The Naughty Collection

by Ruby City Books

  I knew damn well I couldn't stay in this place all night, sleeping under my damn desk for fear of going home and confronting my loved ones. It was well past time for me to get headed back in the direction of home.

  At last, I opened my eyes and stretched, pushing my body forward and flexing my spine, moaning a little bit as I tried to wake myself up, and then sighing as I stood up to go and fetch my coat.

  I stepped out into the night, letting the cold air nip my cheeks as I stared out into the parking lot, and watching the foggy clouds of my breath pool up before my eyes. I was the last one here, the only car in the lot, and something about that made me feel really down about things, or at least more so than I'd already been.

  I sighed again, clicking the unlock button on my keys, and stepped down the stairs as the lights flashed on and the horn did its couple of abbreviated honks, indicating that the doors were now open.

  I took off down the highway, happy at first to have the road largely to myself at this time of evening having waited out the rush hour traffic, but then loneliness setting in, forcing me to turn on the radio to maintain some illusion of human presence. I flipped through a few shitty songs in the vain hopes of finding one that was just a little bit less shitty, but then settling on an oldies station instead, knowing that was about the best I was going to find.

  I only lived about twenty-five minutes away from the office, but for some reason the drive was beginning to feel as though it would span on for eternity tonight, and I began to let my mind wander wildly for any excuse to prolong my arrival back home.

  God, I could use a drink...

  Hey, that wasn't a bad excuse at all, I decided. Or, well... Maybe it was, actually. It wasn't so much an excuse as it was a distraction, although in my present state I thought I would probably welcome a distraction with arms as open as they would be for an excuse. I needed something, anything to get me through the remainder of the night, even if it was only something that would take the edge off.

  Around fifteen minutes from home, I made a turn off and pulled into a bar a couple of miles down the road, the whole thing feeling a little bit alien to me since I'd never been that much of a drinker, much less a public one.

  Still, though, I needed this so badly that I didn't care that much how out of character it was for me. I just needed some kind of distraction...

  I made my way into the bar, ambling up to the counter and ordering a modest but effective drink from the bartender. I needed to keep my blood alcohol content low, I knew- I wasn't about to drive home drunk or anything. But maybe I could at least get myself started so that, whenever I did manage to crawl my way back to the house, I could finish the job up right with a few of my husband's beers from the fridge. Hell, at this point I didn't give a damn if I woke up hung over for work tomorrow. As fed up and frustrated as I may have just been about trying to get caught up with everything at the office, I was in such a mood that I didn't think it would matter all that much if I wound up calling in sick altogether in the morning, and just staying in bed naked beneath the covers all day. It would be even better if I could keep Emily and Rob out of the house in order to avoid them disturbing me the whole time, but I knew I had that damn parent teacher conference to go to at Emily's school in the evening, and that one fly pretty much effed up the whole ointment of my plan as far as I was concerned.

  But, first things first, that drink.

  I slowly brought it to my lips, tilting back the glass, and let the liquids come flooding in. And God the light sting of alcohol, warming up my system…. I'd been so long without a drop of anything in my system, and I inhaled deeply, savoring every last drop of the stuff as I slowly drained the glass, and at last set it back down on the countertop, to stare at the drained container, and the clinking ice cubes swirling around in the bottom of the cup.

  I thought, or let my mind wander, rather, getting pretty lost in my unfocused stupor, to the point that I was more or less staring out into space. God, I didn't want to go home... God, how I didn't want to go home... God, what an awful person I was for thinking this...

  And then, suddenly, the bartender sat another glass down in front of me.

  I blinked at it in a daze, trying to figure out some explanation, as though it was some complicated problem that would take an immense degree of effort to solve. When I came up short, I brought my eyes up toward the bartender, silently asking for an explanation. Just as silently, then, he offered me one, extending an index finger, and pointing me in the direction of the other side of the bar.

  There, staring at me, was a man, a staggeringly attractive one at that, with dark skin, black eyes, and a penetrating gaze. His luscious lips were brought up into a smirk of want, and I found myself momentarily entranced by him, unable to look away. God, he was sexy...

  Almost reflexively, without wholly meaning to, I brought the hand with my wedding ring on it down into my lap, as though to conceal it from view.

  I looked slightly to the side as I fantasized about all the wonderful places this one donated drink could lead.

  I imagined kissing the man on the lips, in his bedroom, both of his naked, his black skin contrasting fiercely with my own bright flesh as he smothered me with his weight. I would be moaning, my body trembling as he pushed himself up inside me, so tight, the friction astounding, and him riding me hard until I began to scream at the top of my lungs with pleasure...

  And then what?

  Suddenly, the fantasy hit a snag, and I started thinking about all the things that could go wrong.

  He cums inside me, or the condom breaks, and I end up with an STD or another man's baby.

  My husband finds out, and the two of us end up divorced, and I'm a single mother, and the family implodes.

  And Emily... Poor, poor Emily...

  Christ... God damn it...

  The one thing I wanted. The one thing that, for whatever reason, I thought would save me from the things I'd been dreading all evening- and I knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that I could make it happen for real. It was the type of ridiculous, absurd daydream that can only ever be just that- a dream.

