1 comments/ 21953 views/ 7 favorites A Woman from the Ad By: nikkie I opened the drawer of my desk and for the umpteenth time glanced at the cut out ad from the Chicago Reader. The short personal ad had been burning my mind for weeks and I was almost certain that by now I would be too late responding to it. Not that I thought I had much chance in the first place. Ads like that probably got thousands of responses and to make a contact and be actually picked out of a pool of hot-blooded testosterone, well that would be almost like hitting a jackpot, wouldn't it? I put the small piece of, by now crumpled and its ink smudged, newspaper in front of me. I tapped my fingers against it for a minute and sighed. Just thinking about trying my luck with the woman who was advertising sent my stomach in a spin of funny feelings. Butterflies, punches and hot coal-like sensations intertwined and made me lightheaded. It wasn't just the fact that I had never done anything remotely similar in my life. There was also my wife, stunningly beautiful and impossibly greedy Danielle, who for a few years now had withheld any sort of sexual contact with me, save for the rare occasions when she wanted something. There would be an odd blow job – poorly performed, I might add – when she cast her eye on a particularly expensive piece of jewelry, or even a hurried fuck when she wanted to vacation in some remote and overpriced location, which just happened to be all the rave at the moment. Every time we had sex in the past five years, and I am embarrassed to admit that I could count those on the fingers of my two hands, she appeared bored, her eyes wide open, staring into the ceiling or out the window, no facial expression, no bodily response. She didn't even bother to lift her ass or put her arms around me. Kissing itself was completely out of the question. By now, I wasn't interested in any of it anyway. I thought of leaving a thousand times, even talked to my best friend about it and, another embarrassing confession, tried the help of a therapist. Nothing ever helped. I would be torn between the guilt of not "seeing things through" as my mother had always put it, abandoning the woman that I once loved more than the life itself and most of all, I couldn't picture leaving my three children. As Danielle became cold towards me, I noticed that she was more and more distant to the kids as well. She wasn't interested in their activities, I was always the one who went to parent-teacher meetings and I literally had to drag her to recitals or sports events, which our kids enjoyed and participated in. Why things turned for the worse, I couldn't quite say, although I do believe it had a lot to do with my long workdays, my job overflowing into weekends, as well. I tried working from home for a while, but soon gave up. Nothing seemed to work and bring us together any longer. Her mind is preoccupied with clothes and the way she looks, and I have to admit, she looks damn good. She spends most of her time in the gym or lunching with her girlfriends, and when she does spend time at home, she's either sleeping, or bossing everyone in the house like a dictator. I suggested the therapist and the cynical look on her face made me slam my fists against the table and give up right there and then. Sure, I cheated on her a couple of times while the going between us had been good. However, that was when I was on business trips out of town and she never knew about it, I'd be willing to bet my life on it. I just truly believe that she achieved everything she wanted in a marriage, financial security to say the least, and to be quite frank, it was more than that. I busted my ass so that she could have every luxury her greedy little mind required and she showed no gratitude. I tried an escort once, having arranged a meeting at one of the downtown hotels, and was horrified to realize that the girl who knocked on the door was almost a clone of my wife physically, thus immediately sending my fears into complete state of panic. She walked in, took off her blouse and lifted her skirt, bending over a chair and allowing me to fuck her like that in a frenzy-like state. She moaned and physically responded, but I could tell that it was all a game. I tipped her well on top of what I had already been charged by the agency and after she left, I took a shower in the luxurious suite, which I had rented for a night and jerked off in there, noting that that particular release was much more pleasurable than the pussy I had just pounded. I began browsing personals and sex ads in the local newspapers and magazines. I carefully studied each photograph if there was one, and found something wrong with every woman advertising. Some were too young, some too old. Not pretty enough. Wrong hair color. Sometimes, the face looking out at me just seemed to belong to a sarcastic, cold and greedy bitch, much like my wife. Certain ads would excite me, but I never had the balls to go through with any of my plans. I believe I tried to find things that were wrong with the women. God knows, I'm no irresistible hunk with a six-pack and the body to die for. Too much time spent behind the desk, coupled with junk food lunches and lavish dinner parties, which my wife and I attend a few times a week had taken its toll. Plus, of course, the fact that I am nearing my fifties and my already lazy metabolism had slowed down to the point where I can almost feel every single meal adding to my weight. I didn't care about it until that point. Now, having seriously thought about finding a woman on the side, I wished I had taken better care of myself. Yet, time didn't permit me to go to the gym more than once or twice a week, and besides, I truly believed that all I'd ever be doing is browsing through the ads and fantasizing. Never actually taking any action. Until that is, I noticed an ad in one of the Chicago Readers's personals, and my eye seemed