin. Martin Ronald Sach. Media tycoon, retired fashion icon and the crazed one hell-bent on destroying me. I would never have met Martin if Patrick had not brought him home from the club that night.

Patrick had been diagnosed with stomach cancer and had just completed his second round of therapy. Knowing how much of a toll the battle with cancer took on his body and spirit, most of us, family and friends, were happy to indulge his moods and fancies. Basically, Patrick spent most of his time amusing himself with the games he played down at the old boys club while occasionally writing one of his famously acerbic and caustic opinion pieces for the newspaper he had helped make famous as chief editor some years back.

Martin owned rival newspapers and at one point had thought to poach Patrick. Patrick never seriously considered the offer and the two weren't acquainted till that spring when Patrick spent increasing amounts of time on playing games (and unknown to us at the time, gambling and losing a lot of money) down at the club.

The two, despite their different temperaments and differing social circles, hit it off quite well. And within 3 months, they seemed to have become the best of friends. One night, after a long session of games at the club, Patrick called to say he was bringing a friend home for supper. I was rather pleased since Patrick had been in one of his depressed crabby moods lately which was not uncommon among seriously ill patients. Thinking it was a great sign of his improving mood, I happily laid the table and prepared the light supper and dessert that I had intended to serve Patrick and our kids.

Patrick was uncharacteristically jovial when he introduced his new best friend to me. Martin had the relaxed air of a wealthy man who was confidently smug in his own superiority. Frankly, it was a little off putting and I’d seen enough snobs in my time because of my family and later because of college.

Still, he seemed sufficiently amused with meeting a celebrity to deign kissing my hand which he held a tad too long. Patrick seemed oblivious to the fact that his friend wasn't much of a nice person but then again he was ill.

Supper went off quite well despite Martin's off putting manner. I was determined to ignore the man and concentrated on making Patrick happy. He had rarely laughed so happily in the last few months and if this obnoxious man could help bring my husband back from the horrible emotional dumps he was in, I could tolerate him.

In fact, Patrick was in such a good mood that it carried over to the bedroom where we had sex for the first time in months. Patrick was his usual gentle loving self as he ate me to an orgasm and I gently brought him to sufficient hardness with my mouth for him to slip inside me when I rode him.

The treatment had so exhausted him that he often was too ill or tired to sustain an erection for very long and we hadn't had sex in some time. In fact, he was so kind and aware of the building frustration of unfulfilled desire in me that he discreetly bought a vibrator and dildo for me when he had first started going to the club. I was pink with embarrassment when he presented me with the gifts and more than a little mortified when Patrick suggested that I relieve myself with them regularly. Of course, I hadn't noticed that I was rather irritable and prone to being snappish in those months where I was getting no satisfaction at all.

What made it kinkier was Patrick's request to watch me satisfy myself in bed. He was apologetic at first saying he was to blame for not being able to provide me the sexual satisfaction I needed. Then he asked if he could watch when I relieved myself because it would in a way make him feel less culpable.

I'd agreed since I adored the man and was secretly shocked that he was so considerate of my needs.

It was strange to have your husband watch you pleasing yourself on your marriage bed and while I had some measure of satisfaction, it was nothing like having your loving husband's hard cock in you.

I was riding him fast and hard, afraid that he would fade before I could climax. Fortunately, he remained hard enough to stay in me when I came and gushed all over him. He came with a little shout, not as loud as he usually was but definitely better than the complete absence of activity in the last few months. I cuddled with Patrick as we drifted off to sleep, grateful for having my husband back again.

Then it all began to crumble. Two months later, Patrick's doctor told him the cancer was spreading. Patrick became weaker and weaker and along with his health went the wonderful man I had married. He was alternately morose and bitter. I understood his mood swings and the need for him to lash out. That's why I tried to explain to the kids why Daddy was acting this way. Patrick tried never to cry in front of me whatever the pain and rage he was feeling. However, his bitterness often showed itself in the caustic poison that poured from his lips. In all of this time, only our closest friends were ever guests in our house. Everyone else either stayed away out of politeness or was eager to avoid Patrick's scathing comments.

Surprisingly, Martin was one of those frequent visitors. He had become increasingly friendly with Patrick and was unexpectedly affable in the months since we first met. For some inexplicable reason, I began to see him as a friend and confidante. He was sympathetic and often urged me to be patient and forgiving of Patrick when he behaved poorly.

