by R J Butler
I love your kissing; my husband never kisses me like you do. Will you teach him?
Sure, send him over. Although I’m not overly thrilled by the thought of kissing a man with a goatee.
I knew as I kissed her that she was melting, her determination to resist me weakening as I kissed her slender, brown neck. I took my shirt and tie off, trying to do so calmly while my cock strained against my trousers. I slid my hands down the back of her tracksuit bottoms and down her knickers, gently cupping her arse.
We shouldn’t be doing this, Rob.
I know, you’re right. I’m sorry, I got carried –
Kiss me again, God, kiss me.
I can’t, Dawn, I said, reaching for my shirt. Like you said, we shouldn’t.
It did the trick. She pushed me down on the settee, then, climbing on me, kissed me again, her tits dangling in front of me, those lovely chocolate-coloured nipples. I cupped her breast, lightly brushing my finger against her nipple, then took it in my mouth, circling my tongue around the hardened mammary. She groaned with pleasure. I pulled down her trousers while she helped me, wriggling out of them. Tearing off my jeans, we were now down to our underwear. She looked at the shape of my cock trapped inside my boxer shorts and started rubbing it, making it harder still, a large wet patch where my pre-cum had soaked the material. Shall we free him? she asked. All I could do was nod.
She held my cock gently and just stared at it, a slight smile on her lips. My, you’re big, such a big boy. Is it all for me? I mumbled something unintelligible. She licked her finger and ran it round the tip of my knob. She sucked the pre-cum off her fingers. Then she kissed the tip again, not a suck but a kiss. As she pulled away slightly, I noticed a thin string of pre-cum strung between my knob and her lips. Do you want me to suck it, hmm?
Aye, I said, in return. Yeah, gud have fhek shuck.
She giggled. Not sure I understood that but I’ll take it as a yes. And with that, she placed her mouth over my cock and sucked while caressing my balls. Time stood still. She started wanking me, her hand gripping me hard at the base. On each up stroke, my knob touched her lips. She licked her fingers and, most gently, rubbed my balls again while still sucking. She then ran her tongue up and down the shaft, admiring my purple dome. What a cock. He’s beautiful. So straight and hard. So big. Her mouth descended on it again and I watched as the ridge of my knob disappeared into her mouth, her cheek bulging with cock. Fuck, I want you so bad, she said, between mouthfuls.
She leant back and I saw the frenzied look in my eye. Under the cushion there’s a condom, she said, lying on her back. You are going to fuck me now and you’re going to fuck me good. You understand? I mean, I want it hard.
And so the moment had come – a beautiful, sleek woman, with her legs wide open, her shaved cunt glistening, waiting, demanding to be fucked, inviting me in. And it was all mine; what could I do?
Do it.
I clambered on top and kissed her while reaching down, stroking the inside of her thighs, subtly working my way up, inch by inch. She wrapped her arms round me and groaned louder as I rubbed either side of her cunt, feeling her juices but not touching her, delaying the moment. Then, most gently, I touched her clitoris as if it brushing it with a feather. It was enough for her to tense up and squeeze me violently. Oh God, she gasped. You’ve got to fuck me and fuck me NOW.
I plunged my cock into her, causing her to arch her back, causing her to scream a stream of obscenities. She kissed me hard, her tongue searching the inside of my mouth. This felt great, fucking a beautiful woman with total abandonment, my heavy balls slapping her perineum. I pumped and fucked, pumped and fucked while she seized my buttocks, digging her fingernails in. I felt her hand reach down. She’d grab my balls, cupping them while I fucked her. My, your balls are heavy, she muttered, between breaths. All that lovely cum, all for me. Do you want to spurt your cum, yeah? Do you wanna shoot your load into my wet pussy?
After a while, we swapped places. I lay back and managed to keep still, squirming with anticipation, my cock twitching, as she lowered herself, impaling herself on my dick. She rode me, cupping her tits, playing with her nipples. She leant back, displaying her shaved pussy to me, her hole plugged with my cock, my shaft glistening with her cunt juice, and started to rub her clitoris. I reached for her tits and bounced them in my hands. Oh, Rob, she gasped. Not only do you have a massive cock, you know how to use it. It really fills me up. I can feel it, reaching deep inside. Your wife is one lucky woman to have a cock like this at her beck and call.
Still on top of me, Dawn turned round to face the other way and leant forward. I now had a full view of her cunt going up and down on my shinny shaft, her labia wrapped round it. After a while, she extricated herself from me and, still facing away, inched backwards on her knees. What a sight – her swollen cunt heading rapidly towards me. She planted her pussy right onto my face, burying my mouth and nose in her wetness, and started grinding herself in circles. I was suffocating in her pussy and drowning in her cunt juice. Well, we all have to go sometime, I thought; what better way? I licked her cunt from behind as she groaned and grunted, pulling her labia apart, sucking, licking, swallowing her cream.