to get stuck on it. The ad differed from others in that it revealed no exact age, absolutely no measurements, weight or height. There was no description of eye or hair color. The only thing I was certain of was that the ad was by a woman and she wanted sex. At least I hoped that was what she was after. I searched for the toll-free number to call into the voicemail box and leave a message and in my frustration couldn't find it for a while. Once I spotted it, I realized that particular phone number was all over the place. I took snafu as an omen not to mess with things and changed my mind about calling. Despite the decision, however, I carefully folded the ad section of the newspaper and slid it under the heavy files in my desk draw. I figured I'd forget about it, but that didn't turn out to be the case. A few days later, having thought about the ad, and in my mind pictured the woman that posted it, I pulled out the newspaper again. In my haste to be done with it earlier, I forgot to circle the ad, and it had taken me almost an hour to browse through and find it again. I cursed myself for being such an idiot, but the fact that I found it calmed me down some. This time, I took a red marker and made an oval-shaped circle around it, picking up the phone and yet again giving up before I even finished dialing the number. I did this many times over the next few weeks, after a month realizing that I might have missed my chance of the woman ever answering. To my great surprise, the ad was still running when I checked the newest of Readers a few weeks later. I was excited now, obviously, she hadn't found anyone yet. I carefully re-read the ad and found it to be identical in both newspapers. It read: Thirty-something housewife searching for a companion for occasional, no-strings attached meetings. Discretion a must. No monetary compensation. I was slightly dumbfounded. Thirty-something might mean a thirty-one year old who looked like she was in her mid twenties, or at thirty-nine, a washed out broad with titties down to her knees. No-strings attached could stand for visits to museums, a shoulder to cry on, or a wild, uninhibited sex. Discretion, well that one I did understand. No monetary compensation – did that mean she wouldn't be paying, or didn't want to be paid by the person answering the ad? I also noted the fact that the ad didn't state whether she was seeking a man or a woman, although it had been placed in the "women seeking men" section. I would pick up my kids from school sometimes and curiously peer at thirty-something mothers of their classmates, who were patiently sitting in their cars or quietly gossiping on the side walk, waiting for their offspring to come belting out and their faces would turn into rays of sunshine, happy that their children were once again under the safe wings of their mother hens. For some reason reading the ad, I never pictured a stunningly beautiful, tall and dark mysterious stranger, rather a mousy looking housewife – after all she did introduce herself as the latter – and the idea of me balling some of those women was more than appealing. "Occasional, no-strings attached meetings" seemed more and more inviting to my frustrated mind and sex-starved body. Finally, weeks after I first noticed the ad in the paper, I gathered up enough courage and dialed the number, carefully entering the appropriate mailbox when prompted. I'm not sure what I expected but when there was no audio response save for the beep I waited and waited and then realizing that this stupefied silence in expectation of some sort of response is being recorded I hung up. Minutes later I tried again. This time I was ready. When the beep rang in my ear, I took a deep breath and began blabbering. I stated my name, and the fact that I was a male, which I could have kicked myself for, of course. Ever so carefully I recited my cell phone number and hoped that for the love of god, my numeric dyslexia wouldn't prevent me from giving my number correctly. I hung up and realized my palms were sweaty. Despite having banged strangers while married before, this somehow seemed different. It was like I was on an interview, only I couldn't see the examiner and I felt as if my pride and self-esteem were on the line here. Realizing that I haven't told her that I was a white man, I almost dialed the number again, only to hang up as I recalled she hadn't revealed her own race in the ad. I dated, fucked and married exclusively white women, but that was really not a conscious decision. It just happened that way. I certainly gawked at attractive women of all races and at this point, I didn't care who or what she was. My mind was aching for some human contact save for the occasional slap on the back by my tennis buddies or breathtaking hugs from my children. I wanted a woman and in my desperation I believed anything would do. As soon as I left the message I made sure my cell phone was on and recharged. Of course, I didn't expect an instant callback, but one never knows. I was hopeful, not overly so, but still, there was a definite glimmer of expectation. Later that afternoon, stuck in the standstill traffic on the Kennedy Expressway my cell phone went off and expecting to hear one of my kid's voice on the other side, I answered it without checking the caller ID first. After my initial "hello", there was a long pause and I repeated myself twice before I got the response. "Hi," said a smoky woman's voice, one that I didn't recognize. Despite the nervous expectations throughout that day at work, like a blockhead I had forgotten about the ad the minute I sat in my car and pulled off towards my home. "Yes?" I asked, slightly annoyed at the prospect of a wrong number. The voice certainly didn't belong to my wife. "You answered my ad in the Reader," said the voice and I was grateful the car wasn't moving at the time, as I would have certainly floored the break or