"Think of how much pain he must be going through", "You know he's a great guy, it’s the illness speaking, not him" and "You must be strong enough for the both of you at such a time”. All this while patting and holding my hand as I tried to hold back tears or drank too much red wine after one of Patrick's tantrums.

It was perhaps unfortunate that as Patrick’s health declined and he became an effective recluse trapped in our house that I exploded across screens in Britain and later around the world.

It all started before Patrick was diagnosed when he jokingly suggested that I go on TV to give my opinions about certain restaurants that I had done menu tastings and samplings for. It was a one-off interview on a morning show. They had a sample of a chocolate lava cake that I was to taste and comment on. Though I had done similar stuff for the paper I wrote for, I'd never been on TV before and was so nervous I'd considered refusing.

Patrick was like "don't be silly, you'll be just fine". He did however take me out shopping and had my hair done nicely at a top salon before the TV appearance. I wasn't sure about the dress I was to wear, it looked more like a dress you'd wear to a date at the bar at the Ritz rather than a morning TV segment but Patrick insisted. As did he on the glossy red lipstick.

The TV station production team were surprised but had little alternative since we arrived just in time for standby before the segment. The production assistant had heated the cake just a minute before the segment and the molten chocolate lava was just right in its flow. When a tiny bit came out the side of my mouth, I was embarrassed to be seen on national TV behaving like a kid and reacted before I thought. My tongue slid out and quickly licked off the tiny bit of chocolate lava that had flowed out onto my lip. "That was delicious." I moaned.

Without thinking too much of it, I'd picked up the spoon and stuck it in my mouth, licking the chocolate off before pulling it slowly out. "Something so deliciously wicked should never be wasted, it should be savoured to the last drop." I moaned as I put the spoon down. There was utter silence in the studio. Then I noticed the studio assistants and production hands staring, the men in particular were looking at me oddly with their mouths open.

The male host broke the silence with the words that were later repeated in the papers and online sites. "That was the most stimulating show we've ever had on our morning show. Thank you for making it a good morning for 98% of all men across the UK Nichola!"

The nervous fake twittering giggle of his female co-host made me instantly afraid that I’d made a faux pas on national TV. I maintained a calm facade till they broke for a commercial a minute later.

I apologised profusely for causing any problems when the cameras were off and the male host simply smiled and reassured me that nothing went wrong though I could see that wasn't the case in the evil eye his female co-host, who was the resident eye-pleaser, was giving me.

I was rather unsettled and upset when I left the studio and headed straight for the arms of Patrick, my husband. He saw that I clearly had no idea what was going on, so he tried to explain. "Darling, nothing went wrong. I think you just showed a different side of yourself. Maybe no one ever thought food tastings could be so sexy."

"Sexy? I wasn't sexy. I was just trying not to look like a kid eating," I whined as I pouted.

Of course, Patrick was right. After all the online chatter and the silly jokes made by the bawdy male journalists and commentators, I was actually offered a book contract and a TV series with me as food critic and celebrity chef. Things just snowballed from there and even though it had been just 9 short months between that appearance and now, Patrick’s life had turned upside down even as mine ascended to the stars.

Patrick’s bitterness became increasingly obvious as his health and overall wellbeing declined. He had made me, he had transformed me from the dowdy embarrassment I was and now, I was becoming a star and no longer in his control. Somehow, he resented me. And he showed it in various ways. His snappish words and behaviour. The snipes he made. His disdain of the production meetings that took place in our house. His increasing withdrawal into his study, writing increasingly caustic acerbic rants against society. And his refusal to watch or even help bring me to climax which he used to actively participate in even if he could not sustain an erection or had no desire for sexual fulfilment.

I was losing Patrick in every way.

And Martin was slowly taking over various roles. It was very subtly done and before I knew it, he had taken over many of the roles Patrick used to play. I guess now, looking back, he saw a way in and worked his way through all the structures that made up the relationship between me and Patrick.

Soon, I was literally crying on his shoulder. He was helping me with some of the details of the TV production and other stuff that I was doing. It was increasingly the main source of income in our household. Patrick's career was fading even as his health did. He'd alienated most of our friends except for the few close ones, of which Martin became the chief pillar of support. That situation only worsened when the doctors told Patrick he was inoperable and that the cancer was now terminal. They gave him only three months. At first, I was devastated, then numb. I steeled myself for even more bitterness from Patrick. And that did happen in the first week after the doctor's declaration. He raved and ranted against the unfairness of it all and hurled verbal abuse at all of us.

