18 comments/ 35904 views/ 12 favorites 3 Fucks and Out By: Catmoore It was a lonely year. Richard, my corporate lawyer husband was travelling even more frequently. He was in New York at least every other week and sometimes every week. It was rare that he had more than fifteen nights at home in a month and most of that time he was either, jet lagged or, preparing for a trip. On top of that, when he was at the firm's London office, where he was a partner, he was working on big mergers and acquisitions that required meetings well into the night and he 'had to' entertain existing and potential clients. I didn't see him that much, but that's the price you have to pay, I suppose, to earn over two million a year, and that's pound sterling! His increased absence from home coincided with my daughter going off to university where our son had been for the past two years. Hence, my loneliness. Then I went to back work. * It was a sexually frustrating year. The loneliness had an influence on our marriage. I have always had a high sex drive, which Richard for many years had managed to satisfy. This year he wasn't doing that so I was almost permanently frustrated. I didn't know what to do to overcome it, other than masturbate more frequently and involve myself in other hobbies and pastimes. I took up golf by having lessons, I went back to tennis, which I had played when I was younger and I joined a gym throwing myself into getting fit. I played around a bit on the Internet, wrote some erotic stories that I published on Literotica, which promoted some email exchanges that led to some quite interestingly, horny evenings. I was tempted to meet a couple of guys, not together, but didn't. I had to try to get our marriage back on track. When Richard was home I was extra nice to him. I prepared his favourite meals, accompanied him on business dinners and stopped bitching about the hours he worked and his murderous travel schedule. I started to take the initiative with sex. I would cuddle up to him in bed, rub my breasts against his back, put my arm round him and stroke his stomach and caress his cock. I would walk around in just my panties or those and my bra. I went down on him and swallowed his cum and I discretely offered him something he had once been so keen about, anal penetration! I suggested we take up photography again and offered to strip for him as he took shots of me. I bought a vibrator and used it on myself as he watched and then on him. Some of it worked, but most didn't. In the end I realised it wasn't helping that much and with some distraught had to acknowledge that the marriage was on the rocks and heading for only one thing, divorce. Maybe as a sop to my female ego 'how he could he not want me?' I even thought he was having affairs, he certainly had every opportunity. Nothing really improved so I went back to work. * It was a learning and broadening my outlook year. I had been back at work for a couple of months. It had been such a hassle with Richard when I told him that I was getting a job, but the more he argued and tried to stop me the more persistent I became. I hadn't worked for the best part of ten years and I simply loved the relaxed, jokey, flirtatious way of the modern work environment in a Mercedes car showroom. Alright, at forty five being one of the oldest in the dealership was a bit off-putting, but I coped. Largely due to my copywriting experience I had managed to fiddle my way into being the Regional Marketing Manager for a national group of dealers. It was hugely therapeutic and really did help me overcome my loneliness. Whilst I was employed part-time, I worked flexi-time and usually worked far more hours than my contract required, I just loved being there. I loved chatting and meeting people, I loved the attention I got and I loved the salesmen particularly flirting with me. There was loads of extra-curricular activity. Nearly every evening a few went to the pub and every Friday nearly everyone, well those in Sales, went there often staying quite late. Once a month there was some sort of social event, bowling, go karting, watching a football match or playing softball or netball, usually 'boys against the girls.' Slowly I found myself being drawn into this, for me unusual type of social life. After a few months, I was going to most of them and was at the pub two or three times a week. I knew it was dangerous. I was aware that my resolve was being tested, that temptation was all around me and that almost wherever I looked there were extra marital opportunities being dangled at me. As I got to know the team I learned that many had been divorced and that there had been numerous affairs between members of the group. I found it quite strange, but reassuring in a way that so little was said about it and that flings between couples, both of whom were often in a relationship were taken as being so matter of fact and 'just one of those things and now whose round is it?' Although I didn't go to the pub as often or stay as long when Richard was home I still went and didn't get home to nine or so. It didn't seem to bother him at all as it also didn't when I started helping out the sales team by working on Saturdays and Sundays. We still had sex, but it was more a cursory gesture certainly on his part, or so it seemed, but worryingly now also more on mine as well. * It became an action year too. Fuck one – the young man, how corny! I suppose it was inevitable. Maybe it was what I was looking for? Perhaps I saw the tennis club as a means to an end? Possibly deep down I imagined I would meet men in no strings attached situations? I really don't know, but it was and I did. But I swear I never looked for it or promoted it, things like the young man and me just happen, I don't think they can be planned. Craig was an outstanding tennis player. When younger he had been almost, but not quite good enough to play at Wimbledon and be a pro. He had been the club champion at my club so many times he had stopped entering it to give others a chance. We had been paired together for a home counties 'junior and senior' tournament for people of our disparate ages; he just qualified being twenty, the max for the junior was twenty one, but I made it easily being in my early forties, the minimum for the seniors being thirty five. This meant travelling to away matches up to fifty miles away and spending considerable time together both practising and playing and of course in the car. Although we had known each other for a few years we got to know each other much better and I liked him even more, worryingly more. After a few weeks of becoming increasingly closer, I still didn't have any sexual thoughts about him, but looking back, I could see how they gradually came about. Due to his tennis ability, he had been a 'star' from an early age. He acted like one. Not cocky or arrogant, but confident and assured. He was about six three and muscular, yet lithe, as male tennis players need to be nowadays. He was nicely tanned and had longish, dark brown hair. He was handsome and all the younger girls at the club as good as 'swooned' over him, but then so did some of the older ones. His tennis ability had another enormous influence on his life. He had neglected his studies, but his high degree of raw intelligence was very evident to me; he had the same level of panty dropping intellect as I had seen in Richard, my husband, many years ago. I hadn't really known Craig well, other than seeing him at the club, nodding to him and smiling occasionally. We'd played in mixed comps at the club a couple of times and had danced once or twice at club dos, but that was it, before I was asked to partner him in this competition. Craig and I practised a few times and I enjoyed it. We played a couple of matches, one