  I sighed, shuddered as I indulged myself with a last fleeting thought of letting the man cum in me, and picked up the drink, downing the whole thing curtly, in one gulp. Hopefully, he would take the hint of my feigned disinterest...

  I paid the bartender for the one drink I'd purchased myself, then nodded sadly at my disappointed suitor, thanking him for the drink all the same, and trying to let him down as gently as I possibly could.

  If my circumstances were any different, then hell yes... You bet your beautiful ass I would...

  Then I made my way back to the car, took a deep, painful breath, and hit the road for home all over again.

  Chapter 2

  “Hon'? That you?”

  Jesus Christ, Rob... I'd sat in the driveway for nearly ten minutes after pulling in, dreading the idea of walking inside and having to hear this clearly disinterested greeting of his. He said it to me every damn night, and there was just something I found so irritating about it, as unreasonable as it may have been of me. There was just this sort of inherent lack of concern to it. Like he didn't really care, he wasn't actually excited that I was home- he just wanted to make sure I wasn't a fucking burglar, and past that it didn't really matter all that much who the hell I was. He used to greet me at the door and kiss me on the lips the moment I walked inside, and some days even have dinner made for me by the time I got in. Now I was lucky if there were still cold leftovers from the weekend in the fridge for me.

  And God, I was getting to be so bitter... That stop at the bar had made things even worse for me than they'd already been, seeing what I could have gone home with and comparing it to what I was now stepping into the house to find waiting for me in his sweat pants, staring at the football game on his beloved big screen TV.

  “Hey hon, yeah it's me,” I replied, staying as cool and collected as I possibly could, hiding my irritation as impeccably as ev
er, just like I always did. I leaned in to kiss him, and he didn't tear his eyes away from the big screen for a second. My lips pecked on his cheek, and his didn't make it to me at all, simply kissing the air as though he intended the kiss to travel through the air and make it to me somehow.

  Obviously, I was distracting him from the game, and I most surely didn't want to be a bother to him...

  I tried, feebly, piping up, “How was your day?”

  “Good,” he said automatically, not giving it an ounce more of thought, and then added, clearly wanting to get me out of the room as quickly as possible so he could focus on the game, “Emily's upstairs in bed.”

  What the hell? I thought.

  I looked up at the clock, and was startled to see it was pushing on 9:30 already. My dazed stalling at the office and my stop off for the drink must have taken a hell of a lot longer than I'd thought they had, and now Emily was likely asleep. It was actually sort of amazing that Rob had even taken the initiative to get her in bed by nine...

  I crept up the stairs and poked my head into the room, not wanting to wake her up, but thinking I should at least check up on things if she was still in a conscious state.

  “Sweetie? Are you still awake?”

  “Mommy!” my daughter exclaimed, her silhouetted arms outstretched in the darkness, and I flipped on the light, making my way over to her.

  I took her in my arms, and felt myself warm up just a little bit, as perfect a reminder as any as to why I hadn't gone through with the thing I'd so desperately craved back there at the bar.

  Then, however, I made the mistake of asking, “How was your day?”

  And in response, she instantly launched into the very sort of enthusiastic tirade I thought I'd been lucky enough to dodge the bullet of avoiding, detailing every little thing that had happened to her at school that day, and causing an unpleasant resurgence of my headache all the while.

  God, I was a shitty parent...

  I pretended to listen, and smiled and nodded, but nothing she told me really seemed to stick as the words hit my ears.

  I was dreading that parent teacher conference tomorrow... I'd never met her teacher, Mr. Fellows, but the name seemed incredibly familiar for some reason. I had this instinctive feeling that I wouldn't really like him for some reason, and the more and more she kept on talking about her day, the more and more I thought about how awful the meeting would probably be.

  I don't think she was really finished yet, but I was too out of it to keep listening by this point, and when she came to a break in her account, I interrupted, “That's great sweetie. I'm glad you had a nice day. Go to sleep now. I love you.”

  I kissed her on the forehead, and she peeped, “Goodnight Mommy,” not seeming to think a thing in the world of my cutting her off like that. No harm, no foul, I thought.

  I switched off the light, and headed back down the stairs, stopping for a moment to watch my husband watching TV, seemingly not even aware of my presence as I passed him. I sighed, and continued my way into the kitchen, opening the fridge and seeing what we had in the line of alcoholic beverages.

  First, my eyes landed on the beer in the front of the fridge, but as I was reaching for it I caught the bottle of wine behind this, and that seemed far more appealing to me.

  I pulled out the bottle and made my way up the stairs with the thing, not even bothering to pour its contents into glasses, but simply opening up and tipping it back, drinking and drinking and drinking until I could at last feel the first effects of tipsiness beginning to take over.

  At last, I began to see a few stars before my eyes, and though I didn't get totally wasted from the stuff, I was at least buzzed enough now that I could feel just a little bit at ease.

  And God, did I suddenly feel as horny as the devil...