Then Patrick changed. He became calm and accepting of his fate. In the very quiet early hours of a Sunday morning, when the rest of the house was silent, he held my hand, kissed my palm and begged me to forgive him. I crumbled. Somehow, I had found my husband again. He was back. As I cuddled with him on the couch, he began to speak with me about future plans - how I was to get on with life with the kids after he was gone. I was still in denial but Patrick was ever the pragmatist.

He also revealed his losses in those games at the club but as I gasped, he reassured me that he had a plan to pay them off and to ensure our family's financial and overall wellbeing. He seemed reluctant to reveal details and I knew better than to press him on the issue.

That evening when Martin came over for dinner, Patrick invited him for a drink in the study. I was curious but left the boys alone.

When Martin emerged, there was a strange expression on his face, a mixture of triumph and also embarrassment. Patrick had a strange look too, both resignation and determination. When Martin left that evening, his hug was strangely intimate and he kissed me full on the lips, which threw me off. Patrick was watching and I was apprehensive about his reaction.

Patrick called me into the study for a talk after the children were put to bed for the night.

"Nichola, I've agreed to a deal with Martin for all our sakes. Martin will pay my debts and he'll provide for you and the children once I'm gone."

He held his hand up to stop me before I could interrupt with all the questions waiting on my lips.

"In exchange," he hesitated for a while. "In exchange, you will become his partner and marry him after I leave this earth."

"What?!"

I was astounded.

"What are you saying? I'm to be a whore for your friend? You sold me to him! Is that it?"

"No! It's just a sensible practical arrangement."

"Look, Nichola, we both know you've been frustrated in many ways these last months and you need to have your needs met. Martin has been after you all the last months, in fact, after you met he's been watching you and getting close. Please tell me you've not missed all the signs."

Patrick fixed me with his steady stare.

"But..but," I stuttered.

"Think about it and tell me it's not a good idea since we  all get what we need from this."

Patrick saw the dilemma I was in and sought to allay my fears.

"Look, I'm not thrilled by the idea of another man taking my wife but in the face of what the inevitable end looks like, we've got to try for the best solution."

His voice turned gentle.

"You can test the waters when Martin comes tomorrow morning."

I gaped at Patrick.

"The nanny will take the kids out and you don't have a filming session tomorrow so it's perfect. I'll be around for this test session."

His look turned grim.

"And if he's really horrid in bed or at making out," this was followed by a forced ghastly laugh by Patrick. "You can call it off." The last was said in a whisper. We both fell silent as the implications of what was said sank in. We went to bed with our thoughts that night.

                                                                 ****

Martin did turn up the next day. I was a nervous wreck. I'd gone through all the motions of the day and once the children left, I'd dressed as Patrick instructed. It was a simple white dress and lipstick. I guess I looked like a sacrificial vestal virgin except I wasn't one. Patrick saw my trepidation and said jokingly," Darling, don't be afraid, you won't be sacrificed." He laughed with a bravado neither of us felt.

There was no apparent alternative. Patrick was the smarter of us and he obviously thought this was the best option. "I'll watch from a corner of the room. And if anything goes wrong, I'll be there to stop him."

His voice dropped to a whisper," Just..just-just don't take too much pleasure in this."

His eyes brimmed with tears and I felt like screaming and running away.

The doorbell rang and it sounded like a death knell. I almost collapsed into hysterical sobbing while Patrick looked like he was in grave despair. There was an air of resignation as he helped me to stand, took my hand and walked me to the door.

Apart from Graham, my first boyfriend in college, and Patrick, I hadn't been with any other man. Though Martin was no longer as off putting as he initially had been, I'd never thought of him as anything other than a family friend. The thought of strange man putting his hands on me and having access to my most private of places caused a shudder of revulsion to run through me. And an odd frisson of perverse excitement.

My mind went blank and I followed Patrick's footsteps in a leaden manner.

The walk to the door was the longest walk of our lives. Patrick came to an abrupt stop just before we reached the foyer. I'd automatically stopped alongside him. I looked at him with worry and concern.

"We can stop this now, “I ventured tentatively.