away and one at home, we won them both. As is traditional we kissed after a match. We talked on the way back in the car. Even looking back now and trying to recall any hints, there was nothing in those early days to suggest what would happen over the next few months. It started at an evening practise session. When we finished, he put his arm round me and pecked me on my cheek. Then as we walked off the court he kept his arm round my shoulder. That happened a couple more times as we walked off with other pairs there. It looked innocent, I think. However, looking back, that was the start and I have to own up, it felt nice. But then, what forty something woman wouldn't find it nice having a twenty year old man's arm round her? A few evenings later we had a practise session prior to a match the following day in Croydon some hour or so away by car. The same thing happened. I ask myself now if I could have done anything different, but have no answer. That session I had felt his eyes on me looking down my low front, watching my tits jiggle as I ran. I swear the fact that I was not wearing a big, ugly sports bra, but instead a lacy, pretty one was unconscious, just as was the lowness of the front of my top and the shortness of the pale blue skirt I had chosen to wear. "Looks as though we're the last here" he said as we walked into the club house. It was often the case that a few of the members stayed late and the club had a system whereby the last away had to telephone the secretary who explained how to set the alarm, the code of which he changed frequently. "Yes so it does," I replied feeling a little uncomfortable, but also I have to admit slightly tingly because his arm was still around my shoulders. "Are you going to have a shower?" He asked as we approached the small clubhouse. "No I'll have one when I get home." I didn't feel that comfortable stripping off in the ladies with Craig as the only other person in the building. On top of that my long, ash blonde coloured hair took ages to dry if I washed it and would go all frizzy if I showered with a plastic shower cap on. I didn't want him to see me like that so I just ran my hands under a tap and kept my hair in a pony-tail. "Your husband still in New York?" "Yes he is," I told him as we walked up the steps his arm still draped loosely round my shoulders. "Do you miss him?" "In some ways yes, but I am used to it." As we walked through the narrow doorway he had to remove his arm. I felt relieved, but then he placed it in the small of my back. It's sometimes so difficult to know with men, when they are making a pass and when they are just being friendly and polite. I just had no idea about this twenty-year old Adonis' intentions. "Which ways are they?" He asked, starting to provide me with clues on his intentions. "Never you mind young man" I replied smiling, turning and looking at him. "But Cat I do mind, after all I don't want my partner upset and off her game do I?" "How do you mean?" "You know." "No I don't." "Well you know what I mean." "Let's leave it shall we?" I said feeling a little flushed and awkward as we walked through the clubhouse. "Would you like a drink Cat?" "How can we?" "I've got a key to the bar." "Where did you get that from?" "They lent us the key once and we got some extra ones cut." "That's very naughty" I said, realising I was sounding very mumsy. "So? What's wrong with a little naughtiness if no one gets hurt?" He asked. I ignored the second part of his phrase; I could see where that might lead. "No I'm fine." "Cat I know full well you are fine," he said quite pointedly looking at my C cup breasts as we walked down the corridor towards the back door where we had to phone the secretary. He put his arm back round my shoulders. "Very fine." "Craig, be careful" I stammered seeing clearly where this was headed. "What do you mean?" "I'm a married woman" I replied rather lamely. "I know that and so what?" He said as we reached the door, his arm still round my shoulders. "I think you should remove your arm." "Really?" "Yes, really." We stopped by the door. We faced each other, his hand now on my shoulder, not round them. "We have to phone Clive, you or me?" He asked. "It doesn't matter," I stuttered as he reached across me for the phone on the wall. He didn't pick it up. I turned, pressing my back against the wall. He stood in front of me, his arm was across me, his face very close. He moved closer. We were just inches apart. He reached down and gripped both of my wrists. I felt powerless to stop him. He pulled both of my arms upward and outwards. My back was pressed against the wall. He pulled my wrists until my arms were stretched from my body in a crucifixion position, which pushed my full boobs out. "No" I groaned as he leaned forward. "You sure you mean no?" he asked, his lips almost touching mine. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't move or say anything. I was transfixed, scared, excited, worried, concerned and, yes I had to admit it, well I do now, I didn't then, interested and aroused. I didn't answer his question. His mouth found mine. I pulled away. "Stop it, please," I said, knowing that I sounded unconvincing, for really that was how I felt. I didn't pull my body away, I didn't really struggle and I certainly didn't move away as his lips found mine again. This time he kissed me. I began to gain an understanding of the conflicts with rape; my body was saying yes, but my mind was screaming no! I didn't kiss him back, but then I didn't tear my mouth away. He was still holding my wrists with my arms pulled away out from my body and my back pressed against the wall. He pressed himself against me squashing my breasts and thrusting his erection against my stomach. His tongue was pressing against my closed lips, probing and enquiring. I had never been in such a situation. I felt my lips moving, they were parting and my mouth was opening. It was unconscious, involuntary and completely unplanned, but I was accepting his enquiry. His tongue surged into me finding my tongue, teeth and gums, pressing against them and licking all round my mouth. He let go of my wrists, one arm went round me downwards and the other landed on my breast. He squeezed and I moaned. At last, somehow and I have no idea where the resolve came from, I regained my senses. "No Craig, stop it this is ridiculous" I said sternly, pulling myself away from him. "Ok, Cat, I'm sorry," he said very contritely. "I didn't mean to push you like that, I wouldn't want you to do anything you don't want to do." We didn't say much more to each other that evening. I went home and showered and then found myself masturbating. You can guess what was in my mind as I stroked and rubbed and caressed my breasts and nipples and my lips and clit. And he was an exceedingly good mental fuck. Perhaps the worst aspect of my evening was when my daughter, came home from a friend's house and asked if I'd had a good evening! We lost the next day. In fact we were well beaten by a pair who we should have well beaten. I would happily own up if it had been mainly my fault, but it wasn't. I played ok, Craig was well off form, doing many double faults, not getting his angles correct and missing several easy vollies. In many ways I was pleased that we were travelling home separately for it meant we didn't have to confront the situation of last night. But we had to confront it again a few days later for once more we were the last two at the club. As we left the court, I was hellishly nervous, even though Craig didn't put his arm round my shoulders. It was quite a lot cooler that evening than it had been the last time we practised so we were both wearing track-suits over our tennis clothes. I had, though removed the tracky bottoms, but had kept the zip up top on. This time I was wearing a big, sports bra. "I guess you don't fancy a drink do you?" He asked as we got near to the small bar. "Probably best not to," I replied as we passed the closed and locked door and got to the back door of the club, right where we had kissed a few days ago. I stopped in roughly the same position and for some unexplainable reason I turned so my back was almost against the wall. He faced me. "I really am sorry for the other night Cat." I smiled. "It's ok?" "Really?" He quipped back quickly. "Yes really." "So you didn't really mind?" "No, yes, look I didn't say that, I mean oh sod it." "What, why sod it?" "You're making me tongue tied," I stammered, realising this wasn't going at all in the way I wanted. "Oh dear, sorry" Craig said moving a little closer. Part of me wanted to move away, pick up the phone, lock the bloody club and rush away. Another part, I began to realise with quite some alarm, didn't. I was curious, intrigued, sort of interested in how this might pan out. 