And so we made love on her brown leather sofa in her living room for an hour or more. I came with her sitting on top of me, her breasts inches away from my face, plunging into her as if my life depended on it. I came in huge spurts, thrusting violently as she screamed and gasped. I carried on for as long as I could, not satisfied until every last drop of cum had been ejaculated. She remained on top of me, both of us catching our breath. She began to feel heavy and finally she extricated herself from me and laid next to me on the sofa. Oh, honey, she said, that was awesome.
I smiled. Well, yes…
Subtly I turned my back on her and removed the condom.
Let’s see, she said. The request took me by surprise – she wanted to see? God, she exclaimed, there’s so much of it. Look all that lovely cum. Honey, when was the last time you had sex? I took it as a rhetorical question.
Afterwards we had time to cuddle and to come down but leaving was still difficult. Can’t you stay the night? she asked.
Oh, honey, I’d love to, I said. But I can’t.
Can’t you make some excuse?
I tried to think and no, I couldn’t think of anything even remotely plausible. She wouldn’t believe me, whatever I said. I’m sorry, Dawn.
So, you’re just going to leave me. Fuck me and leave me. Great. Don’t forget to wipe your dick on the curtain as you leave.
I was shocked by this outburst. Dawn, you know it’s not like that.
Do I?
Yes. I cupped her face in my hand. You know I have more respect for you than that.
So tomorrow, at work, you’re not going to ignore me?
Oh, Dawn, of course not.
By time I got home, it was gone half twelve and thankfully Emily had gone to bed. I made a cup of tea, went out into the garden and smoked a couple of cigarettes, slowly coming to terms with what I had just done. After fifteen years of marriage, I’d been unfaithful. I felt great.
We never did get chance to watch any of those DVDs.
Friday, 4th January
I slept well, no suffering conscience kept me awake, no fitful dreams laden with guilt disturbed my slumber, but I awoke with a start and for a few moments I wondered why. It was 7 a.m. And then of course I remembered, the memory came flooding back – I had had sex with Dawn. I turned and gazed at the dozing figure next to me and waited for the guilt to kick in. Five minutes and I waited, wanting it to come, wanting to feel the grip of shame but as the seconds ticked by and I watched the duvet rise and fall with Emily’s steady breath, my heart remained unencumbered by remorse. I realised then that having eaten the forbidden apple, having devoured it whole, I wanted to experience its delight again – and again. The only concern I felt as I lay there was regarding Dawn. I hated the thought she might wake up feeling sullied. I decided I had to see her straightaway,
to hold her, to reassure her that I hadn’t simply used her and that, having got my way I wasn’t about to disappear, to ‘wipe my dick on the curtain as I left’, as she so elegantly put it last night.
Emily’s a heavy sleeper, always has been. I envy the way she can come to bed, close the light and be gently snoring within seconds. So getting out of bed, showering, dressing and slipping out of the house unnoticed wasn’t difficult. As I was leaving I thought I heard Lola stir, so closing the front door quietly, I slipped away. I’d had no breakfast but the emotions stirring within me had stripped away my appetite.
I stopped the car half a mile up the road and rang Dawn’s mobile. No answer. I tried her landline. On the fifth ring she answered. She asked what time it was.
Listen, can I come over?
What, now? Sure.
Twenty minutes later, I was there, excited by the thought of seeing her again. I pressed the buzzer and bounded up the two flights of stairs. She opened the door and stood before me, dressed in a silky nightie, sky blue, strands of hair over her face. She looked sleepy and dishevelled; she looked beautiful. I hesitated for a moment but she seemed pleased to see me, so I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her. She smelt warm and inviting. She burrowed her face into my neck.
In the kitchen I accepted her offer of tea.
That was some night last night, she said.
Yes. Amazing. The word seemed inadequate. But are you OK?
She smiled. I am now that you’re here.
Good, I said, breathing a sigh of relief. I just wanted to make sure, you know…
Yeah. I appreciate it. Thank you for coming. Can you stay long?
Not really, I wish I could.
Don’t worry; I understand. Was everything OK when you got home?
It was fine.
Taking our teas, she led me through to the living room and we sat down on her settee. We should have watched one of your DVDs.
What, the one directed by Werner Phizog?
Werner Herzog, you ignoramus.
Well, I admit I chose films I hoped you wouldn’t like. That was the idea. It almost backfired.
She put on a look of aghast. You… I thought as much, you scheming toe rag, you. She punched me in the arm, laughing. Oh, Robbie, that was so good last night. For an older man, you’ve got a lot of stamina.
Hey, less of the old.