Patrick looked at me with resignation in every line of his frame and face. He looked at me with a flash of hope as my words hung between us before resignation imposed itself on him. We didn't have many alternatives

And he knew it. If the creditors called in their debts, we would be in danger of serious embarrassment and there would, after all debts were settled, be little left for the children and me after Patrick left this earth. Patrick was the smarter of us and he'd obviously thought this through.

"We have to do this to secure a future for you and the children," he said looking off into the distance, avoiding my eyes.

Then he turned his eyes on me and stared at me with such intensity that I was sure he looked into my mind and soul.

"I love you Nichola, you'll always be my wife. No matter what happens. Today or in the future."

He choked and tried to clear his throat. A large teardrop rolled down his cheek and that more than the pallor and emaciated features revealed the fragility of the man I'd loved for so long and love even more at that point in time because he was now vulnerable.

The man I'd grown to depend on and who made me who I was, was now showing me the underbelly of his weakness.

He looked searchingly at me, “I just hope that after today and after I'm gone, in some corner of your heart, I'll have a small little place in your heart."

I protested, Of course, Patrick..." But there weren't words that could paper over the awkward cracks in our relationship that now loomed large.

I was conflicted. Why was he making me do this when it was obviously so difficult for both of us. I sensed a discomforting flash of resentment and the urge to blame this all on Patrick. The perverse frisson of excitement I ignored in my conscious attempt to stay blame free.

When I opened that door to see an impassive Martin standing there, I hated both these men with a choking sense of virulent resentment, but that gave way to a sense of resignation as Martin stepped through the doorway and into our house. The barbarian was in the house.

Saying it was awkward would have been the understatement of the century. Patrick tried to make small talk as he directed Martin and me towards the guest bedroom. I looked at Patrick, hoping at some point that he'd put a stop to this ridiculous situation, yet dreading the consequences if he did. We had no other solution it seemed and I was unaware of Martin's role in all of this. That he had encouraged Patrick's gambling and had willingly provided the means for him to gamble all the while seeming to support him as a friend. And Martin had turned on the charm offensive too when he moved into the orbit of our friends. He was a manipulative bastard, an aspect of his character that I never saw till I married him.

Patrick dropped himself down on an armchair by the fireside and turned slightly away from Martin and me as we stood by the bed that was increasingly looking like a sacrificial platform.

Martin cleared his throat. It sounded like a gunshot in the silence of the room. "Well," he said in a quiet tone, "I'm clean but I'll use a condom if you prefer that." He took some papers from his jacket and put them on the small table next to Patrick's chair. It was some doctor's report declaring he was free of STDs and other illnesses.

Patrick merely nodded as he continued to look away. It didn't strike me then but if Patrick had agreed to that proposition only on a Sunday evening and Martin had only known it then, how could he have had time to get that medical report. The bastard had clearly plotted and anticipated it all.

I went to the kitchen to get some wine thinking the alcohol would help my nerves. When I returned, Patrick was still in his chair and determinedly looking away from the bed. Martin, on the other hand, had divested himself of his jacket and had unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt. His chest hair was visible through the shirt opening and there was a distinct predatory gleam in his eyes.

I felt nauseated and my distaste for the man returned. Looking straight into my eyes as I tossed a glass of wine back, he waited with a half-smile. I was the prey that was not getting away.

Trying to be as clinical and detached as possible, I lay down on the bed and said," Let's get this over with shall we?"

I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of humiliating Patrick or me any further. And I sure wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of getting more out of me than a log would give a humping dog.

Martin walked over and slowly and calmly divested himself of all his clothes except for his boxer briefs which were already tented slightly. He looked me over with slow insolent frankness. And his growing arousal was obvious as his bulge grew. I was unsure if I wanted to take that as a compliment.

Martin gently raised the dress I was in, baring me inch by inch to his eyes. I remained impassive and unmoving as the hem of the dress reached my navel. I had a brief moment of satisfaction when he looked slightly taken aback at the sight of the granny panties I had worn.

Nonetheless, he returned to his work of undressing me as he pulled the dress off me and I lay there in my simple cotton bra and granny panties. The spring chill in the air made goosebumps pop up all over my exposed skin. Martin grinned and lay down next to me. The slight creak of the bedsprings made Patrick stir a little but he spared only a glance at the bed before looking away.

