Pauline's Diaries Ch. 04

I don't know what passion stirred in me, but I sucked in my husband's tongue instead of my usual reluctance. For a few minutes my husband's kiss carried on, and it did not stop when I started squealing with bucking legs, as I came in a rush on the judge's wriggling fingers.

I felt my way backwards to the table without letting go of Albert's cock, and he entered me slowly and with such care, I could barely believe it was him. The fucking was slow, and deep, and I had yet another orgasm. My husband snapped at the judge to leave, and he did.

I was breathing and groaning deeply in Albert's ear, clinging to his backside, and uttering words which I thought I never would. I encouraged him to fill his slut wife, and he did.

He crawled off me and returned with a wet cloth. Helen started crying upstairs and he pulled up his trousers and left me to clean up. For some minutes I tried to fathom what had gone on, in the end I gave up. I went to Helen's room and there was Albert cuddling her in the rocking chair having changed her nappy. I looked on for a minute or two, watching him talk to her. I'll make a pot of tea, I said, and left father and daughter for their special moment together.

We went out later, Albert the proud father pushing Helen in her pram, and my arm through his, like any normal family. He asked if my ass was sore, I replied it was, he said, "Good, you know what to expect the next time, I catch you even making eyes at another man."

I wanted to say so much to that, things like my punishment was deserved, and even a simple, "yes darling," I decide not to say a word, because as is right, my husband should have the last word, but I did squeeze his arm.

As we walked around the town centre I caught several people looking at us. Although the court case was last year, I know from the looks we received, people do not forget these things quickly. I clung to husband's arm, most of the day, and when he bought me a pearl necklace he received a kiss.

When we got home and put Helen down for her nap. I spent some time on my knees sucking his cock, after he had lifted my dress and spanked me again, for making eyes at a man stood by the bus stop.

It seems I have another quirk to add to my list. Not only did I enjoy the postman's gaze, and the judge looking on as I was spanked. The spanking itself turned me on, and defying my husband's orders to suck him, and turning my mouth to the judge instead. Is there now something in me which likes what Albert does to me? I am not as stupid as to really believe that I love him, it is purely based on sexual desires, but we seem to fit. I'll stop there dear diary, before your pages curl in disgust at my last thought.

I've been sat here for ages after reading the last entry of May in my grandmother's diary. While it turns me on reading it, I'm looking deeper at what made Pauline tick. To think I skipped over this not long ago, wanting to find out more and more, and now my thoughts of going back and reading every word has been vindicated. My grandmother had found out so much about herself, and her sex life in that last day she wrote about. I know I would be trying to analyse it all myself if I was in her shoes, in fact I'm still doing that with my very own sex life.

I've been out walking for the last hour, not going anywhere but strolling around thinking of Pauline. I want to read more, but I'm still digesting everything from my last visit to her diary. I'm not far from my brother in law's work place, so perhaps it's time I had a word with him about my sister's tits!

"Is Paul around?" I ask at the reception.

The woman makes a call and he comes out through a door. After explaining I was in the area and that's why I popped in, we end up in his office. I've already noticed the not to hidden glances at my tits, but I don't want to start on that yet.

"I had lunch with Julie. She seems upset about something, anything I can help with?" I ask like it's a spur of the moment thing.

"You know her she isn't happy unless she's having a whinge about something or someone."

"Oh is she whinging about something in particular?"

"Well," he hesitates for a moment, and I'm thinking here we go, "I think it is Doctor Trent who Julie has got her back up about. Our Harvey, well he kind of wants a sex change."

"What do you mean, kind of?" I swallow; if only Paul knew that Harvey comes round and fucks me...hang on a minute that isn't all he likes.

"Well it is a fad, before you know it he'll want something else, he'll turn vegan or something."

I'm thinking of Harvey and it all makes sense now, the way he likes me to finger his asshole, the smooth hair free skin, his hair which has been growing longer, and not forgetting me lending him a dress for a fancy dress party, a dress which I've never got back! Also there are the girlfriends he says he has, but he's never been seen with, and various articles of my underwear that go missing after he has been round.