'Surely' I thought' I don't want that to happen again?' My mind was racing and I was confused as he leaned further forward. 'Surely I don't want him to go further, oh fuck.' I was thinking as he put his hand on my hip, moved his face very close to mine, smiled and said quietly. "How can I stop that?" I didn't know what he meant. "Stop what?" "You being tongue tied of course," he said one of his fingers slipping across the collar of my shiny track suit and softly rubbing my neck. I can't explain why, but for some reason that was one of the most erotic gestures I had ever experienced. "Oh Craig." "Oh Cat" he smiled. "What?" "I don't know." "Don't know what?" He whispered, his hand sliding round my waist. I didn't and couldn't reply. "I know how to stop the tongue tied thing." "How?" I asked realising our faces were just inches apart. "Like this" he whispered, his hand moving up and pressing on the side of my face as he closed the gap between our faces. We kissed again. Once more my lips were closed. I wanted to stop, I wanted to go on, I wanted to finish this ridiculous activity, I wanted him to leave me alone, I wanted to be faithful to my husband and family, I wanted to avoid getting involved with a man and I wanted to stop this almost teenager making advances towards me. Wanting all those things, what did I do? I opened my lips. And I guess by that relatively simple gesture I accepted his request. Parting my lips was me effectively agreeing with him and accepting his need. Yes, by opening my mouth to him I was, metaphorically opening my legs and effectively saying to him that he could have me. He knew it and I knew it. We both knew now that he was going to fuck me. What neither of us knew, though, was where and when. Those questions were answered in the most graphic, obvious and exhilarating ways possible very quickly. He was tongue fucking my mouth and I was going with his every surge and plunge, even though much of me wanted to stop. I was writhing my lips against his as equally strongly now as his were against mine, despite me knowing I shouldn't. But then I shouldn't have let him squash my breasts with his chest, thrust his erection against my stomach or put his hand on my bum. I should have stopped there and then. I should not have let him cup my breasts outside my tennis top, but inside the unzipped track top. And most certainly I should have stopped him slipping his hand inside my top at the front and up my skirt at the back. But I didn't, something was preventing me stopping him. I simply couldn't. I was kissing him passionately and, or so it must have felt to him, hungrily, but that was how he was making me feel. My body was hungry for him, he had teased and titillated it primed and manipulated it and was now taking what I guess he thought was rightly his; it And that was how I was fucked by a man other than my husband for the first time for so many years. My tracky top came off and he pushed my tennis vest up. He was caressing my breasts in my big, tight sports bra and fiddling his fingers inside it right onto the tingling, sensitive flesh. At the same time his hands were on my panties, they were on my bum, inside the thin knickers and on the flesh of the two cheeks. He was rubbing and squeezing them. As he did those things he was also thrusting his erection harder and more firmly against me, sort of dry fucking me. 3 Fucks and Out Any last vestige of resistance I may have had was now vanishing rapidly. The tiny bit that was left, for it still hadn't occurred to me that we might fuck right there and then, rushed out of the window when he took my hand, pulled on it and placed it right on his bare cock, which somehow he'd exposed. That was the last barrier removed. I was his now; I was putty in his hands. His cock was awesomely big and welcomingly hard. My panties were pushed down, maybe off, I didn't know. He lifted the hem of my short skirt and made me whimper as he pressed the end of his cock right against my clit. He was holding and squeezing both cheeks of my bum as his mouth ravaged my breasts and nipples. He lifted me up. I couldn't believe what was happening, my legs were wrapped round his waist, my back was pressed against the wall as his cock slid effortlessly into me. As we started to fuck with our mouths clamped together that scene from Basic Instinct where Michael Douglas shags the psychiatrist against a wall came into my mind. And that was how I was fucked by a man other than my husband for the first time for so many years. * Fuck two - the co-worker. I suppose it was inevitable. Maybe it was what I was looking for? Perhaps I saw work as a means to an end? Possibly deep down I imagined I would meet men in no strings situations? I really don't know, but it was and I did. I swear, though, I never looked for it or promoted it, things like Patrick and me just happen, I don't think they can be planned. In some ways I guess it was a classic work place romance, a predictable work colleagues' affair. Patrick was one of the directors and he was my boss. He was just older than me, nearly fifty and lived in an upscale North London suburb which was just about ten miles from where I lived. He too was married with two children. His wife was known in the office and didn't seem to be liked. She was heavily into politics and was a local Tory party councillor, but was trying to get adopted for a parliamentary seat in Kent so she was away from home quite a lot. As we got to know each other better, that became very usefu! I suppose it developed and followed a fairly predictable path. We worked closely together, probably closer than was really necessary. We had to attend meetings together, both in the office, at the regional head office, at various agencies we used and at the national HQ. Most of the agencies were close by or in London, but both the Regional and National Head Offices were some way away so we had to travel to them usually travelling together in his top of the range Merc. We got to know each other pretty well, we talked of many things including our personal lives, which I soon learned were dangerous discussion topics. We started to work late and have lunches together sometimes with agencies or consultancies, but now and then just the two of us, ostensibly to discuss work. We had drinks after work, just the two of us, he gave me lifts to the station and then. "Maybe we could have dinner one night Cat, perhaps when we are both at a loose end having been partner dumped?" I wondered whether that was that just a plutonic gesture, the intimacy trail or, the road to a fuck? Staying late at the office, mild flirting, lifts to the station, the odd drinks after work even lunch are all part of work. Yes they may be extensions of it and they may bring the participants closer