Naughty, Naughty Housewife

By Jay Merson

She plays a game with him, a teasing and taunting game in which she details and re-enacts her fantasy romps with a young stud. Is she telling the truth though, are the sordid details she reveals whilst laid back on the bed pleasuring herself for real? He can’t tell, he is tied naked to a chair watching and can only fume as he story become more and more incredible to him. Is it really just fantasy though or, could the bitch be telling the truth. He can only watch his wanton wife, his normally prim and proper spouse change into a sex-mad slut that talks and acts dirty, revoltingly so to him and jealously rages within him. Then she comes clean, it was all in fantasy – but is she lying or, just being perfectly honest?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay Merson
• Release date: Jul 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466070615

Jay Merson

The prolific author of over 124 erotic novels and short stories. Born in West london and lived most of life in the UK but now abroad. A staunch Englishman that always celebrates the day of the English - St.George's Day, where ever he might be in the world. Writes BDSM erotica in a descriptive and explicit way to bring the varied scenarios and situations to life - situations that the reader can relate to in his or her daily life.Hates music and lives in a world totally free of it, loves black stockings (on women) is an ex-soldier, ex-London fireman, holds black belts in five different martial arts but now leads a more sedate life and prefers to relax and chill rather than pump the muscles.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Gordon swung the car into the driveway and drew to a halt close the front door of his house. It had been an absolute pig of a day and pissed off he was to say the very least, the traffic on the way home had been hell, and to top it all, it was beginning to rain. He sat there, with both his hands gripping the steering wheel, taking a moment or two to rest his weary brain before going through the charade, the false and insincere daily bloody ceremony of greeting his wife.

Hello dear, had a hard day? she would say with boring monotony that never varied for even one day of the bloody week - weekends included.

No, fucking awful actually, he replied to himself in his own voice. Saying what he would really like to but didn't have the balls to come out with in reality.

That's good dear, he mimicked her voice sarcastically, shaking his head side-to-side as she always did. She never listened anyway, just rambled on regardless of whatever he replied.

‘It is fucking good,’ he thought, ‘Because I am doing nothing tonight but putting my feet up and having a brandy or two, and if you don't like it woman - then tough shit!’

Yes Gordon, he whined in a high-pitched voice that mocked her own and then he poked his tongue out childishly.

He punched the dashboard in anger. Christ! Why did she have to be so prim and proper all the bloody time? Why couldn't she smoke, drink or even fart sometimes or things that normal women do like get angry or…be sexy even? He sighed heavily, grabbed his briefcase and got out of the car.

His mood darkened further still as he saw the note pinned to the door and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Gone out, he whined in her prattling voice, guessing at what the note would read. You will have to get your own dinner, Gordon.

He fumbled for his front door key; it was all he needed tonight, to have to make his own bloody dinner on top of all else. And he wished to hell she would call him Gord, or Ron or…anything but the condescending and irritating way she said his full name.

He halted, his key poised at the lock but the door was already ajar. His defences roused he listened for sounds of intruders but reasoned that the silly bitch had gone out in a rush, with coffee evenings on her mind, and had forgotten to close the front door behind her. His pause though drew his attention