So erm, she stroked my thigh, how about, you know, if you have time…
Oh God, Dawn, I’d love to but –
I know, I know, you’ve got to get to work. I did. I had a meeting with Heather and you don’t arrive late when Heather’s involved. How about later? Your lunch hour?
Really? Wow. OK. About twelve?
It’s a date! I’ll be here for you, baby. Don’t keep me waiting now.
Heather’s meeting took place in the large, sterile Conference Room. Anyone with a smidgen of responsibility had been invited, so that excluded the likes of Sean, Loretta and Ernie. Paul flounced in a couple minutes late (very inadvisable) with his usual swagger and was promptly assigned to take the minutes for his troubles. That took the wind out of his sails; it would mean he’d have to concentrate now. For a moment I thought he was going to swing his arms about, ape-like, and say, It’s not fair.
Heather, whose diction is usually that of a BBC announcer, muttered a reluctant Happy New Year to us and then, having got that out of the way, commenced. This was our quarterly Team Meeting, the important one, which to miss is not an option. So annual leave, sick children, house on fire, cat turned rabid, etc, nothing can get you out of this one. Except death. One’s own. Here, Heather reviews performance, our delivery targets, and expects progress reports which must contain evidence of real progress. So when she questions the validity of the findings from the Absenteeism Report, Karen twiddles her pen and takes an interest in a piece of fluff on her jacket. You shoot her a quick glance because you can’t help yourself but it’s not to gloat because if haven’t already been ritually humiliated you know your turn is not long in coming. It’s traditionally a long meeting but is not actually the slightest bit dull because of the fear factor.
Nonetheless, my mind wanders occasionally. It’s twelve hours since I’ve had sex with the gorgeous Dawn, the most attractive woman I’ve yet to meet and I’m beginning to wonder whether it really happened or whether my feverish mind had simply made it all up. I’d like to tell Paul but I won’t because I’m not that stupid but part of me, the macho part, yearns to boast and to glow in the satisfaction of his admiration and envy. One month ago she was merely a colleague; six months ago I never even knew of her existence, and now, here she is, my… what? My lover? Mistress? Girlfriend? Was it the start of something or a one-off? If the former, where would it go; how would it end? If the latter, how would I look back on January 3rd in the months and years to come? As an aberration, an affront to the sanctity of my marriage? Or an oasis I chanced upon in the unending desert of my sexual existence? What a terrible metaphor! And completely unfounded as my sex life with Emily is far from unsatisfactory.
Heather drones on and is onto objective setting and the use of SMART targets. SMART – a tedious acronym that signifies objectives that are Specific, Measurable, Arsey, Ridiculous and Twattish. God, I need to escape this place; God, I long to be back in Dawn’s arms; God, I so want to fuck her again. But we still have to endure the round-the-table listing of current priorities, where we each state what we’re currently working on. No one listens except Heather because she wants to, and Paul because, as minute taker, he has to.
Robin? Your priorities?
Er, yes, well my main priority, I guess, is to get my arse over to Dawn’s as fast as possible, kiss her, slide my finger down the front of her knickers and finger her deliciously wet cunt.
Sorry?
I mean, currently I’m working on….
It’s twelve and the meeting finishes. Not because Heather is any respecter of lunch hours, being of the ‘lunch is for wimps’ generation, but because, finally, after 2½ hours, she’s covered everything on her agenda in detail. Also, she has another meeting to attend. It’s amazing to think a woman like Heather has actually got a boss. But I can picture the relationship – he feels intimidated by her, knows she’d do his job better; can’t answer any of her queries, and rues the day he took her on, even though she was by far the best candidate and never fails to deliver. Bit like me and my wife.
Paul comes out of the meeting with me, huffing and shaking his head. That was a tough one, he says.
Why? Because you had to work for the first time in two years?
Hey, now that’s not fair. Anyway, I shall ignore your ignoble statement and ask whether you fancy a bite in De Nero’s?
Oh, Paul, can’t today. Would love to and all that but you know…
No. What?
Well, things to do. Shopping, dry cleaners, that sort of thing. If only you knew, I thought, if only you knew.
It’s cold and windy outside and I haven’t a coat or jacket. The car’s hardly had time to warm up when I arrive at Dawn’s. Still in her silky dressing gown, she greets me with a hug. I’ve been counting the hours till you came back, she purrs in my ear.
Oh, honey, so have I. Can’t tell you how dull my morning was. Couldn’t concentrate.
Well you’re here now. Where’s your jacket? You must be freezing.
Not now, not in your arms.
We kiss; warm and delicious. Still no regrets? she asks.
Hmm? Regrets? I’ve had a few…
Oh yes, go on, too few to mention. Very droll.
But no, I haven’t. Have you?
Her eyes dart to one side. No, she says softly. Maybe but everything seems all right when I’m in your arms.