together, but they can always be viewed as work; they are usually in work time so they can be justified as that. Dinner is different. It is out of work hours, it isn't part of the working day, it intrudes on one's personal time and cannot really be justified. I could no more say to Richard that I was going to dinner with Patrick, my boss than he could say to his shrew of a wife that he was taking me out. You can wrap it how you will but dinner, even between work colleagues is a date, it's as simple as that. But rather than say 'come on a date' we use the euphemism 'let's have dinner.' We both knew, though, exactly what it is and what was going on; after all we were both grown-ups!. Patrick was trying to extend our relationship, take it beyond work mould it into friendship or more, he was extending a guarded invitation to me to go out with him. Yes, Patrick was inviting me to take another step along the intimacy trail. I strode out with little hesitation on that road to be fucked. "Yes that would be nice" was my hesitant reply. It didn't go anywhere. We got on well, we chatted easily, we found out lots about each other, but it ended when he dropped me at the station and I got the train home. I think we were both too nervous and concerned that we would do something to upset the other. I certainly, and I suspect Patrick as well, was also relieved; starting an affair is a big step and a huge responsibility. Whether I was trying to justify my feelings for Patrick and the potential affair or whether all the signs from Richard were adding up to him being 'at it' I'm not sure. But he was away and out more often, he had more 'urgent' trips and he fucked me less and less often A couple of times I thought I smelt the 'cheap' perfume that bimbos wear on him, but I wasn't sure. As I became ever more convinced, or as I worked hard to convince myself that he was seeing another or even other women, I felt remarkably relaxed about it. And as I had been having my fling with Craig and was getting ever nearer to consummating the flirting with Patrick, the act that my husband was fucking another woman, or more was in a way a relief! Again, whether it was me 'knowing' that Richard was up to something I don't know, but I started feeling differently about Patrick. There was almost, or so it seemed, a correlation between the strength of my suspicions that my husband was shagging some little tart and the strength of those feelings for Patrick. I looked for him from my cubby hole as he walked round the large open plan office or I glanced into his glass walled office through the vertical blinds as I passed by, which I seemed to do more frequently. I looked forward to our daily meetings and to presenting stuff to him as just the two of us sat in his office with the door closed, sometimes our arms or legs touching. When he touched me, perhaps guiding me through a doorway before him, they were now more than mere touches, they felt like caresses. When he looked at me his stare became more than a glance in my direction it became a look of affectionate lust, I felt as if he was undressing me as, increasingly I was mentally doing to him. We had dinner again. This time when he dropped me at the station he got out of the car, came round opened the door and stood there as I got out. He stared at me, put his hand on my shoulder and said. "I have really enjoyed tonight Cat, thanks so much." He kissed me on my cheek. It was like an electric shock. We both just stood there a moment or two. Involuntarily I touched where he had kissed me with my fingertips, his hand was still resting on my shoulder. I whispered. "So have I Patrick, thank you." Still neither of us moved. Then I felt his hand on my shoulder as he applied some pressure. Slowly we closed the gap between us. He pulled my body against his and buried his face in my, what some would say was too long for my age, light browny, blondish hair. "Maybe Cat, I have enjoyed it a little too much, if you know what I mean?" he said quietly, his hand running down my arm and resting on my hip. I felt surprisingly calm. Although my heart was pounding and a heat was oozing through my body from the pit of my tummy to my breasts and nipples, I managed to hold on. "Yes Patrick I do" I sighed as his hand found mine and held it. "So what would Missus Cat say if I gave her a proper kiss goodnight?" He surprisingly, but very welcomingly asked. I didn't reply, but instead I inclined my head slightly so we were looking at each other and let the expression in my eyes say what I was thinking as a reply. Well not exactly for right then my reply would have been, 'Yes kiss me, shove your tongue in my mouth and rip my clothes off.' Instead, I moulded into his arms and we kissed. It was long, loving and wonderful. That night for the first time it was Patrick who fucked me, well in my mind at least as I masturbated. A week later, no less than that, neither of us could have waited a week. We were in the office and found ourselves alone in the coffee room. He blurted out. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about the other evening Cat." "I know" I quickly replied. "Was it ok?" "Yes." "I wasn't out of order then?" "No." Then someone else came in. 'We need to talk' the email from Patrick said. 'Yes' I typed back. 'Soon.' 'Yes, I agree.' 'I'm at meetings all afternoon, sod it.' 'Hmmmmm"' I sent. 'I'm in the car today, how about I give you a lift home?' 'It's so out of your way,' I replied my heart pumping at the thought of the best part of an hour or so alone with him. We talked a lot as we crawled through the London traffic. St Albans is almost due north of London and Pinner is to the north west, but both are about the same distance from Covent Garden. The route from St Albans to Pinner is along the M25 and can take ages so I had insisted he drop me at a train station on my way home, making it easier for him to get home. We agreed on a convenient station where it was easy for me to get home and didn't take him too far out of his way. In any case, he and Marcia, the shrew, were entertaining that evening and Richard was home, so we didn't have too much time. He pulled away from the station entrance into the semi darkness of the car park. At that time of evening the trains are every few minutes and it only takes twenty minutes or so to St Albans so there was no rush, well at least on my part. Patrick drove past the station and found a quiet, dark side road where he parked the large Merc. "I have never felt like this Cat" he said half turning towards me and holding my hand. "Do you know what I mean?" Do I know what he means? He'd only shagged me about six times so far and I had sucked his cock twice in my dreams. "Yes" I replied quietly and demurely, putting my masturbatory fantasies out of my mind. Another clue I had learned to Richard's straying was how often he fucked me. Most would think that if he was getting it elsewhere he wouldn't need it at home. Where he was clever, or thought he was, was that he made sure I got enough, well about once a week. It was a bit like a husband suddenly bringing the wife flowers; obvious when you know! As my train had rattled through north London, my mobile bleeped. 