I closed my eyes when I saw Martin's thick hairy forearm move across my torso and felt his hand cup my breast through the bra. His hot hands were a distinct contrast to the chill in the air as one cupped the flesh of my breast and the other crept down, stroking my inner thighs.

I could feel his warm breath on my skin before he took a bra-covered nipple into his hot mouth. I tried to distance myself from the sensations that were getting to my sex-starved body. My nipples were beginning to harden under his ministrations and as his hand rubbed on my mound through the panty, I was starting to feel a growing warmth between my thighs.

When he removed his hand from my mound, I was torn between relief and disappointment. Relief that I wasn't showing too much excitement in front of Patrick in this sordid affair and disappointment from the fact that my body craved release.

He clumsily pulled his underwear off him, rustling the bed sheets all the while and when I peeked through half closed eyelids, he noticed and grinned in a leering manner. Silently, he grabbed one of my hands and brought it down to his half hard tool. Curling my hand around his hardening tool, he started stroking his cock with my hand.

I almost gasped at the rapid growth of his penis as it twitched and jerked. It grew hotter and harder as my hand was forced into tracing it from stem to tip. When he seemed certain I was not going to stop stroking his penis, he moved his hand away and returned it to my mound.  This time, he had ventured beyond the confines of the panty and was rubbing my clit while tracing my lower lips with his fingers.

My bra had been pushed above my breasts and he was lightly biting and sucking the white flesh and the reddened nipples he had brought to stiff nubs.

When he thrust his fingers into my vulva, I was beginning to moisten and my hips were involuntarily moving with his fingers. I was staring helplessly at the man who was ravaging me and breaking down the barriers I'd placed to ensure I didn't betray my husband.

When he impatiently pulled my legs up on his chest as he reared up, I knew the fight was mostly over. His tool was swollen red, hard and sticking out in front of him, pushing between my thighs as he worked my panty off me. I was wet and aroused. I looked away from the vaguely smug look he had on his face and looked straight up to the ceiling, knowing that if I turned my head, I might see Patrick looking at me.

Martin tapped his hard tool on my mound and wet lips, spreading his precum and my arousal fluids across his tool and my mound.

"Please use a condom."

I scarcely recognised the thin high voice that said this though I was the one speaking.

Martin looked slightly annoyed but reached for a box of condoms he had tossed on the bedside table when he had taken his jacket off. He quickly rolled one on and got straight into me when he returned to the bed.

I could feel him hot and hard inside me as he stroked into me hesitantly at first. We'd both instinctively looked at Patrick when the fucking started in earnest but he was not looking at us. After ascertaining that Patrick wasn't going to do anything to stop this, Martin began to thrust more forcefully into me and I fought the urge to come even as I knew it was a battle I could not win. I bit my fist to stop the moans from becoming too obvious and saw the look of anguish on Patricks face as he looked across, almost unwillingly at the tableau of his friend fucking his wife.  

Martin came with a shout as he shot his load into the condom. I felt it balloon inside me while my traitorous body climaxed and I contracted around him in almost painful spasms. Martin collapsed on me, his sweaty body crushing me into the mattress.

When he finally raised himself off me, his smile was one of smug satisfaction. He pulled himself and the full condom out carefully and noted the sticky fluid that coated the outside of the condom. It was visible proof that I had succumbed.

I looked away in shame as he dressed and got ready to leave. Before he left the room, he said distinctly in a voice that brook no objection.

"Do start using the pill because I've no intention of using a condom in the future."

Neither Patrick nor I moved till we heard the main door close.

I roused myself from the bed and carelessly pulled on the dress I had been wearing. The cooling fluids on my thighs was not something I wanted on display for my husband.

Patrick and I silently walked to our bedroom where he sat down in his recliner. He watched as I disappeared into the bathroom and washed myself thoroughly, scrubbing where I could the signs of my sordid session with a man who was not my husband. When I emerged from the bathroom, I looked at Patrick who had obviously cried silently. His eyes were red-rimmed and his cheeks were wet. I could only numbly hold him to me as we both contemplated what had happened and the state of our marriage.

Later that afternoon, Patrick talked me into smoking marijuana with him. It was helping him with his pain as he refused further treatment and insisted on being home. They gave him a load of pain medication and instructions to not overdo things.

The house descended into deadly silence for the next two days, so silent that David and Isabella, our kids, started noticing something was not quite right with mummy and daddy. Isa, being the elder, guessed it was Daddy's health and tried to keep David quiet. No one wanted to break the uneasy silence.

