I knew that my wife Tansy’s boyfriend, Brett, wanted her to get a tattoo. They had been talking about it for a couple of months. She’d always said tattoos looked cheap and common, but her attitude changed, seemingly overnight, following her lover’s suggestion – as per usual what Brett wants, Brett gets! Then, last Friday, before yet another weekend away with him, she suddenly announced that they had decided to have it done the very next day!

She wouldn’t tell me, her husband, what tattoo Brett has decided upon or even where, just that it was something Brett wanted – and my wife always found it impossible to say no to her lover.

I helped her bathe and dress for Brett as usual; shaving her sex completely smooth apart from a thin, Brazilian strip, the way Brett liked it. She’d had her hair done that afternoon, and her long, luxurious brown hair looked gorgeous cascading passed her delicate neck and over her sleek shoulders.

They were going out with Brett’s friends that evening, then spending the night at Brett’s apartment, she confirmed. The next day they would visit the tattooist before driving to Brighton for a night of sex and sin at a hotel and some time on the beach.

Tansy selected her outfit carefully because she wanted to look good for Brett’s friends – Brett always likes to show “his woman” off. She wore some of her Wonderbra underwear – Brett’s favourite – a peach satin pair of skimpy bikini briefs with black lace trim that showed off her pert bottom and a matching uplift bra that showcased her beautiful C-cup breasts underneath a tight, thin top. Brett liked her breasts always be on display for his viewing pleasure. Her nipples “had a mind of their own,” as Tansy said, stiffening up when she was sexually excited – which seemed to be pretty continuous when she was with Brett.

We have had countless, long conversations, stretching into the early hours, about what a superior lover he is to me and how they are far more sexually compatible then we ever were.

A short cream and black plaid flared mini-skirt showing off her long legs and bright orange suede high-heeled shoes with ankle straps finished the outfit. She didn’t wear any stockings as the evening was quite warm, and her legs were nicely tanned from sitting in the sun on Southsea Common.

She packed the rest of her clothes — the informal skinny jeans and button-front blouse for traveling, the slinky metallic dress for their romantic dinner on Saturday, the skimpy bikini and beach pull-over, along with two more sets of her sexiest underwear, purchased especially for Brett – in a simple overnight bag and was ready 15 minutes before her boyfriend was to arrive.

Before her dates with Brett she was always a little anxious and distracted, barely even acknowledging that I was in the room. When the doorbell rang, she jumped up to throw the door open and melted into Brett’s arms for a deep, passionate open-mouthed French kiss that lasted what seemed like minutes as he reciprocated her ardor – all in front of me, her husband!

At 38 Brett was four years younger than me, as well as being a little shorter, but he was very buff with a chiseled nose and jaw, clean-shaven, dark hair, with a tattoo around his right upper arm. Tansy had boasted to a couple of her closest girl friends about how he looked like a young Richard Gere, and the similarity was certainly noticeable. When they broke out of their embrace, Tansy’s nipples were obviously erect against her thin top and she seemed flustered. Brett, however, picked up her overnight bag in the cool, confident and self-assured way of an Alpha Male, breezily told me to ‘hold down the fort’, and took her arm as they went down the stairs to his car together.

These weekends that Tansy spends away with Brett were very difficult for me, especially as they had started to become more and more regular. I cleaned the house, tried to do some work, went for a long walk, and watched a DVD on Saturday. Sunday morning I read the paper, and then prepared a menu for dinner and went shopping for food. I would be making sautéed vegetables with steak for our dinner when she got back from her dirty weekend.

The afternoon seemed to drag until Brett’s car pulled up at around 4.00pm. I watched through the window as they walked arm in arm up the stairs, totally oblivious to what any of our neighbours may think, and then heard Tansy’s key in the lock, before they came into the living room together.

Tansy looked radiant, glowing as she always did when she has been with Brett. They embraced for several minutes as they kissed goodbye, Brett’s hands familiarly stroking and squeezing my wife’s breasts and bottom and between her legs as if I wasn’t even present.

“Well, here she is, freshly fucked,” he said to me, chuckling, and then with a quick wave he left.

“Oh Paul,” Tansy said to me with a quick peck on the cheek, “I’ve had such a great weekend. Let me go to the bathroom and wash-up from the ride.”