'Sorry Cat, I'll be late, urgent client thing. Keep it warm for me. R.' So as Richard rolled on top of me later that evening and I opened my legs, in my mind it was Patrick. As my husband entered me and kissed me it was the memory of Patrick's lips on mine in that side road that so aroused me. And as my husband fucked me, quite nicely as he always does, it was the recall of Patrick touching my breast that sent me over the top. I have often wondered what might have happened in that dark road after Patrick stroked and squeezed my breast if he and his wife hadn't been entertaining an important local politician that evening. A few days later we had been to a client meeting and had to return to the office to collect stuff, Patrick for a trip he was making to Dublin the next day, me to collect my laptop for I wasn't working in the office the next few days. I was wearing a black, lightweight wool, Donna Karan suit with a skirt. The jacket had four buttons up the front so there was no need to wear anything, other than a bra under it. We were standing in his office, he pulled me to him. We kissed, very strongly. My mouth was wide open, our lips were squirming together and his tongue was plunging and delving. I was gasping and sighing with pleasure and delight. He found my breast and squeezed it with just the right amount of pressure. Our kissing became more furious. I was ruffling his hair and running my hand up and down his back as he thrust himself at me. He was stunningly hard. One hand was inside my jacket, on my breast, outside my bra, the other was squeezing and cupping my bum. That hand ran up my legs taking the skirt with it. He bunched it round my hips at the back and stroked and rubbed my bum through my black tights. My jacket had come undone and he had eased one of my boobs from my bra. He was slipping his fingers inside my tights at the back, touching the top of my bare bum It was very much mutual. I was playing my part. His shirt was undone, he'd removed his jacket earlier. As the sensations he was giving me from stroking the bare flesh of my boobs, pinching my nipples and now cupping the naked cheeks of my bum inside my tights increased, I was pressing, rubbing and holding his erection outside his trousers. It was the act of him starting to push my tights down that got to me. I broke away. "No, Patrick." "I'm sorry, I went too far." "It's not that?" "What is it?" "Not here, not where we work, it's too, I don't know, sordid." "Yes, yes I understand," he said cradling me in his arms again. "It was ok then, I wasn't out of line." "No," I whispered, adding without really thinking "But somewhere else," as I pulled my skirt down, and straightened that and the jacket. "Yes of course, I understand." A week or so later, during which time we hadn't been together hardly at all for Patrick was involved in board meetings and the annual budgets, Richard was home and I was busy with open evenings at the children's schools, Patrick called me into his office. "Crichton needs us to go through our marketing budget" he said mentioning the group MD. "When? Has he sent an email?" "No I have to do it face to face. But you will have to come with me," he said smiling as I stood in his office a few evenings later. "To Edinburgh?" "Yes." "OK no problem." He went serious and looked me in the eyes as he fiddled with the report I'd produced. "Er, um, it could mean an overnight stay." I realised what he probably meant and I too became serious as the decision he was asking to make hit me. "I see, really." "Well maybe we could get there and back in a day, but it might be a rush and that can be tiring, I've done it several times." "Will it just be you and me?" "Yes." "Hmmm." "What?" "Won't that er, make things a little awkward?" "Yes it could, but would you come?" That made me smile. "Well that would be telling wouldn't it?" Patrick laughed, "Sorry poor phrasing. Will you er, accompany me to Edinburgh." We both laughed. This was getting serious. I had a big decision to make. If I went I knew I'd sleep with him and that would take me along the unfaithfulness path – again! Did I want that? Could I handle the guilt, the lies and the excuses? It was bad enough lying about my times with Craig, but adding yet another affair seemed so difficult. I began to wonder whether this 'goose and gander stuff was worth it? The presentation went well and Ken, the group MD invited us to an early dinner in the head office dining room, they were quite mean buggers, but then they are Scots! After saying goodbye to Ken we got a cab from the head office in the Old Town to Princes Street. We had a drink at one of the cafes looking out onto the wide, busy main road and chatted. "Was it ok with Richard you coming up here?" "Yes, he's so wrapped up in his business he doesn't pay much attention to such trivia as my work." "So it wasn't a problem you staying overnight." "No, but I did imply there would be more than just you and me." Smiling he held my hand. That seemed odd. It also seemed very erotic. So far, Patrick had touched me very intimately, but only my breasts and that was when we were alone, naturally. Such a demonstration of affection in public was not only a rare pleasure and very welcome, but was also just right for the occasion. We were going to sleep together, we were going to make love and have sex, we both knew that and this show of tenderness and affection positioned this assignation perfectly; it said most clearly to both of us 'It's a lot more than merely sex.' As we sat there in silence watching the world go by holding hands, memories of my crazy, older woman/younger man fling with Craig came into my mind. Being with him in public was unlikely, holding hands would have been unthinkable; after all forty something women don't do that with twenty something guys. With him, I simply wanted the excitement, thrills and pleasures of no strings attached sex. I wanted adventure and anything new. I didn't want affection, endearment or love, just simple, straightforward sex. I wanted Craig to fuck me as often as I wanted him to, where and when I wanted him. Nothing more and nothing less. And Craig bought into that completely. That's why I eventually let him have me in the changing rooms and the showers at the club, in both his and my cars, in his narrow bed in his small bedsit and in my marital bed at home. It wasn't like that with Patrick. I didn't want to be fucked by Patrick, I wanted us to make love. Whereas I had let, maybe even encouraged, Craig to screw me up against the wall in the pavilion, I couldn't bring myself to have sex with Patrick in the office. This was different again, this was affection, this was new to me as a mature woman for I was beginning to think that I was falling in love with Patrick. We walked to the hotel pulling our overnight trolleys just like business colleagues, which of course we were, in fact so far that's all we were. Soon though, that was going to change, we were going to become lovers. We were staying at the Rocco Forte, Balmoral, which is at number one Princes Street. It was exquisite. I had stayed there before with Richard, when it was simply The Balmoral. Then it was elegantly old- fashioned, now it was super elegantly modern. It was wonderful. "I booked two rooms," Patrick said as we strolled through the stylish, mainly black and white reception. "What do you want to do?" He asked after we had both checked in. "What do you mean?" "Never mind, what now?" "Well I have a few calls to make and a need a shower so how about a drink in the bar in what, an hour?" "Fantastic, where would you like to eat?" "Quite frankly Patrick I am happy to eat in the hotel." "Good idea, why have the hassle of finding somewhere." I called home and spoke to Sara who had found the whole idea of mum going away on business a real hoot. She was actually quite interested, or said she was in what I was doing. I chatted to her for the best part of half an hour undressing as I did. I then chatted to Mary who was one half of the amazing couple who did so much for us, from her babysitting and looking after the children to the point they looked on her as a surrogate granny, to her housekeeping and sheer friendship. On top of that her partner Roy was a handyman plus; he just knew everything there was to know about anything to do with building, decorating, plumbing and simply houses in general and he kept out house in order. Everything was cool at home, and yes she would call me on my mobile, I'd avoided saying where I was staying when she asked by saying that it was a wonderful hotel looking up to Edinburgh Castle. I called Richard, quite aware that it was only early afternoon in New York and left a voice mail explaining that I was at a 'thing' with Head Office, I had previously told him I was going to Scotland, and probably wouldn't be able to answer if he called. Us not talking for a few days was nothing unusual as generally we lived in two different time as well as, increasingly, lifetime zones. 