When Martin turned up for the next session on Wednesday, it went pretty much like the first session and he continued to use a condom as I'd explained that the pills needed a few days to start working.

Patrick was still in the guest room keeping watch but in reality, he withdrew into himself and was oblivious to everything around him. He had done some marijuana before Martin arrived and was barely half conscious when Martin pulled out of me.

Martin had waited for me to dress myself before asking me to walk him out. I looked in consternation but could find no reasonable excuse to refuse.

He grabbed me and whispered in my ear," Do you really find me so distasteful?"

I stared at him for a minute before replying.

"N-n-no_ but..but," I stumbled.

"But?"

"But I'm not supposed to take pleasure in this. This is just a business deal."

Martin sighed and gave me a sad look that made me feel bad.

"So, you're doing this to please Patrick and ensure he's not hurt. But what about me?"

"Well, you've got what you want, right?" I said with some defiance before looking away.

"Your body?"

I nodded mutely.

"Yes but I want more, I'm in love with you Nichola! That's why I agreed to this whole farce of a deal in the first place."

I looked at Martin in shock, I'd never thought he was capable of love, much less love for me.

"I thought you also had feelings for me, that's why I agreed. Remember what you told me about how lonely and desperate you were feeling? I wanted to help you and give you the love you wanted, but it seems I was wrong," he whined as he continued giving me that pained look.

Guilt washed over me as I recalled how I'd treated him since Sunday.

"You hate my touch, don't you?" He asked looking devastated.

Fearful of the potential consequences of breaking the deal and guilt at making this caring friend feel so bad, I stayed silent. Feeling my anger and distaste melt slightly, I placed my hand on his cheek and said earnestly, "No..it's just that I..I can't hurt Patrick by betraying him."

Looking away as I felt a blush rise on my cheeks, "I've felt something in these_these sessions even though I've tried hard not to ..a-and I know you've taken pleasure too."

My voice had dropped to a whisper. Martin chuckled and gently turned my face up to his. "I'm glad you don't find me repulsive because I've been so aroused and wanted you so much that that would just kill me."

"I was dying inside when I thought you felt nothing but disgust for me. I want you so much to get that pleasure that you haven't been getting from Patrick because of this damn illness."

Knowing that his words were having an impact on me as my flushed face deepened its shade of red, he captured my mouth in a hot deep kiss that took my breath away and made me forget myself and Patrick for a moment. I responded and kissed him back before remembering that my loving husband was barely metres away in the guest room.

"I won't apologise for that because I've wanted you too much to be polite."

Giving me a heated glance as he kissed my palm and wrist, he whispered in my ear," I'll live the next days just for our next session. I'll find a way to give us both pleasure without hurting Patrick too much." The feel of his hot breath against my ear made me shiver with guilty anticipation. Then he was gone and I was left with guilt and anger that couldn't be directed at anyone. 

                                                                                   ****  

On Thursday night, Martin sent me a text for the first time. Although he had had my mobile number for ages, he had never sent me a text. I'd almost thought he was a neo-Luddite.

"Put on a sheer lace bra and a thong. And give P a hit of the pain med or 'm' before our session. He needn't be hurt. We need that release."

I hesitated. I mean, after our talk on Wednesday, I'd been oddly aroused by the thought that this other man was infatuated with me. And how, despite all my efforts to be detached, the last 2 sessions provided some relief after months of frustration. In the end, I gave in to his instructions. I didn't realise till much later that this was the point at which Martin started taking over Patrick's role of directing my life.

I'd quickly done some marijuana with Patrick that morning so he was barely conscious when he was in the customary chair in the guest room.

Martin boldly started kissing me in the hallway and had shoved his hand up my dress, playing with my clit before we reached the guest room. Martin didn't spare Patrick a glance, instead he ripped up the light white dress and threw me on the bed before he divested himself of his clothes. His forceful manner and his playing with my clit iwi the hallway meant I was already aroused and wet. When he gestured at his penis and grabbed my hair, I knew he was well on his way to taking control in our relationship. Thankfully, Patrick was oblivious to much of what was happening because of the marijuana and pain medication he was now constantly on.

Martin was very vocal as I took him in my mouth. While he and Patrick were around the same size, he was a little rougher when he thrust his penis into my mouth. I gagged several times when he pulled me forward till my nose was buried in his pubic hair.

