by Vivi King
It was too much to expect my husband to accept us celebrating this betrayal with another, deeper form of infidelity and yet Tony had been putting me under increasing pressure to go away with him for the night - with or without Pete’s agreement.
Okay, if I’m honest, the pressure was coming from within me at least as much as it was from Tony; a romantic overnight stay was something I desperately wanted too. As the days had passed and the anniversary grew closer, the desire had grown stronger, my scruples had gradually fallen away and the unthinkable had become a bit more thinkable each day.
It took a while for the logic to develop and when it did, it was warped but it went like this: if I asked my husband to let me spend a night away with my lover and he refused, I would have to say no to Tony and that would be that. I wouldn’t go directly against Pete’s clearly stated will.
However, my sex-fuddled mind reasoned, if I didn’t ask Pete at all he couldn’t say no. So if I slept overnight with Tony without asking, I wouldn’t be going directly against him, would I? And if he never found out it had happened, all could still be well. What Pete didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him, right?
It was a weak, self-serving argument but I was a weak, selfish person so, with some unease, I had lied to my husband, telling him I had to attend a full day conference in London and stay overnight in a hotel.
It was a mistake; another in a line of mistakes in fact but it raised no eyebrows. Attending conferences all over the world was a fundamental part of my job. I had then lied to Tony too, telling him Pete had agreed to our overnight stay after all and the whole thing was arranged.
***
It’s worth a quick word about conferences here because they have featured heavily in my
professional life and were going to play an even more important role in the future too.
In essence, the British National Health Service loves conferences. While the NHS itself might be short of cash, the Pharmaceutical industry most certainly isn’t and even these days splashes it around in ways it thinks will best influence doctors to prescribe the latest and most profitable drugs and devices.
Pharmaceutical industry funds find their way into research such as mine, into special interest groups in different disciplines, into networking and of course, into conferences. I myself was a regular speaker at conferences all over the world, earning fees both for my hospital and personally but the latter were mostly confined to rather generous expenses.
Conferences can be a superb vehicle by which best practice can be disseminated around the medical world, bringing together the best minds and most eager students in a single place to interact. They can vary from one-day presentations for a handful of attendees to week long international get- togethers in smart hotels with fine dining, entertainment, outings and plenty of time to get to know each other.
And that is where the problems start. Doctors and Medical Researchers are no different from any other members of society when it comes to consuming free food and drink and behaving badly as a result. In some respects, we are probably worse as our jobs bring us closer to the human body than most. If you are new to the conference scene it takes a day or so to understand the dynamic going on beneath the surface but in essence, attendees who would like a little guilt-free, no-strings sex seek out other like-minded individuals during the networking sessions with a view to hooking up later in the evening.
Don’t be shocked – this happens in every industry in every country and is unavoidable. Marital status is no barrier either to the seducer or the seduced and there is an unwritten but well-observed attitude that ‘what happens at conference, stays at conference’.
Of course, human nature being what it is, the overwhelming dynamic is of older, experienced men preying on younger, naive girls but the reverse and every other combination is also true. Several well- respected Professors to my certain knowledge had Conference Wives – women they routinely slept with while away but never at any other times. Almost all of these men and women were married.
I myself had been forced to repel attempts at seduction for a number of years. I had managed to retain my fidelity, though not without a few close calls. Interestingly, though the assaults of my marriage vows had been most frequent when I was younger, now I was in my fifties for some reason they had started again.
***
The conference to which I had pretended to be invited wasn’t one of those. It was a regular one-day event in a London hotel at which I had spoken several times before and which would rouse no suspicion. The opportunity for anyone even to try and seduce me would be close to zero so Pete had no reason to feel uneasy about my absence or its apparent short notice and had waved me goodbye as my taxi had headed off down the driveway very early on Friday morning.
Of course having dropped me off at the railway station with my overnight bag, I had not boarded a train; instead, I had waited a few minutes for Tony to arrive in his car and whisk me away to the countryside.
As we sped northwards along the busy roads the weather was dreary; cold and overcast. I shrugged and smiled; I didn’t expect to get outside much, not when there was a roaring fire, good food, fine wine and a large four-poster bed to be enjoyed.
As it happened, I was wrong. The weather cheered up, the skies cleared, the sun put in an unexpected appearance and there was enough time to enjoy the hotel’s ground and nearby countryside as well as fuck ourselves half senseless.
The hotel was everything I had hoped; romantic, small, secluded and a good fifty miles away from our homes, carefully chosen to minimise the chances of being seen by anyone we knew. Despite only being there for a little over twenty-four hours, it was a wonderful break with hot baths, a warm swimming pool, crisp white sheets and, after a hot, sweaty beginning, plenty of slow, unhurried sex.
Signing in as Tony’s wife sent another illicit thrill through me.