3 Fucks and Out After clicking off, I was down to my panties and I realised just what a scheming, conniving bitch I could be. It then struck me, that I was about to get ready to commit adultery and that hit me hard, although I had been doing that for a few months with my young stud; that somehow seemed so different. With Craig it was purely sex, with Patrick it was more than that. Maybe that was why I was putting on underwear to be undressed in and a low cut at the front, zip right up the back, tight, just above the knee black dress. "Oh my lord," Patrick said as later the dress slipped down my body and crumpled into a pool round my black patent, high heeled covered feet. "You look absolutely amazing Cat, thank you." Dinner and the drinks on Princes Street had gone well. We said to each other that we hadn't done this before. Whilst literally true, I sort of let Craig slip from my memory, as I imagined my nearly fifty year old, awfully attractive, potential lover may have done with some of his likely peccadilloes. There was no doubt or worry in either of our minds that we were going to do it. It was becoming as inevitable as night following day, but then looking out the window in this northern outpost it was so much lighter than it would be in London, I did wonder a little. "Your room or mine?" He asked as he ground his erection against me. We were kissing in the lift on the way up to the sixth and top floor where the rooms with the best views of the castle are located. What a deliciously, sordid thing that is, kissing in a lift, but then si is being fucked with Edinburgh Castle as a backdrop! I had no preference really, my focus was becoming fully directed to sleeping with Patrick, not worrying about where. "Which comes first," I mumbled though his lips covering mine. "Woops, I see it's yours," I giggled as he pushed me through the door and kissed me. I was hellishly nervous. Even though I had no experience of such things, other than Craig and before that my husband when he 'seduced' me, I think what happened over the next few hours was probably a classic start to a love affair; at least that's what the books indicate. We went onto Patrick's room. We kissed and slowly he undressed me. He unzipped my dress, let it fall to the ground and he ogled my sexy underwear; black bra, thong and lacy topped hold ups, no suspender belt this time! We sat on the edge of the bed kissing, his arms were round my shoulders pulling me to him. That was nice, I felt warm and wanted. I undid his shirt and ran my fingers over his nicely hairy chest. He caressed my boobs outside my bra and then fumbled his fingers inside one cup and stroked that boob and nipple. I was getting very aroused indeed and that combined with my surprisingly high level of nervousness was giving very strong and new to me sensations. My body and mind were in perfect, yet uncoordinated, sync as I am sure my temperature soared and my heart and pulse rates started to race. With the usual lack of dexterity shown by men he fiddled the clasp of the bra strap undone, why on earth aren't they given lessons at school in removing bras! The wait, though, was worth it when he took the cups of the bra away from each of my boobs, although the way full tits like mine plummet downwards when unfettered can be disconcerting. Grasping them he leaned forward and tenderly kissed each of my nipples, which had of course reared up to their fullest and hardest. I held his head and cradled his face to my breasts. He slowly pushed me backwards so I was lying flat on the bed, my legs dangling over the side, his chest crushing my right breast as we kissed, our tongues sweeping all over the insides of the other's mouth. His mouth alternated from my lips to my breasts and nipples as his hand left my chest and slithered downwards. It went onto the bottom of each boob, across my lower chest, onto my waist, his finger probing my tummy button, past the elastic waist-band of the flimsy thong and right onto my pubic mound. He pressed me there, I grunted and my body jerked. "Oh God" I moaned as his finger found my clit from outside the silk of the tiny panties. "Nice?" "Oh Patrick" I groaned my mouth trying to devour his lips as my hand frantically searched for the hardness it wanted to feel. I found it just as he started to rub my clit. That did me; that sent me over the top. He had been priming me for this all day and now as soon as he touched me I exploded, what a girly thing to do. I clamped my thighs together trapping his hand in there as I climaxed, quick, hard, fully and so wonderfully yet disappointingly. "I'm sorry" I mumbled as the beautiful feelings roared all over me. "Don't be darling, it was wonderful, it was lovely to see you like that." "I feel a bit silly" I told him as he cuddled me and held me close to him as slowly my orgasm subsided. "Don't worry." "That hasn't happened to me since, oh never mind." "No tell me." "Well since I first went with Richard" I lied, realising I was on dodgy ground. Lying on a bed in a hotel clad just in panties and stockings, being cuddled by a man who has not only just made me cum, but is also the person I feel I may be falling in love with, is clearly an exciting situation. But for quite some time, we just lie there, cuddling, occasionally kissing and touching each other. I, certainly and I think Patrick as well, was simply in awe of the situation and we didn't want to do anything that might break the spell. It was almost as if just being there was 'naughty' enough with any further sexual expression being unnecessary; well for a while that was! "You really do have a lovely body Cat," he whispered kissing the top of my head and cupping my breasts. Of course, he had never seen me as good as naked before, I realised. I smiled. "Thank you kind sir, but talking about bodies.................?" I said leaving the sentence unfinished, but pulling on his shirt. He rolled away from me, slipped his shirt off and started undoing his trousers. As he slid his boxers off and his erection jumped out he looked at me so I slid my panties off as well. "I have visualised us being like this so many times," he whispered pulling me against his nakedness. "Have you Cat?" "Yes endlessly," I answered truthfully reaching for his erection and stroking it, sort of gratefully I suppose, almost as if he was giving me a present. He wasn't at all embarrassed as I sort of worshipped at the altar of his hard on. He really did feel good against me and I revelled in our bodies touching from our lips to our toes. He stroked my buttocks and kissed my nipples; he cupped and squeezed my breasts and ran his hands over my tummy. I kissed him hard and ran my fingers through his hair. I let his hairy chest graze my nipples and I ran my nails down his back and onto the taught cheeks of his beautifully manly bum. He pressed his fingers against my mound and clit and I continued fondling his erection. It was magically erotic stuff as we built up to the inevitable. I was on my back, he was on top, I opened my legs, he was between them, I felt his cock against me and he pushed gently and enquiringly. And then wonderfully, marvellouslyy, amazingly and