"Sorry I was miles away, can you repeat that?"

"Yeah it is a bit of a shock. Anyway Julie found these pills in his underwear drawer, hormone pills, he blurted out that Doctor Trent had given them to him, and the whole story came out, that he wanted to be well, a girl. Anyway I went and saw Doctor Trent; well Julie would have gone mad at her."

"What did she say?"

"Doctor Trent told me it was a phase, and the pills so were so weak it would take ages for anyone to notice. I was there for longer than I thought, we had a good old chat, but oddly I can't remember most of it."

"God is there anything else I should know?"

He smiles at me, well my breasts.

"Julie's having her tits done."

"Christ, Paul she'd never agree to that, and don't you think you should talk to her about it?"

"She will agree she's going to see Doctor Trent."

"You mean about her tits?"

"Well no, but I'll be with her and bring it up. You know, you don't seem to mind having huge jugs."

"For god's sake stop leering at them. Not everyone wants big boobs, and Julie won't, I know her she's my sister, and she's not exactly flat."

"Sylvia, looking at you, Julie feels embarrassed, and she's jealous because of you boobs."

"She's embarrassed not jealous," I state.

"Wrong Sylvia, her little sister with bigger tits than her, yep she's jealous that's why she'll have hers done, you wait and see."

Paul has changed, while he took little sly glances at me in the past, he's practically dribbling now. I tell him I have to go. Knowing full well my sister won't have her boobs done.

I'm walking home again, and this time with very different thoughts in my head. My sister won't have her tits done, and that doesn't bother me as much as Harvey wanting to be a woman. Okay according to Paul, Doctor Trent is feeding him weak pills, so maybe he will go off the idea before there are changes. Am I the only sane person in our family? I laugh at my own thoughts, because I know I'm the worst.

June 7th.

My husband has not spent any nights away since spanking me. Maybe things have settled down. This is still a strange marriage, but one I can cope with. The money helps, in a big way. Although this jealousy over Sandra Smith still lays under the surface. Does he spank her I wonder? I thought the photographs are possibly a way of getting rid of her. With that in my mind I plucked up the courage yesterday to go to the local paper, leaving Helen with the nanny we now employ.

I asked to see the editor, the same man who pestered me with letters and phone calls about telling my side of the story, just after the court case. As he approached me I realised just in time, he was one of the men in the photographs. A shiver shot up my spine. I sat down as he sat on his desk, asking me if I had come to tell my story. Because I was so ill at ease after recognising him from a photograph, I said I was considering it, and wanted to know what he wanted to write. He said his name was Martin Bolton, but I could call him Marty.

Dear diary, I have or never will have any intention of having my story published. My words and thoughts are for you alone. So I sat there listening like I was half interested, just to complete the illusion, while all the time I had a photograph of him with one of the whores in my handbag. He was fucking her from behind with such glee; I did not recognise him as the man in the photograph on his desk, with his wife and two boys.

He offered me £100 which would have turned my head not long ago. I declined, and the offer was increased. His attitude changed somewhat as he told me he was in charge of another publication, a magazine where my story, and a few photographs, would earn me much more money. He said he would keep my face out of the shots, but if I wore my uniform from the Glory Care Home, and posed with a few older gentlemen, in various poses that were relevant to my court case, I could earn £200. If I did things of a sexual nature he would pay me £20 for each photograph.

He took my lack of movement as interest, and not shock. He unlocked a desk drawer and pulled out a glossy magazine. On the cover was a woman naked, a full frontal, and she was tied to a large pole. Half a dozen men dressed as pirates stood next to her, grinning at the terrified expression on her face. One of the pirates held a cutlass to her neck.

The magazine was beyond any normal price he told me, and it was sold under the counter at a few select places. He reassured me the models were only acting. I opened the magazine, and the same woman was tied spread eagle to the large steering wheel of a galleon, her expression never changed from that of horror, as a man leant between her legs with his face against her pussy. There must have been 20 pages of pictures in the same mode, and in some I could clearly see the woman was being penetrated. The last photograph showed her about to be thrown over board, hands tied behind her back with shark fins circling underneath. The scenery in the background was obvious painted sheets, and the shark fins looked like they were made out of cardboard. There were words to the story, but I did not read them.