Our first copulation took place within minutes of arriving in our room; certainly before anything had been unpacked and was as hot, violent and passion-filled as any in our entire relationship. In order to maintain the fiction of going to a conference, I had deliberately dressed in the business suit I had worn when Tony had first seduced me.
Underneath, however, instead of the elderly tights and large white cotton knickers he had disposed of so easily, I was wearing the last pair of lacy silk panties from my husband’s Hotwife Christmas present. Add to that a matching lace bra, black stockings, and a suspender belt and I felt as sexy as could be.
Tony clearly felt the same; once my skirt had been unceremoniously removed and my pussy
comprehensively fingered, he didn’t bother stripping my upper body at all. Instead, he simply lifted my left leg around his waist, pulled the gusset of my panties roughly to one side and entered me as I stood with my back to the wall in the room’s tiny hallway.
Despite copious lubrication, the roughness of his penetration and the awkward angle made the first half dozen strokes painful. But what a pain! Coming from beneath, Tony’s short, thick cock stretched my entrance in a new direction entirely, but more importantly, the angle of my body, impaled on his hips and with my shoulders against the wall, rasped the head of his cock directly over my g-spot.
As he began to fuck me hard, his strong legs lifting me bodily with every thrust, I thought the top of my head would blow off! The breeding frenzy hit hard and immediately; it’s fortunate that the rooms either side of ours were unoccupied at the time or there would certainly have been complaints about the noises I was making, my whole body being rammed over and over against the wall while I wailed my love and lust into the emptiness of the room.
As Tony’s hard thrusts became erratic and he growled his lust into my ear, I could feel his first ejaculation approaching and my body prepared itself to receive a man’s seed once again. Indeed as his cock began to throb and his semen began to spurt inside me, my vagina went into spasm, clenching onto his shaft over and over again, as if milking every last drop of baby-making fluid from his body.
It was sweet, romantic, loving and, though I didn’t realise it at the time, entirely the wrong thing for the future of my marriage.
Later we returned to our room and made love a second time but more slowly and much more lovingly. I looked deep into Tony’s dark, dreamy brown eyes as he finally filled my body with his seedless semen, feeling myself opening completely for this wonderful, handsome man.
We kissed in the moonlight on Friday night, dined intimately in the corner of the restaurant then retired to bed where sleep simply wasn’t an option.
When we woke, tired and sore on Saturday morning we had a delicious breakfast then walked the grounds again hand in hand, throwing sticks into the river together and doing all the romantic things a loved-up couple would normally have done before returning to our room one last time, tearing off each other’s clothes and fucking like jack rabbits on the soft white mattress.
I had been very nervous about waking up next to Tony on Saturday; at fifty-one, my morning face wasn’t the way to see me at my best but, as I found out, waking to Tony’s tired eyes and half-grown beard wasn’t great either.
Fortunately, this hadn’t interfered with our early morning lovemaking, though the rough stubble on his chin had made both my face and hairless vulva embarrassingly pink and sore. I can’t remember what excuse I made for the redness when I arrived home that afternoon pretending to have just returned from the big city by train.
Pete had been a little surprised just how open my vagina was when he had mounted me on Saturday evening after we had come home from the theatre but he had long ago stopped expecting tightness down there and in the end enjoyed reaching that little bit deeper inside me than usual.
So my little lies had escaped discovery and a good time had been enjoyed by all.
Unfortunately, this had made the next lie that much easier to tell.
***
Valentine’s Day wasn’t far away; only two weeks after this first, highly illicit overnight hotel break. Emboldened by the apparent success of the lies I had told and oblivious to the risk, both Tony and I were keen to repeat the performance even if it couldn’t be on the day itself.
Having got away with my first fabrication, lying to my husband a second time hadn’t been anywhere near as daunting so I had already told him that the company which had run the previous conference had asked me to take part in another session. Consequently, I would be away again overnight shortly after Valentine’s Day.
Between these two highly unofficial overnight stays was supposed to be my next Official Hotwife evening with Tony. It had been set for Thursday night. As before, Pete was content for it to happen; he was even going to drive me to my lover’s apartment and pick my soiled self up afterward in the expectation of enjoying his favourite creampie in our bed.
After my initial revulsion, I had grown to love those creampies too; they reminded me that I had just been properly inseminated as a real, fertile woman should be. What’s more; my husband’s skills at oral sex on my newly-hairless pussy were world class.
But Izzy’s unexpected return home had put paid to that plan, leaving Tony and me facing a gap of at
least two full weeks between fuck-dates, something neither of us relished.
Tony was clearly hoping that I would find a way to be with him in that unwanted gap. Despite having lied to my husband successfully twice, I still had qualms about doing it a third time so soon afterwards so despite desperately wanting to be with my lover, I hadn’t yet made any promises.
Meanwhile, I had my distressed daughter to deal with.
***
No amount of weak smiling could conceal the unhappiness that Izzy’s body language broadcast as she crossed the station concourse to where I stood waiting just after six o’clock that Wednesday evening. The poor girl clearly had something on her mind - and it was a big something.