  I slipped out of my clothes, laughing just a little bit as I struggled with the straps of my bra, and I slid into the shower, sighing loudly and drunkenly as the warm water came splashing down around my naked body, soothing me and making me tremble with pleasure, feeling for the first time all day that I was alright and in control of myself and my situation.

  God, I wanted cock so bad right now... I knew if I tried to disturb my husband right now, he would be more annoyed that I was making him miss the game than he would be aroused at the prospect of sex, but I thought maybe it would be over soon enough that I could still get a little pounding in once his attention was a little less dedicated to the TV.

  I would just have to find something to occupy myself with in the meantime...

  I slowly brought my hand down, pushing my fingers between my legs, and began to play with the lips of my pussy. I pushed them around, stroking myself and giggling as I did so, and my own self love began to take on almost comical exaggeration. I started finger blasting myself so quick and so hard that it was almost ridiculous, and at the same time I pushed my tits together, squeezing tight on them, getting myself worked up as hell, but my fumbling grip doing very little in the line of genuinely pleasuring myself as I stroked and pushed and abused myself.

  I guess after a while I sort of came, but it was heavily unsatisfied and the sensations were dulled by the alcohol in my system. I needed some real cock in me if I wanted to experience those kinds of sensory delights in genuine, and for a while I just stood there beneath the soothing water, letting my mind water- all the way back to the man at the bar.

  God, that would have been great... I started fantasizing about what he would do to me all over again, his head between my legs, nibbling on my pussy, pushing his tongue inside me, making me scream and squeal and squirm all across the bed. And then, God, he would take me... So hard... So fucking hard... Slamming that stiff, long cock of his up into me, jackhammering my cunt with lethal force until I nearly fell off the bed, filling me up with himself...

  Oh, Godddddd...

  I needed a man inside me, as soon as was humanly possible...

  The game had just ended, and the post-game analysis was unfolding when I stepped into the room. My husband didn't look up at me but for a fraction of an instant, and I stood there staring at him for a moment in my bathroom, waiting for his attention, but knowing that I wasn't going to get it like this.

  Then, knowing full well what would catch his eye, I undid the loop of my plush white bathrobe, slowly untying it, and sliding the folds apart, to reveal to him that I wore absolutely nothing underneath.

  This, of course, got his attention...

  He stared at me, and I could see he was getting hard, as his eyes rolled along the sliver of the nude, still moist flesh exposed between the sides of the robe, the deeply cut sliver of my cleavage and the insides of my breasts, my tantalizing stomach with the tender fleck of my navel in the middle, my clean shaven mons pubis, droplets of water still sliding down along its surface, and of course my burning pussy, which was so hot and for so ready for him that I knew he couldn't come close to being ready for just how badly I was about to rock his world.

  Stunned, gaping, he reached up with the remote control and flipped off the TV in accordance with my wishes, and I continued to saunter my way over to him, smiling devilishly, the booze in my system still clearly directing my actions, turning me into the horny little slut I was as I brought my body up on top of him. He definitely had a boner, I could feel, as it poked me in the ass through his sweatpants, and I put my hand between my legs to stroke his lump as I straddled him, knowing all the while that I was only serving to further frustrate the hell out of the poor bastard.

  His mouth was open, jaw quivering slightly, as though eager and willing as hell to start sucking on whatever I felt like sticking into his open lips. Accordingly, then, I pushed my tits up into him, sliding back the bathrobe just a little bit more, and whimpering girlishly as I forced him to start sucking on my tender, throbbing nipple. His lips closed in around me as he nursed on me like a newborn, teeth sinking into me and his tongue rolling around in laps. I sighed, and shivered, and pulled him closer, closer, closer, sensations running thr
ough my body, my pussy getting wetter and wetter by the second after having just dried myself off.

  Jesus, this felt so good...

  When both of my nipples grew hard to a degree that seemed satisfactory, I playfully pushed his head away from me, only to swoop back down and put my lips onto his promptly afterward. I slid my tongue into his mouth, and he grunted as the two of us began to kiss passionately. I'm sure he was only too aware of the alcohol on my breath as we made out, but given how sudden and unprovoked my burning need to ride his cock were, I didn't think he must have cared all that much.

  Speaking of the alcohol, it was really making me do some kinky, weird things to my very lucky husband. As the two of us tongue kissed, I found myself suddenly reaching up to his face and pushing my fingers into his mouth, stretching his cheeks out, an action which somehow pleased me far more than I could explain. And then, as the kiss kept going on and on and on, I began to slowly gyrate down below, grinding my pelvis up against his leg so that my pussy rubbed up furiously against him, needing him inside me as soon as was humanly possible, my body ready to collapse with want if this anticipation throbbed inside me for very much longer.

  At last, my dumb husband seemed to take the less than subtle hint I was laying down for him to ravish me, and my body was being lifted up into the air, practically supported atop his body by the hook of his boner. He slid his hands beneath the bathrobe and clutched two vicious handfuls of my ass for support, and with my legs wrapped tight around his body he began to carry me clumsily up the stairs, nearly toppling back over in his haste, but making it up without incident, and fumbling as he rattled our bedroom door shut behind us.