I turned over to the next few pages and saw a woman being spanked. She was in a bedroom which was obviously a mock up, again with painted scenery. The woman was dressed in fine clothes from the 40's that in the next shot was being ripped from her body. A man was tied to a chair as two thugs in masks had their way with her in the later photos. The wording said Mr and Mrs Blake return home from a night out, disturbing two thieves.

I lingered to long on the pages, and I let my fingers move slowly over Mrs Blake's red backside, as she knelt at the feet of one of the thieves sucking his cock, with a length of rope tied round her wrists behind her.

Mr Bolton in a sneaky soft voice told me, "They are a real couple who like that sort of thing, although I've changed their names," then he added, "I'd change your name if you wished?"

I blurted out a no, but it sounded thick with lust. He knew. He took the magazine off me, and my fingers for an instant, would not let go. I blushed scarlet and left.

On my journey home on the bus I felt like every set of eyes on me knew what I had seen in the magazine, "Yesterday's Unfortunate Damsels."

I sat there imagining my own plight on the bus. The bus would be full of men. I looked around at some of the men, not caring what they looked like, but imagining them taking turns with me, spanking me, ripping my clothes off, and using my body until I was left on the filthy bus floor, my clothes in tatters, and my legs tied wide open with my own nylons.

Dear diary I came on that very bus, slowly grinding my hips, hoping no one would see my dark secret, and cursing Martin Bolton for the images which I have seen.

I staggered down the aisle at my stop, excusing myself to a woman who I had stumbled against. By the time I got home my body had calmed down, but my mind raced with what I had seen, and what I had imagined happening to me.

My fingers are in my pussy knuckles deep, as I imagine the very same thing my grandmother had imagined. My own bus ride last year when I couldn't get the zip down on my dress, and Geoffrey Baker helped himself to a grope comes back in my head. My orgasm goes on and on, and is one of those which is so deep it reaches places, and becomes so high, it is a rarity, and earth shattering. I stink of sex, sex with myself, and like my grandmother stumbled from the bus, I stumble to my shower.

Tomorrow I'll write it all on my computer diary, and knowing me I'll relive it all over again!

June 12th.

My two snitches will not look at me, and are scared to be alone with me. Am I to be feared that much? The photographs are safely tucked away in my orange topped shoe box. For now my plan to expose Sandra, as what I do not know, is put on hold. I suppose taking photos of visitors to the brothel would not go down well. I have to think things through. I can't just slip them under my husband's nose. Whilst I want to get things moving, I am savouring a victory over Sandra before it happens, and that I like.

June 23rd.

I received a sound spanking yesterday, which I instigated. The postman who saw me half naked brought our mail to the door. He is quite a handsome young man. I am stopping myself there for a moment dear diary. When I say young man he is probably around the same age as me. I feel old before my time sometimes, and having an older husband makes me feel that way.

To carry on with the postman, I could feel my husband looking down from the top of the stairs. I stood in the doorway as the postman came down the path. I greeted him with a very friendly smile and my leg pushed forward showing off my black tights all the way to the top. I was wearing tights, under my pink housecoat, with heeled slippers with a fluffy white band on the top. He liked the look of my cleavage too, and the way my finger scratched at my fleshy breast. I flirted with him, giggling a lot and flicking my fingers through my hair. I said things like how strong he must be to carry his heavy bag, and his girlfriend was a very lucky young lady, to have such a handsome young man. The cheeky postman said his girlfriend didn't have any complaints in any department. My husband came down the stairs, and the postman beat a hasty retreat.

I followed my husband into the lounge. I smiled at him, as he took the mail from me. As he opened the mail, he asked if I had flirted with the postman. I denied it, saying I had barely talked to him. He called me a liar, and grabbed my hair. I still smiled at him defiantly; he took me to the kitchen where I had already cleared the table. He grinned realising I knew what to expect. He lifted my housecoat and pushed me over the kitchen table. I felt his hand run over my ass, slowly and softly. His hand moved away. I stayed there wondering what he was going to do. For about a minute I waited, and then slowly turned my head round, still clinging with white knuckles to the far end of the table. He told me to go and put on stockings, and do my makeup. I did, and then came back down to him in my housecoat.

