home.”
“Nice.”
“And on the way home I was stroking him through his pants. I think he wanted to do me in his car on the way home.”
“But you said it was okay in our house?”
“I told him you were asleep, you wouldn’t wake up.”
I kissed her mouth, then she was stroking my cock, and I pulled her panties up her thighs and slipped my fingers back inside her wicked pussy. She was so wet, like I’d never felt her before. I grabbed hold of my cock and rubbed it against her hot, wet pussy, coating it in her juices before slipping its tip inside her.
Then I’d slip it out, stoop to cover her sex with my mouth again, tasting her sweet sex again.
I was in no rush. I went slowly to avoid coming too quickly, and Diana was stroking her clit and my cock when I wasn’t eating her, when I was fucking her.
Then I lay on her, thrusting into her while kissing her mouth, her neck, her breasts, sucking her hard nipples into my mouth, breathing in that strange scent of Diana’s lover, of a strange man who had come all over her chest.
I kissed her, I fucked her, I ate her, but ultimately I didn’t last particularly long, even if I tried my best. She rolled on top of me, sliding my hardness inside her, and rode me without mercy, and it wasn’t five or six strokes before I erupted deep within her.
She was beaming, ear-to-ear as she collapsed next to me.
“I’ve decided to stop my therapy sessions,” she said.
“You have?”
“I don’t think I need it right now. I have this instead.”
“This?”
She reached over to take hold of my softening manhood. “It’s not a one-off, is it?” she asked.
“One-off? Tonight?”
“Your little thing about me cheating on you. Now it’s happened, you think you’d want it to again?”
“Oh, yes. Definitely.”
“Then that’s why I don’t need therapy right now.”
<<<>>>
A Mistress For My Wife
1
“Somebody was hitting on me at the gym tonight.”
When Ana said that to me as I came home late from work one evening, it really wasn’t much of a surprise. Three times a week I saw her return from her regular workouts wearing those little skin-tight lycra outfits, and seeing her like that, I was usually hitting on her as a result. She’d earned a little admiration from those around her.
But it did make me uncomfortable to hear that other guys were coming on to her.
“You wear your wedding ring when you work out?”
“Of course.”
“And he saw it?”
Sitting there on the couch tucking into a bowl full of last night’s leftovers, Ana wrinkled her nose briefly, said, “It was pretty obvious. So you’re mad at me? Rob?”
“No. At him. For showing you no respect. For showing me no respect.”
Actually, I was kind of interested how angry it did make me. It was a rare occasion -- I’m not an angry person, I’m not a hothead. I’m a diversity officer at a mid-sized college that will remain nameless -- part of my job is about dealing with anger, tackling conflict.
I wasn’t angry at my wife. Inside, I was quietly proud of her for looking as good as she did. She had no reason to do quite so many sessions at the staff gym as she did, I’d have adored her all the same. But she always complained that the Puerto Rican heritage on her mother’s side meant she would be destined for a spare tire or two if she wasn’t careful.
Yet I was feeling something under my calm exterior. A guy can’t just stand by and let someone else move in on his woman.
“I guess that’s what a girl wants to hear...” Ana put her bowl down on the coffee table and stood up, approaching me, hands reaching over my shoulders, pulling me in for a reassuring kiss. “Her husband still wants her. He’d still fight for her if some brute threw down the gauntlet.”
Had she merely been testing me? Such a thing wouldn’t be out of the question for Ana. Really, the frequency with which I tried to peel off her sports bras and get
“Nice.”
“And on the way home I was stroking him through his pants. I think he wanted to do me in his car on the way home.”
“But you said it was okay in our house?”
“I told him you were asleep, you wouldn’t wake up.”
I kissed her mouth, then she was stroking my cock, and I pulled her panties up her thighs and slipped my fingers back inside her wicked pussy. She was so wet, like I’d never felt her before. I grabbed hold of my cock and rubbed it against her hot, wet pussy, coating it in her juices before slipping its tip inside her.
Then I’d slip it out, stoop to cover her sex with my mouth again, tasting her sweet sex again.
I was in no rush. I went slowly to avoid coming too quickly, and Diana was stroking her clit and my cock when I wasn’t eating her, when I was fucking her.
Then I lay on her, thrusting into her while kissing her mouth, her neck, her breasts, sucking her hard nipples into my mouth, breathing in that strange scent of Diana’s lover, of a strange man who had come all over her chest.
I kissed her, I fucked her, I ate her, but ultimately I didn’t last particularly long, even if I tried my best. She rolled on top of me, sliding my hardness inside her, and rode me without mercy, and it wasn’t five or six strokes before I erupted deep within her.
She was beaming, ear-to-ear as she collapsed next to me.
“I’ve decided to stop my therapy sessions,” she said.
“You have?”
“I don’t think I need it right now. I have this instead.”
“This?”
She reached over to take hold of my softening manhood. “It’s not a one-off, is it?” she asked.
“One-off? Tonight?”
“Your little thing about me cheating on you. Now it’s happened, you think you’d want it to again?”
“Oh, yes. Definitely.”
“Then that’s why I don’t need therapy right now.”
<<<>>>
A Mistress For My Wife
1
“Somebody was hitting on me at the gym tonight.”
When Ana said that to me as I came home late from work one evening, it really wasn’t much of a surprise. Three times a week I saw her return from her regular workouts wearing those little skin-tight lycra outfits, and seeing her like that, I was usually hitting on her as a result. She’d earned a little admiration from those around her.
But it did make me uncomfortable to hear that other guys were coming on to her.
“You wear your wedding ring when you work out?”
“Of course.”
“And he saw it?”
Sitting there on the couch tucking into a bowl full of last night’s leftovers, Ana wrinkled her nose briefly, said, “It was pretty obvious. So you’re mad at me? Rob?”
“No. At him. For showing you no respect. For showing me no respect.”
Actually, I was kind of interested how angry it did make me. It was a rare occasion -- I’m not an angry person, I’m not a hothead. I’m a diversity officer at a mid-sized college that will remain nameless -- part of my job is about dealing with anger, tackling conflict.
I wasn’t angry at my wife. Inside, I was quietly proud of her for looking as good as she did. She had no reason to do quite so many sessions at the staff gym as she did, I’d have adored her all the same. But she always complained that the Puerto Rican heritage on her mother’s side meant she would be destined for a spare tire or two if she wasn’t careful.
Yet I was feeling something under my calm exterior. A guy can’t just stand by and let someone else move in on his woman.
“I guess that’s what a girl wants to hear...” Ana put her bowl down on the coffee table and stood up, approaching me, hands reaching over my shoulders, pulling me in for a reassuring kiss. “Her husband still wants her. He’d still fight for her if some brute threw down the gauntlet.”
Had she merely been testing me? Such a thing wouldn’t be out of the question for Ana. Really, the frequency with which I tried to peel off her sports bras and get
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