Jean closed the laptop quickly as she heard her husbandopen the door and greet her with his usual cheery hello. She had forgotten all thoughts of theirdinner, indeed she had forgotten all thoughts. Except the one of her being filmed masturbating ! She couldn’t face making polite conversationwith her husband so she told him she had a migraine and was going straight tobed, suggesting he order a pizza for dinner. As an afterthought she told him she would sleep in the guest bedroom soshe wasn’t disturbed. Michael wished hiswife a good night’s sleep and thought nothing more of it. Migraines were acurse of her life and nothing unusual and besides, he smiled, having no need toapologise or offer an excuse for watching the football on TV while eating hispizza.
Jean found herself alone in the guest bedroom, her secretafternoon masturbation room. She sighedas she remembered her incredible orgasms here, just a short while ago. How life can change in three hours! She undressed, noting that the clean pantiesshe put on that afternoon were already soaked, put on a thin robe, and got intobed as she said she would, in the unlikely event Michael came up to check onher. She opened her laptop to find itstill showing the email she had received. She needed time to think how to respond. She lay in the semi darkness for hours, staring at the screen but hermind wasn’t in the room with her. It was in the car park, remembering the urgentneed she had felt that afternoon. Having been deprived of her usualmasturbation time at home that afternoon, and suddenly seeing those enormousphallic carrots it the supermarket, she had let herself get carried away withlust, and now she would pay the consequences, her one secret vice exposed. But there was still moisture between her pussylips. She could feel it, taunting her. Why are you aroused Jean? You should be distraught with the thought of theshame that you and your family might be exposed to in the near future. It didn’t take her long to figure it out, andit was obvious when she finally grasped what inner self was telling her. She wanted to be seen, she wanted to beexposed, literally and metaphorically.
She thought back to her most recent fantasies whilstmasturbating that afternoon. She had imaginedherself as the centrepiece of a cult ritual, strapped to an alter and fucked bya huge wooden phallus, manipulated by some priests or shaman. But then she expandedher mind view outwards, and there were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people watching! They surrounded her in the amphitheatre,cheering, laughing and willing her onwards towards that tumultuous climax, revellingin her sexual depravity and display. Andthere it was, it had always been there, but her mind would not let her see it,for fear of the shame it would bring on her, such a Christian family woman. It had taken the email, its contents, and thegraphic picture of seeing her ownundeniable sexual abandonment, to open her mind to the realisation that whatshe actually craved was being exposed. She shuddered as if cold, as her mind went straight to her pussy as shefelt the wetness again, escaping her vagina and trickling down to her bum. Such a slut, she thought, not a godly womanat all. Her fingers splayed herself openand plunged inside. No time for accessories or toys, just the need to rub andthrust hard. She grabbed her discarded panties from the side of the bed and rubbedher pussy lips with them as a different texture, and on her clit. It built fast as she knew it would beexplosive. She quickly stuffed her panties in her mouth as she moaned for fearof waking her husband in the room next door. The taste of her arousal wasn’tnew to her, but it was dirty this time, not sensual. A measure of how far hermind had sunk into the depths. Biting downon them ,she came for the fourth time that afternoon and twitched as littlepost orgasmic flutters hit her inner pussy muscles. In the short time it took her to fall asleep,she clearly formulated her reply to her mystery blackmailer. In typical Jean Pettigrew style, if she hadto do this, it would be on her terms.
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