He told me to phone the nanny, and have her come round at 3 o'clock precisely, to take Helen out for the afternoon. I did as he asked. He told me when the postman made his afternoon delivery, I was to ask him in for a cup of tea, and I was to have sex with him.

Dear diary I stood in shock for some moments, not believing what had come from his mouth. He repeated the words, and added I should act like a carefree slut.

I suggested phoning the Nanny again and bring forward her arrival, as the postman was usually around just before 3. He told me the time would not be changed. I then suggested I should get properly dressed. My mouth dropped open, when he told me I would stay as I was, as a bored housewife, who was ready for sex with the next person through our door!

Dear Diary, it would fill your pages to tell you all the thoughts going on in my head. Into the afternoon I was still dumbfound at what my husband had instructed me to do.

I prayed Mrs Bain would turn up early. She is a plump married woman in her 40's. She does not say much but is good with Helen. At her interview my husband liked her, but I did not. She talked to my husband, blanking me. She said she was not one to mince words, and she had followed my court case, and while she had views on that she would look after Helen whenever my husband required her services. I could not feel any smaller even if she had spat in my face.

She did not arrive before the postman, who was only too pleased to come in for a cup of tea. I sat in my pink knee length housecoat, with my legs crossed, showing off my brown stocking tops, and pale blue suspender straps for Andy the postman. The very fact that I had changed into stockings, must have told him he was on to a good thing. We talked, flirtingly, and the rush I got was beyond fantastic. He stretched out a hand, placing it on my knee, and looked at me for a reaction. I did not move away from his touch. I smiled, and he smiled back, knowing he would get what he wanted for sure now.

We did not hear the door open, and Andy quickly removed his hand, when we both saw Mrs Bain staring at us. I covered my thighs, but she had seen everything. She asked if Mr Cox was at home, I wanted to be brave and a little brazen, but I just shook my head, pulling my housecoat closed at the top to cover my cleavage. She went about getting Helen and loading the pram. She took a last look at me, shook her head, and left. Andy and I giggled, but the cruel fact is my husband's plan had worked to perfection.

The sex with Andy was nice; I'll say no more other than the flirting was better. After 10 minutes on my bed, he got up satisfied and told me I was good, as some men like to stupidly think a woman likes to hear.

As the front door shut the wardrobe burst open, and to my shock there stood Albert. I was genuinely taken by surprise. I did not think he was in the house. He rolled me on my back, and picked up Andy's used condom from the tissues it nestled in, and rubbed it over my shocked face!

He rolled me on my stomach and started spanking my ass. He called me a cheating worthless whore, who would drag any man off the street to get between my legs. I started begging his forgiveness, and it was real begging. He said he would teach me a lesson I would never forget, and for the first time I felt his belt lick my backside.

My pussy tingled, and after only three lashes from his belt he pulled my hands together behind my back. He tied my wrist with his belt as I kicked and screamed, and then he rolled me on my back, his cock was out and standing rigid already. He entered me with a huge shove. Dear diary I nearly came there and then.

He kept on making me admit to things, mainly about the postman having been my lover for ages. I spat back that I fancied him the first time I saw him, and practically dragged him to bed every chance I got. I had another orgasm much to my amazement, and soon after, my husband had his.

That night when Mrs Bain return with Helen, she talked in whispers to my husband. She took Helen to bed, and when she came back down, I was bent over Albert's knee, feeling his hand giving me yet more stinging slaps. She stood in the doorway watching my punishment with satisfaction on her plump, rosy cheeked face.

He shoved me to the floor and as I rubbed my stinging backside. He thanked Mrs Bain for telling him what I had been up to with the postman. She said he was welcome, and she felt sorry that he was married to such a whore. She left giving one last little disapproving smirk. I spent the next 10 minutes on my knees in front of Albert. My mouth sucked on his cock, and my fingers toying with my pussy, as he sat in his favourite chair.