On the park bench, nervous and trembling, she wondered at what she had created for herself. Sitting, waiting as she was told, she tried desperately to concentrate on the book she had brought with her. It was after 1 pm. Her mind raced as she caught site of her hard nipples through her filmy blouse, from the cold or the excitement of the moment she couldn't tell, maybe both.
Her mind went through the events of the previous night. She had been fucked in the most delicious way by the stranger, right there in the men's room of the romantic restaurant to which her husband had taken her. She drank more wine than she ought have and hoped her husband had explained away the flush on her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes from the orgasm that had waved through her minutes before, to the wine.
She kicked off her shoes as she walked into the bedroom. Her husband took hold of her wrist firmly and almost growled in her ear, 'You have been a very bad girl. Come here...lay over my lap.'
She was stunned at his assertion but she dare not ask what he meant. Did he know about her transgression? He was usually not so commanding, though sometimes she noticed something different about him, something he seemed to be holding in abeyance. She smelled the spirit on her husbands hot breath as it curled around her ear and travelled across her cheek.
She lay across him, feeling his growing hardness under her as the sting on her bottom became almost unbearable. His fingers slipped inside her, she tried not to think of the strangers cum oozing from her. Cum has a different feel between the fingers than her own juices and she hoped her husbands coarse fingers were not attuned to the difference in the sensation.
Her head slid further into that warm place where she loved to swim. The sting on her bottom seemed to lift and she didn't think anymore if the tiny red blisters that would mark her tomorrow. Her orgasm was building to an almighty roar as he thrust his thumb into her tight arsehole while his first and second digits fucked her and his little finger played roughly with her clit.
He threw her on her back and pulling her to the edge of the bed, scooped her to him as he pushed his hardness into her slick heat. Both the stranger and her husband had used her and the potent mix issued from her with each thrust from her hushand. He had made her cum more times than she can remember when he lowered his mouth to her dripping cunt. She came to his soft warm tongue treating her engorged clit to the excitement it craved.
She lay exhausted, elated, grateful and in love.
As she sat in the park, the afternoon wearing on, she thought back to when her husband had fallen asleep. She had waited. She waited to read the note that she hastily hid in her bag. The note the stranger left of the floor of the restaurant by her chair.
As she pulled the note from her bag she froze at the sound of her husband's voice behind her.
'What's is that, my pet?' he said leaning over her shoulder.
Any protestation or denial seemed futile and she handed the note to him, her eyes down cast. The realisation of her demise flowing through her. He read it aloud to her.
'Be at Viceroy Park at 1:00 pm tomorrow...Wear a see-through white top.. no bra...a skirt...no panties. Wait for me...benches....keep waiting. Do not look around. Bring a book...reading.'
Her mind was swimming. Panic shot through her. She couldn't hear all the words though she tried. She searched her husbands face for his anger, his admonishment. She couldn't see straight. What had she done? She been playing with fire all these months. It started innocently enough, online, a bit of chat, a bit of flirting. The heat had grown in her now though to an unbearable pitch. She would have exploded if not to have met him, had she not done as he said, bent to his will.
'Hmmm, well well,' the pause was excruciating, 'Do you mind if I join you?' She couldn't read his face at all, making her more anxious than she had ever been in her life.
Now on the park bench she waited. Her husband had walked her there after he supervised her readying herself. She felt the flush of embarrassment when he pulled her blouse from the hanger, the filmiest one she owned. He layed her skirt on her bed, the shortest one in her wardrobe, the one she only wore in private. He delivered her to the bench. He pushed her to sit by her shoulders, opened her book and placed it in her hands.
"Read... and wait."
He strolled away. She dared not follow him with her gaze and when she did look up a minute later he was nowhere to be seen. She was painfully aware of her bareness under her flimsy clothes. She knew everyone wandering the park saw her, dressed as a slut, with no bra or panties. They knew she was there at the summoning of a stranger and delivered to him by her husband. She wanted to run, to hide. She did not. She could not. She waited, as she was told, her nipples hard and on display and her pussy glistening with expectation.
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