1. 45 From cheating housewife to who knows what? Pt1


    Date: 7/21/2015, Categories: Fetish, Author: alibodge, Rating: 50, Source: xHamster

    went shortly after he left one day. I took it Steve had forgotten his hat again, or his mail sack, something he had done before, so I trotted to the front door and opened it to find a smiling Eddy, who invited himself in by barging past into the front hall. I began to bluster a bit shooing him towards the door but he`s a big guy and he put his finger to his lip in a gesture that I should be silent. Somewhat scared I did stand silently, ever conscious that I was dressed in just a blue basque, barefoot with my tits on show and with Steve`s cum still dampening my thighs. “Mrs Slack “he began with no small talk or preamble at all “I know all about you and the postman I have photos of his pimply arse between your lovely thighs on the front room sofa, so let`s not start by going round the houses with this, your hubby doesn`t know I will be bound, and he`s not going to be a happy man if he finds out is he?” Oh shit what do I do now? I thought, while standing in silence my jaw dropping heart thumping as he showed me just one or two snaps he had taken to prove his point, good clear shots of Steve greeting me on the step and leaving the house putting his cap straight, adjusting his tie that sort of thing. “That proves nothing “I shouted hoping bravado would win the day “Now get out!” Eddy leered at me then pulled from his pocket a bunch of shots of the living room taken from a long lens, the detail was incredible, Steve mid stroke and the mantelpiece clock showing 9.15 as clear as day, ...
    I knew the picture would not be a one of. The game was up, my marriage, the shame, even Jacks work depended on integrity and security, god what could I do as damage limitation. He asked my name, as he said we needed to be less formal if we were to do any business, saying his was Eddy and that he did not want to bring me a lot of grief so not to look so worried. Worried! At that precise moment my head felt light and I was in fear of fainting. I staggered into my kitchen and collapsed on a padded bench beside the table as this loathsome bastard followed me into the room his huge frame filling the doorway and blocking the light as he joined me in the room. He offered me a glass of water; here in my own kitchen this calculating lump of a blackmailer was offering me water from my own tap, in my own cup! I took the proffered cup and sipped at the water desperately trying to get my head round the whole situation, as he silently stood watching as I regained my senses, again he asked my name and in a whisper a voice I barely recognised as my own said “Christine.” “Do you want money?” I asked, to which he shook his head, shock registering in his eyes as if nothing could be further from his mind. Slowly he said again that “he didn’t want to cause me any matrimonial problems,” he went on that he “just wanted some of what the postman was getting” and to have a photography model, as I was such a lovely chunk of womanhood. My jaw dropped open, I am just another woman in the street no great ...
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