Prone to fiery tempers, I knew better than to try and force out of her whatever it was she needed to talk through; it was always best to let her decide for herself if and when the moment was right. Instead, as we drove the short distance from the station to our home, I tried to act as if nothing was amiss, asking simple, motherly questions about the journey and whether she had managed to have lunch.
This innocent chat managed to fill the time it took to get home. When we arrived, Izzy took her bag straight up to her room while I made that most universal of remedies: tea. She spent rather a long time upstairs; long enough for me to begin to get worried but as I started to climb the stairs with a teacup in my hand, she emerged from the bathroom, red-eyed and runny-nosed.
She had clearly been crying but from the way she took herself quickly back into her room calling out that she would be down in a minute, she didn’t want me to know this.
I returned to the kitchen and waited. A few minutes later Izzy entered the room in her pyjamas though it was barely past seven o’clock and perched on a tall stool at the breakfast bar. I didn’t need the psychology training I had done at University all those years ago to understand this as comfort- seeking behaviour.
As I began preparing the evening meal, again I kept the conversation light, asking about her course, her forthcoming exams, her flat and her housemates. Izzy answered readily enough but there was no bounce in her voice. It wasn’t until I asked her about her boyfriend Steve that I elicited anything close to a strong reaction.
“Why do you ask?” she demanded. “Has he called you? What did he say?”
This was such a strange question that I felt I had to find out more.
“Of course not,” I assured her. “Why would Steve call me? Is everything still all right between you?”
Izzy seemed about to reply when the front door opened and her father came into the house.
“Daddy!”
Always a Daddy’s girl, Izzy positively rushed from her stool to greet him in the hallway, hugging him tightly and receiving a bear hug in return. The two of them joined me in the kitchen, the teacups were replaced with tall glasses of wine and the conversation returned to banal but reassuring subjects again.
***
“She needs to talk about something,” I said to Pete as we lay in bed late that night. “I think it’s Steve.”
“I wondered that,” he agreed. “Even I can tell there’s something going on, no matter how she tries to hide it. What are you both doing tomorrow?”
“I’ve got a full day at work,” I told him. “Izzy says she’s brought some work home to do too; there are a couple of assignments due in soon.”
“It’s not like her to miss lectures, though,” he voiced my own thoughts. “It must be important.”
I thought for a moment.
“Would you mind going to the gym straight from work tomorrow?” I asked. “It’d give us a couple of hours alone. Maybe she’ll feel more able to talk if it’s just the two of us.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll aim to be home after eight. Just let me know if you need me to stay out longer.”
I smiled then asked the second most important question on my mind.
“And you’re okay about next Friday? The conference? Staying overnight?”
Pete leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
“Of course. I just hope they’re giving you plenty of expenses,” he yawned as he turned off the light.
I lay in the darkness later, listening to my husband’s slow, deep breaths.
I knew it was wrong; I knew I shouldn’t have lied to him about the conference but it was Valentine’s Day after all. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t already know Tony and I were fucking.
It wasn’t really that bad a lie... was it?
***
The following day passed slowly, my mind filled with three problems; a trace of guilt about my forthcoming overnight treat with Ton
y; the need we both had to meet and fuck in the interim ten days but most importantly, the problems my daughter might currently have in her life.
When I arrived home, Pete’s car was absent and Izzy had made a start on dinner; at least she had opened the wine and appeared to be a good glass and a half ahead of me. I’ve never been able to hold my wine well and Izzy isn’t much better so we were both distinctly tipsy by seven-thirty when the meal looked close to being ready.
We had chatted about the normal things Mums and daughters talk about but the more we talked, the more I became sure there was an important subject waiting to reach the surface and that it involved her boyfriend, a person I had grown to like well.
Izzy and Steve had got together in her first term at University. They had met through one of the many sports clubs they both belonged to. Steve was a year older than Izzy but on the same course; tall, sporty like her, bright and good looking. Pete and I had both liked him straight away; no small feat when a father meets the boy who he’s fairly sure is fucking his only daughter.
The two had been inseparable ever since. They had celebrated their first anniversary before Christmas and had looked set to go the distance, staying together throughout their University careers. Indeed they had talked openly about getting a flat together in London once they had both graduated.
The thought that their relationship had in some way become damaged was unsettling but the closer we got to the heart of the matter, the more agitated Izzy became so I backed off with my questions. It wasn’t until we had opened the second bottle of Sauvignon Blanc that the truth began to emerge.
The two of them had broken up. It had been very recent, it had been very painful and they were no
longer even on speaking terms. Not surprisingly, Izzy was very distressed indeed and didn’t know what to do but when I tried to get to the reason behind the break-up, she was remarkably reticent.
“We just fell out, that’s all,” she told me angrily when I came close to overstepping the invisible mark.