The Other Woman

(Part 1 from 4)

*** Preamble.

I suppose that there is a point in every marriage where one of the partners ‘goes astray’. Well, OK then, not every marriage, but I have to admit that it happened to me, that moment when you say to yourself, ‘There is someone else in this marriage, someone that I have not yet met, someone who is intruding.’

This is the story of an intrusion that became an invasion.

A woman opened the door and allowed herself in.

Of course we all expect that the other woman is some tart or slag that hubby has met in the office or at some drab pub or else a pub with drabs! The signs would be lipstick, perfume, missing money, missing husband, late nights, strange credit card bills and the resetting of the passenger seat in the car.

These signs might come all at once, on day one, or they may arrive like busses, too late and in threes. With me, the signs were quite different, there was no lipstick, the credit card bill was fine and no one else had been in the car.

The start was Monique...
... and the finish obsession.

**** Finding Out.

Craig and I had been married for some ten years when I start my story. Let me get it straight right now, there were no visible problems; sex was pretty good, there was enough money for a new car every year and we had just paid off the mortgage. We took some pretty good holidays and the only thing missing was the children.

We were trying for them at last and the sex became an ‘almost’ obsession as we just kept on trying. In the end, we had to admit that it was not looking so good so I paid a visit to the doctor for the usual gamut of tests.

The result shocked me, more than shocked, I was dazed.

I was not fertile, or should I say that I was no longer fertile. The doctor told me that I had a case of Chlamydia, that silent curse that is passed by one sexual partner to the other, a kind of poisoned sexual calling card.

Doctor Vasy had told me that, judging by the damage, I had been infected five or more years ago!

I drove home in a turmoil of anger and confusion. Mainly anger. Sometime a few years ago Craig must have slept with another woman because I had certainly been one hundred percent faithful.

So I got home in a fury; how I managed to drive home without ramming some other poor driver or a lamppost I’ll never know.

I stormed into the house with a shout of that shit’s name to find him in the kitchen making a coffee.

“Craig, you piece of shit!” I shouted making him jump with shock. I have never seen him so surprised; he almost threw the mug across the room with the surprise.

“What? What is it?”

Well he could scarcely know that I had been to Doctor Vasy because I hadn’t told him that I was going.

“Who have you been fucking?”

There is no substitute for being direct. Just to add to the tension I was shouting at the top of my voice.

I saw him choke up. It’s a dead give away with Craig, before he can lie he just has to swallow. It’s a poker tell that I’ve been using for years and he was never the wiser.

“Darling, I would never...”

“You fucking liar,” I shouted at the top of my voice. “Can I get Chlamydia from a toilet seat? How dare you tell me lies! I don’t bloody well think so. The only cock that I’ve been riding is yours, for ten fucking years, so I want an explanation right now!”

Craig went white. I’ll swear all the blood drained from his face as though it had been sucked out. In fact I nearly thought that he was going to fall over. His mouth moved but no sound came out, not even a gurgle or hiccup.

So to keep up the pressure I carried on yelling at my wanker of a husband: “Who is the slut? Where have you been putting your dick and which hole?”

Strange Hobbies.

Well the truth can be stranger than fiction, it does not happen very often but when it does you fall down flat with surprise. It is like when a magician pulls back the cloth and there is the blonde, all in one piece again!

Craig left me in shock because I would never have suspected it of him. His voice was small and I almost had to get him to repeat what he said before I could make sense of it.

“I went to a dominatrix!”

“Pardon? I mean ‘pardon me’! You went to some cunt of a whore?”

Craig hung his head, he could not face me and look me in the eye. That is a sure sign that what you are being told is the truth so I just had to listen and try to figure it out.

“Yes I paid her,” he said in his small voice, “but, I needed it, I really did.”

“What you needed some woman to give you a thrashing?” I asked in amazement.

Then I remembered a conversation that Craig and I had about five years before. He had wanted me to dress up in more than lingerie, boots and so on and I had refused him and ridiculed his request.

I suppose that I was to blame as well, but there was no way that I was going to let him off the hook. So I did what I always did and went onto the attack.


“I forget!”

I laughed at his naiveté. “You are going to tell me that you have stopped this now? Who is she?”

“Mistress Monique,” he replied.


“Really, Sabrina,” he said, “you cannot possibly go and see her, please!”

“Tell me now, Craig, or I’ll throw you out of the house. I may still do it but do as I say!”

Craig heaved a sigh and disappeared to come back after a minute with a calling card that he passed to me.


Mistress Monique

Your Superior.

Tel 092-131-121212121


I glanced at the gold and black card and revised my opinion of Miss Monique just a little. Not too tacky at all. I passed it back to Craig and told him to call her up.

“Please, Sabrina, don’t make me do this, Please!”

“Call the bitch up, I want to speak to her.”

I Supped With the She Devil.

So there I was knocking on the door. Actually I was not so stupid to go to Mistress Monique’s working address, I just organised a meet with her. I just had to see this woman who had persuaded my husband to pay for sex with her.


She agreed!

So I thought that I’d box clever. You know, get the slag out of her element and have a good old shouting match with her. So I thought, what better place for a meeting than a posh restaurant in Soho, that den of sexual iniquity in the West End.

So I booked a table at a little restaurant that I had heard of, but never been to. Translated from the Italian it is called ‘The Wolf’s Maw’ and is really a pretty smart ‘before the theatre’ restaurant.

I made sure that I got there early. It never looks good being late for a meeting with a whore. So there I was, alone at the table, glass of red in hand; a pretty good Barolo if I might say. I had a dozen things in my mind lined up to say. From the copiously crude to the elegant posh ‘put down’, they were all prepared.

So when Monique came into the restaurant dressed in jeans and fur coat I did not even recognise her. For a moment she looked around and then she came directly to my table.

“I suppose that you are Mrs Sabrina Sanders,” she said in a cool voice.

Without waiting for an answer she flicked her fur to one side and sat opposite me at the table.

“Then you must be Mistress Monique,” I replied, stressing the ‘Mistress’ with a slight sneer.

“Oh! Don’t bother with all that crap, ‘Miss’ is quite enough.” She laughed. “It’s only my clients that call me ‘Mistress’.”

At that moment the waiter arrived and offered the menu and the wine list. I really believe that Monique and I would never have ended up friends and more if he had not come at that moment to break the two prize fighters apart.

As it was, she ordered the wine and I ordered the food for the both of us and we had cooled down a little.

Once the ice had been somewhat broken she proved to be sharp witted and a lot more down to earth than I had ever thought.

“Craig is a proper little darling, really,” she said with a smile, “he does all that he is told without a murmur and more besides!”

I gritted my teeth to stop myself having a right go at the woman and just about managed. I could feel myself starting to actually like the bitch!

“You know that five years ago you gave him Chlamydia and he passed it on to me!” I said between clenched teeth.

“Is that how you found out?” she said and reached to touch my hand. “I mean that Craig was cheating on you?”

I pulled my hand out of reach without letting her make contact and let her continue, “He has only been coming to my studio for two years, so, five years ago is impossible...”

I looked into her eyes and realised that she was telling the truth.

“Well I hope that he has not passed it to you then,” I said.

“Unlikely, I have never allowed him that pleasure, so it’s a bit improbable.”

“What? You mean that he’s never fucked... I mean that he’s never once?”

I was lost for words, totally. I mean what’s the man paying for if he never gets even a fuck?

‘Amazing.’ I thought.

“Change the subject,” she said. “I mean you know what I do, or at least you have some idea. What do you do?”

“I design furniture,” I said, “Mostly in wood, but we’ve now started in steel and brass.”

“Design? Or make as well?”

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