so fucking incredibly hornilly he shoved his cock right up my cunt. I gasped at the sheer power of the sensations as he surged deeply into me and I gripped him even more tightly if that was possible. It was like being fucked for the first time. "Oh God Patrick." "Ok Cat?" "Oh yes, yes I am so very ok." And then we made love. Beautiful love, wonderful love, complete love, twice. He was clearly not the stud that Craig was, but now he was my lover and I didn't want or need a stud! * The business trip fuck became an affair and that became increasingly intense. Our need for each other, both emotionally and sexually, seemed to increase the more we were together. We naturally became closer and closer and inevitably, we fell in love. We both struggled to resist that, or at least, not admit to it, either to ourselves or, more particularly, to each other, but in the end we did, of course. I hadn't felt anything so emotionally powerful since the early days with Richard, but even those I couldn't recall being quite as strong as what I felt for Patrick; maybe the forbidden, even the impossible nature of what we were doing was fuelling our emotions. When we were apart I felt morose and could think of little else than being with him. And then when I saw him my heart really did pound and my pulses raced. Sitting in my little 'work cubicle' I would see him come into the open plan office and go to his office as my eyes as surreptitiously as possible would follow his every movement. I would know when he was about to arrive for usually we had spoken on the phone just moments before; I had bought a pay as you go phone specifically for talking to him. As he entered his glassed in office with the vertical blinds, so I would feel the heat welling up in my loins and breasts and my yearning for him would reach almost fever pitch. Our sexual need for each other seemed to increase the more sex we had with each other. Not having the luxury of being able to take each other to our homes, although he did stay overnight at my house once, we had to find places to make love. We used hotel rooms after work or in the afternoon after meetings. We did it in his or my car several times, but that made me feel quite sordid, although it was exciting. A couple of times in the summer we did it in the open air and then several times we had sex in the office. Gradually, we did everything, well most things. Obviously, oral sex featured highly and he made me cum with his tongue many times. I went down on him giving him wonderful blow jobs that ended with him cumming in my mouth and me swallowing several times. Naturally, we did it in most positions. He fucked me in my pussy, in my mouth, between my tits and, eventually in my bum. As the affair with Patrick developed so I eased myself out from the fling with Craig; being fucked by three men at the same time was too much even for a sexually confused woman like me. Looking back, I realised it couldn't work. There were just too many complications. Several times lying in each other's arms in hotel rooms, the back seat of his Merc or on the sofa in his office after sex we discussed 'where now?' But we were not able to define a direction. Spouses, children, families, jobs and our social situations complicated everything. A viable future was not possible so, in the end, we finished it and I left the company. * With my fling with Craig and my seven-month affair with Patrick behind me, I tried very hard to improve things with Richard. But it just didn't happen. I was now in a terribly, difficult position. I had tried everything I could to improve my marriage, but nothing, even being naked when Richard came home seemed to work. Sex with him became less frequent and less adventurous. I had no one else to fuck me yet I needed sex now as much as I ever had, perhaps even more. What a fucking dilemma! I had been in the ad industry most of my life and even during my last job I had also worked as freelance copywriter for a few agencies. Almost completely out of the blue I got an invitation to an awards ceremony. Apparently an ad I had written two years ago on which Tom Bradley had been the art director had won an award. The awards ceremony was at the Savoy. All rather grand and all crushingly boring and we were nominated so we had to be there. Fortunately the client couldn't make it so we were able to overindulge in the free booze and by the time the room was darkened and the presentations started, we didn't win, we were both a bit tipsy. He pulled his chair closer to mine as many of the others on the round table turned theirs towards the stage. We laughed a lot taking the piss out of some of the ads and I felt his arm go round the back of my chair and his fingers rest on my shoulder. "And what Mr Bradley do you think you're doing?" I asked. "Actually Ms Moore trying to get into your knickers." "Well as you know better men at your agency have tried and better men have failed" I replied jokingly. Such banter wasn't that unusual between the male and female staff in the ad industry where PC still doesn't seem to have arrived. "Yes but they haven't been close up to you when you're tipsy and just gagging for it have they?" I quipped back. "Who says I'm half tipsy?" "Well OK pissed then," he retorted clearly realising that I hadn't rejected the 'gagging for it' remark. As the ceremony droned on so I felt his hand softly rubbing my shoulder. As we got nearer to our section so his leg pressed against mine. As we both drank more wine so his foot ran up and down my calf and as we realised we hadn't won so I felt his hand on my leg. "Oh well that's that then" he muttered leaning over so that his mouth was close to my ear. "We might as well go and fuck hadn't we?" In my slightly, well to be truthful, fairly pissed state and with me now trying to be the sophisticated sexual predator of the 21st century it seemed sort of cool really to say. But then I had known Tom for years. "Yeah I guess we should I suppose." But then I had known Tom for years. So we did. Twice actually later that afternoon. And it was good. Neither of us was in that fit a state for sexual acrobatics so both times were leisurely and probably not that expert, but they were fun. Until Tom I'd never really looked on sex as being fun. But with him it always was. .He didn't take anything serious so why should he with sex was his belief. So for a two or three month period, when he introduced me to smoking marijuana again after what must have been a fifteen or sixteen year absence we had a ball. We knew it wasn't going anywhere and all that was between was the sex and of course the fun. And we had plenty of both. We had fun as we had drinks in pubs in Covent Garden, ate at cheap Italian restaurants and went to the movies. We kissed in the cinema, walked along hand in hand and groped each other in shop doorways. It was like being young again and going on dates. We smoked, drank and laughed our way through a series of premature ejaculations, a number of "oh fuck it I can't get it up" and some absolutely monumentally mind blowing sessions and stunning orgasms. At the same time I was having fun with Tom, Stuart was pulling me. Slowly and methodically as his engineering training prompted him he did everything absolutely properly. The first date, all friendly and diplomatic and a peck on the cheek as we said goodbye. The second, dinner, a little more romantic and talk of a more intimate nature followed by a lips on lips kiss in the cab on the way home. No thought on either part though of coming in for coffee, no not on a second date that wouldn't be right. It was on the third though as was a full on kiss and tongues in the others mouth. Up top only on the third date as he enquiringly at first touched my breasts. Finding only the appropriate