"Ungg, that's right...take it all in.."

When he swelled and shook in my mouth, I knew he was about to come and wanted to pull off. But Martin had other ideas.

"I want you to swallow," he stated implacably. Seeing the reluctance and protest in my eyes, he immediately switched to a plaintive tone, "Can't you love me back just a little?"

I capitulated, besides, he was already in my mouth. So Martin became the second man whose cum I swallowed.

He hissed his triumph as his cum splashed into the back of my throat and a gleam of smug triumph flashed in his eyes.

The only thought that crossed my mind was an ironic one, “Well, I guess the favourite question that men across the UK have for Nichola has been answered. Yes, I do swallow cum but only two lucky men have had that honour."

The inadvertent thought of Patrick brought a wave of guilt crashing over me as I attempted to pull away from Martin and cover up.

The wave of guilt quickly crashed and washed out on the sand as Martin sensed my hesitation and attempt to establish barriers. He pushed me flat on my back and started to devour my breasts.

Martin, like 99% of my male audience, was obsessed with my breasts. So well established was that fact that the TV and cable networks along with publicists insisted on my production and photography wardrobes consisting mainly of outfits that had me constantly in danger of spilling or falling out of my bodice or necklines. Somehow, the danger of a wardrobe malfunction always increased the viewership numbers. That and the blatantly sexual undertones of the scripts they wrote for my shows.

I could think of little when Martins talented mouth was suckling and nipping at my sensitive nipples and tender flesh. His hands were wreaking mayhem with my vulva. Playing furiously with my clit, he increased the intensity of his assault on my senses by thrusting his fingers into my increasingly wet lips. When he added his talented tongue to the equation, I knew I was lost.

"Ung_uh_uh"

I barely recognised my own voice as I rode his fingers. Neither did I recognise the high wailing sounds that accompanied the flood of juices I unleashed upon his mouth.

Barely giving me time to recover from the orgasm his mouth had sent me into, he reared back and thrust himself into me. The receding spasms from my orgasm made every ridge on that hot length immediately imprint itself upon the sensitive walls of my vulva. Martin cleverly increased the sensations by thrusting hard and fast, making the friction add to the irresistible drive to climax. I was overwhelmed and crumbled to my second climax. Screaming, I felt myself tighten around Martin's hot throbbing tool that began to blast my insides with scalding cum.

He shouted his climax and seemed to cum relentlessly, filling me with his cum before collapsing on top of me.

When I had roused myself from the daze of sexual release, I immediately glanced in the direction of Patrick's chair. I comforted myself that he had heard nothing of my betrayal of our marriage since he had hardly moved. All the same, I began to think it was a good idea to get Martin to leave soon since a glance at the clock on the mantel told me that the nanny and kids would be back soon.

Without thought, I had caressed Martin's back as I tried to make him move.

"Hmm?" was all the response he gave as he nuzzled my neck.

"You have to dress and leave. The kids are coming back soon."

"No, I want more time with you."

"We can't, please. I'm married and we have kids, please don't make me hurt them even more," my whispers were beginning to turn into broken sobs.

"Alright, alright, hush," he reluctantly agreed in an effort to placate me.

He looked down between us where we were still joined intimately as he withdrew from me, smiling arrogantly as he noted our mixed cum glistening on his flaccid penis and flowing out of my battered pussy.

"Don't wipe us off," he demanded. "I want you to have some of our love in you for the rest of the day."

I bit back my instinctual retort that we were not in love and this was part of the deal he had struck with Patrick, whom I'd just betrayed because I'd enjoyed our fuck session. He kissed me and was gone. I found the remnants of my dress and bra which was ripped. For some reason, I never found the thong. I hurriedly cleaned up and changed my clothes before I tried to get Patrick out of the chair and into the study. In my abandoned enjoyment of the fuck session with Martin, I'd largely forgotten about my husband. Patrick was slumped in the chair, seemingly asleep. I kissed his cheek and tasted salt. As I looked in alarm at his emaciated features, I saw his swollen eyelids and felt how wet his collar was. It was only then that I realised my beloved husband had been crying all that time probably because he had heard the vocal proof of my betrayal. I collapsed in tears, my head upon his lap, mourning the state of my marriage and the irrefutable proof of my slutty self.

                                                                            ****