Tansy took her overnight bag upstairs to the bedroom, and after a while I heard the toilet flush and the water in the sink running. Since her relationship with Brett had blossomed, Tansy was a much more sexual being and had become almost casual about being naked around the house, and she wasn’t wearing any clothing as she came downstairs. She sat down on the settee, letting her long, sexy legs fall open as she had been wont to do of late. And then I saw the tattoo…

On the pale, white skin of her neatly trimmed and shaved pubic mound, just above her pussy, the word “slut” was tattooed in blue cursive script. At the end of the “t”, the script tailed off into a tiny red flower. My breath drew in, involuntarily, and my knees almost buckled as I leaned against the kitchen counter for support.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked. “This is what Brett wanted. It really makes me feel like his woman now.”

“And it’s what I am now, Brett’s slut,” my wife proudly boasted.

“It is breathtakingly beautiful,” I agreed.

“Yes. We stopped by the tattooist on Saturday morning after we fucked. You know Brett,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“He wouldn’t even let me shower, so I was still dripping when we got there. We’d given the tattooist a sketch of what we wanted, and he was very professional as I took off my jeans and knickers and lay down on the table. Brett held my hand while he worked. It hurt a little at first and in the car ride to the hotel after, but after dinner when Brett fucked me again, it made him so excited to see it. He was insatiable. It was totally worth the pain and trouble.”

“I’m so glad he likes it,” I said, at a loss for words.

“Yes. It reminds me that it really is Brett’s pussy now. He wants to be the only one who fucks or fingers me from now on. I know that you’ll agree.”

“Yes. Of course,” I said. We had essentially stopped having intercourse together for several months already – Tansy would let me lick her and then bring me to orgasm with her hand after she returned from her dates with Brett but, although she hadn’t said anything, it kind of seemed wrong for me to even consider making love to my wife. Not now that she had Brett.

“You are so wonderful to let me have all this great sex with Brett,” she gushed.

Then she got a kittenish expression on her face. “Would you like to lick Brett’s pussy?” she asked.

Wordlessly, I rushed to the settee and kneeled at her feet, like the servant I had become. She opened her legs so that I could reach her juicy, adulteress cunt with my tongue as I eagerly licked the mingled juices of her and her boyfriend’s love-making.

I unzipped and slipped out of my jean and boxers and began to stroke my rigid, little penis. The tattoo was right in front of my eyes as I licked her and she gave me directions: “Higher. Lower. A little left. Yes, just like that. Faster!” She had a small orgasm, her legs and hips giving a quick spasm, and then she pulled me up to her breast and let me suckle whilst she slowly stroked my small penis.

“Oh, you’re good at sucking Brett’s pussy. You can do that every time I come home after he fucks me,” she cooed, stroking my tiny penis faster. “But I want you to promise me you won’t ever cum unless I let you. I want you to look forward to my dates with Brett as much as I do. When I get home filled with Brett, you can lick Brett’s pussy. And every so often I’ll let you cum, but you’ve got to agree not to wank yourself in between or when I’m out fucking him. Do you agree?”

She was stroking me harder now and, on the edge of orgasm, I could only agree.

“Yes. Yes. I’ll lick Brett’s pussy whenever you come home, and I’ll wait until you let me cum,” I agreed.

She slowed down her stroking and said, “I know that you might agree now, but when I’m gone for the night with Brett, you might not be able to help yourself.”

I nodded, desperately wanting her to continue to stoke me.

“So, Brett and I have ordered a chastity device that will keep you from wanking while I’m away. Brett says that it will keep your mind focused on me even when I’m with him.”

“Yes, Tansy. I need that to control myself…Tansy, of god, Tansy,” I said as my little penis, throbbing, ejaculated over her hand and our bodies.

She smiled as she held her hand out for me to lick clean as usual, “I’m glad that you’ll let us lock up your penis. Brett says that I should give him the key to keep. He says I’m much too soft-hearted and would let you out if you got that sweet, longing look on your face. He says that he’ll give you the key every other month or so when he drops me off and we’ll let you be alone in the bathroom while we say our goodbyes. Brett says it’s best if your useless sperm is always flushed straight down the toilet. It never takes you very long to cum anyway…”

“Yes. Yes. Yes, Tansy,” was all I could say with my face buried between her beautiful breasts – the breasts that had been in Brett’s hands and mouth all weekend. I think that I have never been so happy.

The End.