Red Light Risks

As she approached I realised just how far my wife was from the church attending, loyal daughter that her parents had brought up. Her breasts were undulating with each step, the wide areoles very visibly moving from side to side beneath the flimsy gauze of her blouse, and her skirt was opening each time she reached forward with either of her legs, baring her pussy, displaying her pouting labia and her hairless mound.

She reached where I was standing by the restaurant steps, grinning.

"Did you see that?" she asked.

"The guy?"

"He just offered me a hundred euros. When I said no, he made it one hundred and fifty, to go to his flat for half an hour."

"Were you tempted?" I asked.

"No," she said. "I'd never actually do it. But it's nice to be offered more than the going rate. It was the third time as well."

I was not surprised. If I had been in Amsterdam on my own, and seen her walking by the canal, I might have tried my luck. I might even have offered to pay. She was definitely worth more than the going rate.

"Shall we go back?" I asked.

I knew exactly what I wanted to do to her when we got back to our hotel room, and I could see no reason to delay that any longer.

"Okay," Caroline said, starting to walk. "But stay this side of the canal. I'll meet you at the central station square.

I did not understand what she meant until I saw her cross the walkway diagonally to the only canal crossing on its entire length, a wooden pedestrian bridge with steps on either side and a flat walkway in the centre.

Amused that my reserved wife wanted more time walking on her own, I watched her cross over, and then kept pace with her on my side of the canal as she walked back towards the station square.

Almost immediately, she was stopped again, this time by a guy in jeans and a top. Again she shook her head. He tried again. She shook her head again. I wondered how much this guy was offering to fuck my wife. I had to admit that I could not blame him, or the guy in the suit, or the others that I had not seen. If you flash your breasts and cunt like that in a red light district, and have a body half as good as hers, guys will want to buy the goods.

The guy walked on, but this time she did not get off completely. Even from the other side of the canal I heard him shout back over his shoulder at her as she walked on.

"Cunt!!"

To Caroline's credit, she just walked on. But it was a warning. My wife was playing a dangerous game.

I went back to keeping pace with her. At a sex club, she slowed, looking at the large backlit photos on either side of the open foyer. One of the doormen said something to her. She laughed, shook her head, and walked on. Later she told me he had invited her inside for free.

We passed the sex museum on my side, where Caroline had started to unbutton her skirt and had flashed the two guys on the stairs. Since leaving the restaurant her skirt had been open even higher, right to the waistband, just a double button still holding it around her.

On Caroline's side of the canal there was a break in the neon, no clubs, bars or restaurants for a couple of hundred feet. There were still people, but fewer than on my side. Another guy tried it on, jeans and a white shirt, holding her arm as he spoke to her.

Caroline did her head shake yet again. This guy was not so easily turned away. He used his size to draw her to the wall of the building she had been passing. He seemed to be insistent. My wife was shaking her head, turning him down, whatever the offer was, but clearly his grip on her elbow was too strong for her to walk away. Instead, he turned her back against the wall, standing over her, intimidating her with his size.

People just walked on by. Watching them I realised that this was probably just an everyday scene on a Saturday night in Amsterdam. It was no one else's business. Except it was my wife, which made it my business, and I thought rapidly, realising that whether I went back to the footbridge Caroline had crossed, or to the station end of the canal and crossed over there, even sprinting, it would be minutes before I reached her.

Then I saw two other people running towards what was happening. They were coming from the station end of the canal, on Caroline's side, one taller than the other, both of them using regular, steady strides as if they were used to this kind of running, both in black, and the taller of the two doing something with some equipment near his shoulder as he ran.

They stopped as they reached my wife. It could have been worse. A male and a female police officer had just come to her rescue. I could assume that she would be fine until I reached her, and so I started towards the station end of the canal as what I judged to be the closest way across.

I checked every few paces, keeping track of what was happening, the female officer talking to my wife, the other talking to the guy in jeans, the female officer speaking into her radio, the male officer sending the guy in jeans on his way.