level of resistance he persevered as we sat in his flat and over what must have been an hour he undid a couple of buttons on my blouse. It took probably another twenty minutes for him to get his fingers inside my bra and another ten or so before he yanked each boob out from its restraining cup. Being the demure and modest lady I felt he wanted me to be, after he'd played with them for a while not, of course going so far as to suck my nipples even though that was exactly what I wanted him to do, I put my toys away and went home an intact and well behaved lady. As I'd got more into dating I'd worked out that the fourth or fifth date is the watershed. It's the one where you've both got to know each other quite well, where inhibitions have gone a bit and both parties are quite comfortable with each other. So when he also suggested "come round and I'll cook you dinner" for our fourth date I assumed that this would be where the heat would be turned up. As I rode over to his place by cab I recalled the old schoolgirl dating protocol of "only up top for the first few dates and no up the skirt until at least the fourth or fifth!" I was quite pleased that I wasn't wearing trousers this time! Out of his pinstripe suit and white button down shirt, Stuart was a different man. Once he threw off the uniform and restrictions of his profession and training he changed completely. When naked he was Godlike. I could hardly believe that the man who'd been so diplomatically dating me could be so awesome in bed. He was an amazing lover. Quite the most technically adept I'd ever been with. After the meal we'd sat together on the sofa and he took up from where he'd left off last time. Bra still on, but tits out yet no sucking or nipple chewing. Of course this time there was that. That and so much more. I'd never had a man pay such homage to my breasts before. He'd undone the buttons on my blouse, gone through the cursory entry level of caressing me outside my bra before again getting them out. This time though he leaned behind me and undid my bra. I like that feeling as the restriction of the tight elastic is removed. I like the sensation as the cups are eased away from the mounds. And I enjoy the look on a lover's, well a potential lover in this case, face when he looks at them for the first time. I am a little bit arrogant about my tits. I know they're not bad at all. I know I've got a good rack and I know that many or most men are suckers for big, soft, full tits. And Stuart was no exception. Where he was different, though, was the time he took playing with them and what he did to me by doing that. He must have licked and kissed every single square millimetre of them at least once and for an age. He must have sucked and chewed each of my nipples for longer than News at Ten lasts and he stroked each of the orbs until I was in fear that he'd rub them away. One way of losing a little weight I guess. So, naked above the waist, skirt pushed up to mid-thigh my breasts being lengthily stimulated by this amazingly patient man, what did I do? Unusually for me I just laid back and enjoyed it. He was so in charge and was so systematically directing proceedings it didn't seem right for me to interject. Sure I kissed him back when appropriate and I did undo a couple of buttons on his shirt and yes I felt his, quite impressive, length through his trousers, but not much more. My part seemed fairly well defined and that was to be his plaything. So plaything I became. And boy did he play. Although his concentration was on my boobs, and wonderfully so I must say, there was the occasional fingers sliding along my thighs and now and then the lightest touch on my panty covered pussy. As I tended to jerk when he did that he would then apply a little more pressure right there. Right where I wanted that pressure. Right where all females love that pressure. Yes right alongside my clit that, unlike many men, he seemed to find so easily. Usually as he did that he was sucking, quite noisily in fact, on a nipple or licking the softer flesh of one of my tits. The combination of being strongly stimulated in two places at once had the inevitable effect on me. Yes I climaxed, twice for sure and maybe three times before we went the whole way. But that was just the start. As I lay on the sofa in my mellow, post orgasmic state he stood up and not taking his eyes from mine for a moment he undressed. And as I said out of his pinstripes he was Godlike. He had an almost perfect body, at least to my eyes. Tall and slim without an ounce of unnecessary flesh he obviously looked after his body in the methodical way he did everything else including me. Lightly tanned with a covering of hair on his chest he had an absolutely flat six pack and a beautifully long and smooth cock that reared up from a thatch of golden pubes tinged with splashes of grey. Totally unselfconscious about his nudity, unlike many men he picked me up and carried me to his bedroom. 3 Fucks and Out You'll notice that I'm not including much dialogue and that's because we hardly talked throughout the entire episode. But then the way that Stuart made love didn't programme in talking. Sitting on the bed with me standing next to him he slid my skirt up. He did make a noise then by sighing deeply as he looked at the pretty white knickers I was wearing, without tights or stockings for the weather was still warm and my legs still had the tan from my Italian holiday. Slowly moving the fingers of one hand in little circles right on my clit he eased the back of my panties down with the other. Eventually getting them down my thighs he took them and then removed my skirt. At last I got to lie on the bed and was thinking that now we'd fuck. Wrong. Oh no. No it wasn't time in his programme for that. No this was the time for the beneath the waist foreplay. We then had another hour or so of him attending to every part of my lower body. Strangely though only with his hands and not once did he use his tongue or mouth on my pussy. But the intensity and, I have to say gentleness and expertise, with which he inflamed my lips both inside and out continued on my clit and all around my bottom made me cum again. His lovemaking though quite expert and very giving was sort of mechanistic and so bloody drawn out. It was as though he could give for ever but not want anything in return. As though he took all I had but never really revealed anything about himself. Even when, eventually, he did fuck me it was as if he were programmed. He did everything correctly, he took his time, he combined long and short thrusts and fast and slow ones but not once did he let himself go. No loud moans or words. It was like being fucked by a machine. True a powerful and very efficient one but still a machine. A fucking machine actually. * I know it sounds crass and selfish, but during this year I began enjoying myself again. I had a good social life, I had more interests to stimulate me and I was getting all the sex I needed. Things even improved with Richard. Well for a time that is. Then completely out of the blue when he was in New York I received an email from him. It came to a yahoo address that as far as I was aware he knew nothing about. My heart fell into my boots when I opened the photo attachments. There was shots of Craig and me kissing, walking off court with his arm round me and in the clubhouse with my top off. There was more with Patrick. Sitting in his car kissing, lying on the back seat fucking and holding hands in the café on Princes Street when we went to Edinburgh. And even more with Tom of us kissing in a couple of doorways his hand very obviously on my breasts. The message was simple and to the point. 'Bitch. I won't be returning from New York for a while, but will see you in court very soon.'