Punishing Hubby’s Toy
Alexandra sat back in her chair and looked down at the pictures, one classical eye
raised as she examined the remarkable poses and positions Geoffrey had managed to
accomplish.
"Fascinating," she said.
"The woman's name is Christine Moore. He calls her Chrissy," Winslow said.
"Of course he does," she said, smiling tolerantly at the man.
"The apartment is nothing special. A condo on the shore."
"And this...Chrissy person?"
"Age thirty-one. Height, five feet two. Measurement - ."
"I can see the measurements myself, thank you."
Alexandra examined one of the pictures. In it the woman, Chrissy, was kneeling on
all fours - like a bitch in heat, she thought - her breasts hanging below, heavy and
round, like udders.
"I suppose that's what my husband sees in her."
"She's not very educated. She worked as a waitress before your husband found her.
Now she's attending a local hairdressing college."
Alexandra snorted.
"Anything else, ma'am?"
She gazed at a full face shot. The girl had reasonably attractive brown hair, thick
and straight, shoulder length, and a round, attractive face, but she wasn't in Alex's
class.
"No. Thank you. You've done a quite excellent job."
The man bobbed his head, then left, leaving Alexandra alone with the pictures of
her husband and the waitress.
"Now what should I do about you?" she said aloud, examining another picture, this
one of the girl with her hands bound - apparently quite willingly - behind her back, on
her knees, with her behind sticking up in the air. Geoffrey was kneeling behind her.
"Disgusting," she sighed.
Christine unlocked the door and carried her bag inside, then closed and locked it
behind her. She hummed softly as she crossed the living room into the kitchen and put the
groceries on the counter. Then, frowning, she turned and stepped back into the doorway,
looking out into the living room.
"How do you do?" the woman there said.
"Who are you?" Christine gasped, drawing back in alarm.
"Don't worry, child. Come in."
Christine frowned as she edged forward. The woman sitting there was clad in an
elegant looking, obviously expensive tailored suit. She wore a heavy diamond and emerald
choker, and her blonde hair was exquisitely coiffed, slipping over her shoulders in a
golden wave.
Christine felt shabby, by comparison, suddenly very aware of her torn and faded
denim shorts and too-tight green halter top. Her soft brown hair was bound behind her head
in a pony tail and she looked around worriedly as she moved closer to the woman sitting on
her sofa.
"It's a nice little place. And I suppose as an investment it isn't too much a waste
of time."
"Who are you?"
"Come closer, child."
"I'm not a child," she said indignantly. "You don't look any older than me."
"Ages older in reality. Come closer. I want to meet my husband's new plaything."
Christine gasped, and started to blush as her heart beat faster.
"Y-you're Alexandra Kennings."
"Charmingly insightful of you."
Christine's flush deepened.
"Care to look? They're quite good." She inclined the toe of a pointed boot at a
collection of pictures sitting on the coffee table and Christine bent over, gasping as she
shuffled through them.
Her kneeling with her lips around Geoff's manhood. Her on her back, legs spread
wide. Her with her knees pulled back against her chest. Her straddling Geoff, his erection
quite visible just before she slid down it.
Her face turned beet red, and her skin felt hot as she whipped through them.
"How did you get these?" she gasped, horrified.
"I have my sources. Now the question is what should I do with you?"
Christine couldn't face her. She looked down at the floor beneath her, terribly
embarrassed in front of this sophisticated woman, squirming with guilt and shame at having
been caught in an affair, in adultery.
She hadn't known at first, though she'd guessed quickly. But Geoffrey was so
generous, and offering to let her stay at this gorgeous condo, and pay her way through
college was like a dream. It was a hope for a better life, for getting out of the
miserable hand to mouth existence she'd led for ten years as a waitress.
"You certainly have large breasts, Chrissy. But then I suppose that's what Geoffrey
sees in you. He's always had a child-like fascination with them."
She looked down at her own nearly flat chest.
"Anyway," she sighed, raising her eyes. "Let's see them."
"P-P-Pardon?" Christine stared.
"Strip. I want to see what my money has been paying for."
"I'm not a whore!" Chrissy gulped.
"Of course you are. Now, get out of those clothes so I can inspect the
merchandise."
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