Then I saw the car cruising silently up the walkway on their side of the canal, white, with a blue light bar on top, and blue and red diagonal stripes and the word 'Politie' on the side. What followed, when the car slowed to a standstill, happened so rapidly that there was nothing that I could have done. Although I was frozen to the spot, even if I had sprinted, the silent, electric Prius would have been gone before I had even reached the end of the canal on my side.

Two more police officers climbed out, both male. They spoke briefly to the female officer, who then guided my wife to the car as one of the male officers opened a rear door. Caroline looked across the canal at me, horror on her face, as the female officer put her hand on my wife's head and guided her into the vehicle. The male officers, all three of them, climbed into the car, two in front, and one in the back, and a moment later the police car silently cruised away.

It was almost three hours later before I saw my wife again.

The female officer said something into her radio and started walking back towards the station square. I shadowed her on my side of the canal, wanting to find out what was happening. At the end of the canal I asked her if she spoke English. At first she assumed I had a separate problem, but I explained that it was my wife that she had just been dealing with.

She was not sympathetic. My wife had been soliciting, which is not permitted on the canal walkway, just from the windows or in the sex clubs, and only under license. She would be held until the Monday morning, and then put before a magistrate, or alternatively she could accept a caution with a five hundred euros fine, and she would be released. It would be explained to my wife by the officers who had taken her, somewhere less public than the canal walkway.

I tried to explain what had really happened, but the officer just shrugged. She was blonde, good looking, in her thirties, and she had heard it all before. It was not unusual for tourists to try their hand at prostitution as part of the fun for visiting the Red Light District. There were even women whose husbands liked the idea of someone paying to fuck their wife. But it caused this kind of problem for the police.

I asked how the fine worked, and she explained that it had to be paid in cash. I knew that Caroline had only the three hundred and fifty euros I had given her in the restaurant. Ironically, those were immoral earnings, although based on a promise as yet unfulfilled. The point, however was that my wife would be one hundred and fifty euros short. Again the officer shrugged. Then she asked me to wait while she dealt with someone who was waiting to speak to her.

I waited. There was nothing else that I could do.

Fifteen minutes later, the police officer was free to talk again. I asked her if there was some way to sort out the rest of the fine.

She shrugged. If it was just one hundred and fifty euros, that would be close enough. There were ways to make up the rest. When I asked what she meant, she gave me a look, and reminded me that there were three officers with my wife. It would not be a problem.

She left me to work out the rest for myself. Three officers. The going rate was fifty euros for twenty minutes. Caroline would have the chance to earn the money that she needed.

I checked my wallet. I could more than cover the money in cash. I asked if I could sort it out.

The officer asked me to wait, then spoke into her radio. A male voice answered. The female officer spoke for a minute or so, explaining what I had said. The officer at the other end acknowledged what she had said, and the radio went quiet. Maybe two minutes later, he spoke again.

This time the officer on the radio did the talking, and the female officer just grunted to confirm that she understood. There was a final sign off with her saying thank you. Then she looked at me.

The woman was not wearing a wedding ring, she said, and the officers had no reason to believe that she was married. She had told them that the money that she had was from someone she had promised to spend the night with, but said nothing about a husband. She had already agreed term with her the officers who were with her. There would be no need for me to pay the remainder of the fine.

I could only assume that the male officer who had spoken on the radio was lying. I could almost understand why. My wife has a good body, and she was displaying it. If the police turned down my money, without telling her about the offer, she would have no choice except to earn the one hundred and fifty euros that she needed, in the only way that was left to her.

I had tried. It was not going to work. I walked away, back to our hotel, thinking about how Caroline would be earning the money to pay her fine, three times fifty euros, three times twenty minutes.

It was a little after two in the morning when my wife knocked on our hotel room door. I had not been sleeping. I had been on the bed, wide awake, and thinking. Picturing.

