Home Sweet Home (London Calling)

I slowly awoke to a pounding headache, sat up gingerly, and scanned the room. I was relieved to find myself in my familiar, comfortable bed. Carefully I climbed out from under the sheets knowing the only way to escape the pain in my head was through water and time. I was happy to see someone had cleaned me up and put me in my pink nightshirt before leaving me to rest. I grimaced while imagining what shape I was in when I got home. Imagine was surely the right word because all I could remember about the night before was bits and pieces of the experience that were scattered like broken fragments through my weary brain.

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and staggered out of the room calling for my husband as I did. When there was no answer, I checked my phone and saw the last message he sent me said he was pulling a last-minute overtime shift today. This of course left me to wonder who put me to bed? Was it John or someone else?

I staggered down the stairs and into the kitchen, poured myself a big glass of water, grabbed a couple of acetaminophen tablets, and ingested both. Then I sat down at the kitchen island and started going through my phone. I was shocked at how many messages I had. There were over forty from John alone, a couple from Monica, and various work-related requests in my queue. I then checked what I had sent last night.

After the last message I remembered from the club restroom, it appears seven were sent to John and five had video attached, all coming from my cell. I watched each of them amazed by what I saw and heard. None were longer than a minute or so but they were very graphic. There were two of me and Blake (I guess?) pleasuring each other. I didn't recall much after the bathroom but I remembered him well enough. The videographer was careful though to rarely film his head and when she did the face was rather blurry. The woman narrating the videos was very complimentary of him and me but went out of her way to taunt my husband. She seemed to not have much respect for him and his particular fetish. Her voice was familiar but I couldn't place it.

When I got to the last three, two were all intercourse and the last was just 30 seconds of cum leaking from my satisfied pussy as I lay passed out on a sofa. I was bent over the desk in the first two, Blake was pounding away at me and I sounded like a besotten slut. I watched the last three several times, feeling myself getting aroused watching and listening to them. I'll admit I visited the little man in the boat a few times over the next week or so while watching.

Then I went through John's messages. Most were text with a few videos of him pleasuring himself. He seemed quite hot over the videos he got from 'me' and seemed very excited that this strange man was helping himself to my body. He also seemed strangely attracted to the woman insulting him. Over half the messages were sent to her and the only two back were from her snidely demeaning him. It seemed that part of the evening was a success for the moment at least.

I sent a quick text to Monica promising to call back tomorrow when I lost my headache and a cutesy one to John telling him I couldn't wait until he got home. We traded messages off and on all day and while most from him were needling me for more details, I didn't bite. I wandered out to the living room, laid on the couch, and found something to watch on TV. I dozed off and on there all night, not finally losing my headache until the next day.

Sadly John couldn't keep the videos to himself. It seems after I wouldn't do it again he felt the need to brag to his friends at work and they spread them far and wide, which led to our divorce less than a year later. It would cause me trouble for years afterward as clients, coworkers, or friends would find them. They led to some interesting situations but that's another story for another time.