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I wobble home. Back to my boring life, my walls still throbbing, pussy fucked out the box.
“Whose pussy is this, huh?” Charles leans in, and bites my right nipple over the flimsy fabric of my blouse.
I shriek in ecstasy. Tell him shit I’m not sure is true. “Yours. Oh, dear God, yes. It’s all yours, baby. Mmm.” But in the heat of the moment it feels right. It feels…uh…it feels…mmmm…oooh…it feels like the closest thing to whatever truths I conjure up in my mind, contradictions and all.
That this thing between us—these fuck sessions, the late-night texts, the naughty IMs and email exchanges, the backseat romps—can all stop…if, if, oooh, if…I wanted them to. That this married, wet, horny, throbbing pussy belongs to this married fat, juicy dick-having man even when I know it shouldn’t.
Yes, I’m married.
He’s married.
And we’re having a dirty office romance. And, yes, sometimes there’s a glimmer of regret every time I step through the door of my gated home and have to look into my husband Craig’s eyes. But it’s always quickly replaced with justifications as to why I cheated on him in the first place. He doesn’t turn me on, anymore. He’s boring. He lost his drive. He never wants to do anything. Never wants to try new things. He’s always complaining.
And the sex…
“Oh God!” I squeal, feeling my juices squish and slosh out of me as Charles’ dick glides in and out of my weeping cunt, slick and cum-coated. The muffled thumping of his muscled thighs hitting up against the back of my toned legs and the clickety-click-click of my wet pussy is a sensual melody to my ears as he power-fucks his way in and out of my heated center.
Charles licks and nibbles the back of my right calf, then my left, as he fucks me on my desk. I turn my head, and catch a glimpse of the back of the crystal picture frame holding the photo of Craig and me. A photo we’d taken our last night in Hawaii, several months prior to my, mmm…oooh…God, yes…my, my, indiscretions.
It had been an unexpected trip. One I wanted no part of. Being an IT manager, Craig’s company had decided to send him to a three-day conference. He saw it as a second chance. I saw it as an inconvenience. He said it’d be a chance for us to rekindle sparks that had long fizzled in our marriage.
But, for me, paradise was for lovers. Something Craig and I were not. Not anymore, that is. We were simply a boring married couple living a boring married life having boring occasional sex—in my opinion, of course. We were stuck in a rut, getting along, and moving along. And I did what I had to do to keep peace in our home, and in our marriage—for the sake of the kids.
Of course, Craig hadn’t gotten the memo—that I was bored with him, that I was unhappy with him—since I’d never shared my sentiments with him. Well, not to that degree. As far as he was concerned, there was still hope for us. Unfortunately, I didn’t share his enthusiasm.
Still, after several days of me making excuses as to why I couldn’t go—and, then, several more days of being browbeaten by Craig about why I needed to go. About him needing to spend quality time with me, his wife—I reluctantly caved in, and agreed to go.
Surprisingly, once I allowed myself to relax and live in the moment, the trip turned out to be a lot of fun. And I came back feeling refreshed and with a half-hearted commitment to try to give my marriage another shot. If for nothing else, then for the children, especially since we both believed they deserved a home with both parents in their lives.
The trip hadn’t changed my feelings toward Craig. If anything, it made it painfully clearer that I’d outgrown him, us. But I’d stay with him. And suffer in silence. Well, at least until the kids turned eighteen.
But…
Then this happens. My torrid affair with a man I can’t seem to get enough of. The man I’m willing to risk dangling over the edge for. Charles. Ohgod! He’s everything Craig is not. Charles is driven. Spontaneous. Open-minded. Inhibited. Daring. Adventurous. And unpredictable.
And the sex…oooh, yes…the sex is everything. Charles gives me life. He has me doing things I’ve never even done with my husband. And he makes it easier for me to endure going home, knowing that he’ll be here with dick in hand, waiting to fuck me back to life.
I blink away any convoluted thoughts of Craig, and with a swipe of my hand, I knock the picture frame over as Charles changes his strokes. Slow, deep…fast, shallow…deep, deep, deeper, faster, faster…slower, slower, shallow, deep…deeper, faster…
“Ooh, oooh, oooh, aaaah…yes, yes, yes.”
I wish I could say horrible things about Craig. God knows I do. But I can’t. He’s a good man, and a great father to our daughters. But I don’t feel the same kind of love for him I once did. I care for him, deeply. But I’ve fallen out of love with him. There was a time when he was a great lover, too. Sex with Craig was everything, in the beginning. There was a time when all he had to do was look at me, or walk into the room, and I’d instantly become wet with desire.
But then…I don’t know, after the twins were born, something changed. Gradually, I changed. I wanted more, sexually. Wanted to experience new things, sexually. Wanted to explore…sexuality, mine.
I married Craig not because of the size of his dick, but because of the size of his heart. I knew he’d make a good husband and great father. But there was never any open conversation about my changes, about what I now needed, wanted, without fear of feelings getting in the way. So I simply pushed on, ignored what I wanted, and pretended. I’m still pretending. And it’s killing me.
Now when he touches me, I cringe inside. Not because he repulses me, but because I am disgusted with myself for not telling him this, for not wanting to let him go. Craig deserves better than what I can give him. He deserves to be loved in the same way he loves me. He deserves to be desired in the same way that he desires me. I know I should tell him this. But I can’t hurt him. Taking our children from him would devastate him.
Still, even if I wanted to, I am not prepared to leave Craig. We’ve built a life together. A good one. One I am not ready to let give up. One I know he isn’t willing to let go of, either. Besides, he doesn’t deserve to be hurt. And I know that I can never be with Charles. He’s not leaving his wife and three children for me. And I don’t expect him to.
So…oooh…mmm…so…
I stay with what’s comfortable and consistent—no matter how boring, no matter how unhappy I am in it because, regardless of my situation, it is in these moments when I am with Charles being fucked that I am my happiest. Primal need runs hot in my blood, like lava.
Boiling.
Roiling.