Caroline's skirt was no longer open to the waist, but two of the buttons of her blouse were not just undone, but missing, so that one side fell open, baring the edge of her areole. Her red lipstick was gone, as if it had never been there. Her hair was unkempt. Her legs were bare, her stockings gone. She just stood in the doorway, her face expressionless.

"You'd better come in," I said.

"I need," my wife said, as soon as I had closed the door. "I need a shower."

She did not wait for an answer. She walked into the en-suite, closed the door and bolted it. I heard the water running. It was half an hour before she emerged, naked, but dry, carrying her skirt and blouse in one hand, walking to the bin by the dressing table, and dropping them into it.

I had been lying on the bed, waiting. I was still dressed. I had not felt like going to bed or getting any sleep all the time that I had been waiting for her to get back.

Caroline stood by the dressing table, unmoving, her back to me. Her dark hair fell down her white back. She still looked beautiful.

"You should get into bed," I said.

As I got up, she turned, gave me a look, still devoid of expression, and walked to the other side of the bed, slipping under the duvet to lie on her back, her head on the pillow, the duvet pulled right up to her chin.

I got undressed and climbed in with her, lying side by side for a time, and then reaching out my arm, inviting her closer.

She turned towards me, and came right in, her head in the crook of my shoulder, her breasts against my side, one leg beside mine, the other across my upper thigh, her knee nudging my cock.

"You're hard," she said.

It might have been a simple statement or an accusation. Either way it was accurate. My cock had been hard for the best part of three hours, all the time that I had been waiting for her to get back to the hotel, and while she had been showering, because all that time I had been thinking about how my wife would have been paying off that fine.

Somehow it did not seem appropriate to have an erection, given what my wife had just gone through. I knew that. My cock did not have that level of emotional sophistication.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"It's okay," she said. "It makes me feel better. I felt so guilty."

"It's okay," I said, to reassure her. It was my turn to say those words.

"They said you offered to pay the money that I didn't have," she said.

"They said you would not accept it."

"They wouldn't let me," my wife said. "They said I had to pay the fine myself. That was the way it worked."

"Then it's not your fault."

"I still feel guilty," she said, adding more a moment later. "There's something I have to tell you."

I waited without speaking, but I caressed her hair, to let her know that I was listening, and that I still loved her.

"When they did it," she said. "I mean, actually doing it,... Not at first, but once the first of them was in me,... fucking me, I mean,... well, it's hard to say but it felt,... good."

"I felt bad about enjoying it. I mean, I shouldn't have. I've never wanted,... you know that don't you?"

"It's okay," I said, listening to her, taking in what she was telling me, that another man had not just made love to her, but that she had liked it. Hearing it made my stomach churn, but did nothing to abate my stiff erection.

"It was at the end of a quite alley," she went on. "They parked, and they explained the law, and they asked me how much money I had in cash with me, so I told them."

"They said that they could help me. It would not be illegal. It was illegal to look for look for custom on the street, but if I wanted to earn the rest of the money that I needed, they could help."

I knew that that was what they would have said.

"There was a canal crossing the alley. It had a metal rail. They took off my skirt and had me hold the rail and bend forwards so that,.... you know."

I could picture Caroline like that, fishnet stockings, transparent blouse, naked white buttocks, a police officer with his fly unzipped standing behind her, his cock head in his hand, aiming at her entrance."

"I must have been quite wet," she said. "The first slid in so easily... Then he was fucking me,... and,... and, well,... I liked what he was doing,... what I was doing,... looking down,... at the water,... letting a stranger fuck me,... it felt good,... I'm sorry,... that's just how it was."

I said nothing. Caroline continued.

"He came," she said. "Inside me I mean.... They all did.... I used the shower, but,...."

I knew what she meant. As I said, we had been trying, and now three men had come inside my wife, and without asking I knew from Caroline's description that none of them had worn protection.

"We can deal with that tomorrow," I said. "We'll find a chemist's."

"Yes, please," she said.

Then she said the words that will stay with me for ever.

