A Husband Shamed

Chapter One Now “Spencer, you have no need to be nervous”, I told the charming young man. “You have a beautiful body and should be proud of the effect you can have on an older woman.” At nineteen, and not being the best looking facial specimen, it was hardly surprising he would find my words pleasing and, though he was only just over eleven years younger than me, I was enjoying playing the “Mrs. Robinson” role with him. Hell, I was enjoying just about everything these days. “Now take your hands away from yourself and let me see the beautiful black c**k that’s going to give me such pleasure.” I allowed a warm and reassuring smile to cross my somewhat flushed face and was rewarded when it appeared to ease Spencer’s understandable nervousness as he slowly moved his hands away from the equipment I fully intended to make much use of before he left my house. The reveal of his wonderfully erect c**k, veins pulsing as they snaked its considerable length, caused my smile to grow even wider and I felt the telltale signs of wetness between my own legs – or perhaps I should say, more wetness. As he saw the effect his beautiful black c**k had on the married woman who had been seducing him almost from the moment her law firm had taken him on as an office junior and she took note of the fabulous body his sober office clothing couldn’t quite hide and was a direct contradiction to the face above it there was no disguising and remained in view for all to see, I noticed he began to look more confident and watched his shoulders grow a little less tense as he became more attuned to what were, after all, the unusual circumstances of his presence in the bedroom of one of his two female bosses. “It seems only fair,” I said, still standing fully-clothed in the master-bedroom that should, by rights, have been sacrosanct to me and my husband, “that as you’ve shown me what I will soon be receiving, I should reciprocate.” I beckoned with a finger: “Come over here, Spencer, and undress me.” The burgeoning confidence receded almost instantly and I immediately knew its cause. Not to know it, in fact, would have been pretty near impossible under the circumstances. “Don’t worry about him,” I said referring to the likewise fully clothed figure kneeling with his nose in the corner and afraid to move. “I’ve told you, he is absolutely tame. My husband does everything I tell him and won’t bother you.” “But…?” Spencer’s voice was almost a whisper as he betrayed his incomprehension at the situation and I knew that what he was about to experience would have a defining effect upon the rest of his s****l life. That experience being a boat that had already sailed in respect of the young married woman he was about to f**k. And how grateful was I for that! “But…” he persisted. “He… He’s your husband. Why would…?” He got no further as I closed the gap between us and reached a hand down between his legs to cup my hand around the magnificent balls that dangled beneath an equally breathtaking erection. Or, to be more precise, balls that sagged beneath his c**k. So full were they of the youthful cream that defined his virility as well as his age. “That’s none of your business, young man,” I told him in an authoritative voice that reflected my position as the rising young star of my legal chambers and, in effect, his boss. Or at least one of them. “I didn’t invite you to my home to ask questions but simply to fuck.” I slid my hand the length of the solid bar that was his pole and was encouraged to find it was losing none of its urgency despite his apparent misgivings. “Or do you have a problem with putting your c**k at the disposal of the boss who can either make your working life very pleasant or ensure you don’t work for our chambers at all?” “No, hmm, MS Kenton,” he said in the respectful way in which he addressed me at the office and I insisted he maintain now we were outside, lest he somehow get the impression that f*****g me made him my equal. “I think you’re just great and… and I don’t have a problem with, you know, doing that. But… well…” “Go on, say what you want to say,” I urged in a voice intended to assure him he could speak freely and there would be no repercussions. “Well… It’s just that… I mean, he’s your husband. He’s so much older than you and… I mean, what is he? Forty? Fifty?” “Forty-four,” I told him, expression letting him know, along with the tightening of my grip about his shaft, that I was getting a tad fed-up with his questions. “Yeah, well, I just don’t understand how he can, you know, kneel in the corner while his wife… while his wife…” “While his wife f***s someone else?” I suggested with a helpful if slightly impatient smile, though I had to admit to myself the fact we were having this discussion in the full hearing of my husband as he knelt in his corner, feeling unable to move, let alone interrupt, did add a certain… frisson… to the proceedings. “Well, yeah. I mean. Come, MS Kenton, it’s not what you’d call normal exactly, is it?” Young Spencer, it seemed, had a talent for understatement and it brought a smile of amusement to my pert features as I swept a hand through the short and page-boy cut black hair that would have given me a Mediterranean look had it not been for the pale complexion beneath it. That complexion being English Rose with thorns. “No. It’s not, Spencer,” I agreed. “And guess what? I’m glad it’s not.” For a moment he looked worried, as if he’d upset me. “Normal – and it is my guess you will learn this sooner rather than later,” I told him, “is boring. It’s what countless millions of unimaginative souls aspire to their whole lives, simply because they’re too unintelligent, too unimaginative or simply too scared to step out of the comfort zone being a part of a herd supplies them.” I wasn’t at all sure he understood what I was saying – our company had only taken him on because we pride ourselves on our liberal credentials and a none too well-educated black boy from a council estate fitted with our “Mission Statement” ¬– but whether he did or not he seemed reassured and there was no appreciable lessening of his excitement at its length literally pulsed and jumped against the hand I was using to keep it imprisoned in a delightful confinement. I do so love young men! “Now, forget my husband and undress me,” I ordered. “Slowly and with respect. I’m still your boss and I expect you to show me all courtesies.” His eyes regarded me as if I were the most exotic and powerful of earthly beings and I loved the feeling of being looked upon in such a way as I added, in a voice worthy of such a commanding goddess: “Understand?” My subject nodded, not so ill-educated he couldn’t understand his place in the general scheme of things and, having already received a warning from me of what would happen to him if I heard so much of a whiff of this evening’s events and the situation with my husband in chambers or anywhere else, looking more and more eager to serve. That “warning”, by the way, being one we both knew he would do well to heed if he wanted the status quo to remain in place. Despite my relative youth I was rising fast and even being headhunted by other Chambers now that the change in my marriage and the fact I had taken the reins had led to a new and more assertive Rhonda Kenton. I was also gaining something of a reputation in chambers as an ice-cold negotiator and a ball-breaking b***h into the bargain. So I knew a lowly office junior he would not be about to take my threats lightly. Power, I had realised when first starting my husband on the road to his present, and most abject, position in life, was every bit the drug I had heard it described to be and added another dimension to the s****l act. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say: “acts”. When he had, with surprising deference and gentleness to go with the respect I’d demanded, unzipped my skirt and unbuttoned my blouse before sliding down the pantyhose I’d worn all day at the office down my legs, I backed up a few steps to sit upon the edge of the bed and stared up at him expectantly. “So Spencer, why don’t you come and kneel before me. I’d ask my husband to warm my p***y up for you with his tongue but right now I would much prefer to see him with his nose in the corner as you perform the honours for me.” I saw my husband flinch at my words and, as Spencer placed himself between my legs and thrust an ingénue tongue that was other than Timothy’s into my flooded gash, I marvelled at just how submissive to me the older and assured man I had married barely five years before had become in such a short space of time. Something, it could be said with certainty, which had not always been the case…