"I came."

Those two words hovered in the air like angels of despair for long minutes after she had said them, neither of us adding to them, as I took in what my wife had just shared with me, and as Caroline waited for my reaction. Finally I said that only thing that I could find to say, regardless of how I felt, possibly because I was reduced to feeling absolutely nothing.

"It's okay," I said.

Why she wanted to explain, I am not sure, but she seemed to need to, and so I let her.

"It was the last guy," she said. "He made me take off my shoes and stockings."

"He,... he used one stocking to tie my wrists,... to the railing I was leaning on,... and then,... then he used the other,... he tied it like a gag,... like he knew what he was doing,... like he had done that before."

"He made me wait.... I could see,... over my shoulder,... he was taking off his boots,... his socks,... his trousers,... his underwear."

"I could see his cock was big,.. I mean not just long,... it was thick,... it had this purple head,... and he had a ring,... there was a ring,... through the eye,... it looked like steel, I think,... he was grinning,... asked me if I had ever had a PA before,... then he went behind me."

I knew what the letters stood for. Prince Albert supposedly had had his cock pierced to tame his large penis in the tight trousers that were the fashion of the day. What I could not take in was that my wife had just had a cock with this piercing, inside her, thrusting, and coming, ejaculating, spewing this guy's semen deep inside.

"He ripped my blouse... He made me feel like,... I mean,... as if he was just forcing me,... I mean he paid me,... like the others,... but it didn't feel like that,... it felt like I was being,..."

She never finished that sentence. She never said the word, but I knew which word it was. She was already saying more than enough, more than I wanted to hear, but it was as if she need to say it all, to get it all out in the open, keep nothing from me.

"I think,..." she said. "I think reaching an orgasm is in your head... Not that it didn't feel good,... because it did.... He knew how,... I mean he was experienced,... he was slow and considerate,.. until he knew I could take it all,... and then,... I guess you would call it rough."

I could only imagine what she meant by rough. Holding her by her pelvic girdle. Driving himself into her, again and again and again.

"But, it wasn't just,... the way he,... he fucked me... It was knowing how big his cock was,... and the ring,... knowing it was inside me... It was thinking about it,... and then he started on my breasts... I could help it... If it hadn't been that he had gagged me,... I think the whole of Amsterdam would have heard."

After she finished, there was silence, only the occasional vehicle outside disturbing it.

"It's okay," I finally said.

We lay silent again for a while, and then Caroline reached for my cock and started stroking it. Minutes later, her head was in my lap and she was sucking on it. Minutes after than, she was astride me, and my cock was in her cunt.

At some point Caroline leaned forward and whispered in my ear.

"It wasn't what I'd planned, but this is your Anniversary fuck."

Time passes. You get back home and back into routine, with work, weekends, friends, and family. We had bought a morning after pill, and had no worries about unwanted pregnancy, and we both got tested a few weeks later to rule out any other risks. The Dutch police, if nothing else, at least are clean, even the officers who have been pierced and wear a ring. We are still trying for a family, but it was a conversation two weeks ago that made me write up what had taken place.

We had been making love. Caroline had orgasmed. I had come, inside her of course. If you are trying for a family, then that is what you do. We were talking, and came back to something we had been thinking of, another weekend break, perhaps somewhere warmer, like Barcelona. That was when Caroline said that there was something that she had never told me, about Amsterdam, and that maybe now she could be honest about what had really happened, and I would not mind.

In the police car, in the alley, as they had explained about the caution and the fine, Caroline had worked out where it was inevitably leading. Then the officer who later on turned out to have the ring had taken the call from the woman officer that I was speaking to. He had told my wife that her husband was prepared to pay the fine, and had offered to drive her back to the station square.

My wife said that she had told them that she was not married, but there had been a guy who had paid her to come to his hotel with him, which was why she had the money. If that was the guy who was offering to pay, she did not want to owe him any more. She would rather do what they had suggested before my call.