worse, the accelerator. I was shocked, although not unpleasantly so. "Oh, yes!" I said, switching myself into a happy, chatty mode. "Yes, I did. Eh...I don't really know how these things go and what are your expectations, but..." "Like the ad said," the voice was unrelentingly cold yet very sexy. I noticed a slight accent, which I couldn't quite place. "Occasional, no-strings attached meetings." "Okay?" I asked, anticipating a clearer explanation, but none followed. I felt like a fool. "What exactly do those meetings consist of?" I asked, hoping she'd say they would be solely about sex, but not really believing she would. "Sex. Just sex. No relationships, no dinners, nothing but sex." I began sweating. "What does occasional mean?" This was better than I thought. "Once a week. Wednesdays." There was a slight pause. "Wednesday lunch time." She didn't ask me if I was free or willing to go for that. It might have been impossible for me to do it on those particular days at that particular time, but I had a feeling if I declined she'd hang up right then and I'd never hear from her again. "Huh..." I giggled like an idiot. "I've never done anything like that before, and..." "Well, you're either in or you're out." She didn't sound nervous or frightened, not even impatient, even though the words that were hitting my ears would have otherwise made me believe she had been at least anxious. "What do you look like?" I asked. "Good enough to fuck." "Do you want to know what I look like?" I asked hopefully, suddenly blank on how I would have described myself. Slightly overweight, late forties, thinning hair... Nothing seemed attractive enough to disclose at this point. "No, I don't. If you're disgusting, nothing will happen, that's all." Damn! The woman was cold, I had to give her that. But I've had coldness in my own home for so long, I wasn't afraid of it anymore. "You said in your ad that there's no monetary compensation." "I don't want any money. And I sure as hell won't be paying you." I laughed out loud then. This lady was proving to be one tough cookie. And I liked it! "When?" I asked. "Well..." The first hint of hesitation in her voice broke the frigid façade of her business-like dealing. "Tomorrow is a Wednesday." "Oh, yeah. Right." I still couldn't place the accent and that bothered me. "You want to meet me for lunch?" "No dinners means no lunches either." "Hm." I thought about the possibility that she'd want to have a quickie in the car and the idea of driving through downtown Chicago during the lunch hour was not a very attractive one. I went for it anyway. "Do you want me to pick you up some place?" "No." Came the reply. "What then?" "Book a room in one of the downtown hotels and I'll call you in the morning to find out where and the room number." "Which hotel?" I asked like an idiot. "I don't care. I'll call you to find out which hotel and what room number so that I can check out you're not putting me on. Somebody will know where I am, so no funny business!" Well, saucy and smart. I liked that. I hoped she'd turn out to be physically attractive, too. Judging by her voice, she would have been a bombshell. "What's your name?" I asked. "I'll talk to you tomorrow." Was all she added and then the line went dead. I closed the flip phone and pressed it against my lips, as if I could taste the voice that had just soothed my ears. I was in for one crazy ride, I knew that. How crazy? Well, I had no clue. I checked my phone for the most recent number of a received call, but the last one on the list was that of my house phone. She had obviously blocked her caller ID. I was slightly disappointed. A mysterious stranger is all good and dandy in a novel, but when one is faced with it in reality, it's more intimidating than anything else. I tried to think about how intimidated she must have been calling me. I felt I was fooling myself in that. There was too much confidence to make me think any different than that she had plenty of experience in this kind of business. For all I knew, she was seeing a different man every day of the week, and this was something she had done a million times before. I didn't care. That evening, I was a bundle of nerves. I couldn't concentrate on anything at all. The book that I had been literally devouring for the past two nights seemed unattractive. News was the same old crap, and none of the movies on the cable held my attention for longer than a few minutes. My temper flared when Danielle tried to slip me one of her ever-so-familiar request for slightly more money than I had been giving her. And let me tell you, that amount was already very generous. I yelled at her, pounded my fist against the kitchen counter and accidentally knocked a coffee mug on the floor, breaking it into a thousand pieces. Always ready for a fight, this time Danielle said nothing. She simply looked at me, turned on her heels and stomped out of the kitchen. I felt bad when I looked towards the table and my three kids were sitting there, forks and cups of water half way in the air, their mouth open, their eyes wide. They seemed to me as if I had been looking at the photograph, none of them moved or said a word. Later on that evening I took a long bath, grooming myself to as much of perfection as I possibly could. I clipped my nails and used baby lotion to soften my skin; I trimmed my goatee and washed my hair. I knew I was doing it all for nothing, as I would repeat the whole process again in the morning. I wanted to look good, and as bizarre as that may sound, I wanted to look good for someone I didn't even know. The woman with a velvety voice might turn out to be an old hooker, trying new tricks. She might look like something out of a nightmare, with bad teeth and over processed hair. Yet again, none of that mattered to me. I felt like a high-schooler, in tow for a party, aware that there was a very good chance he could score with a girl he'd liked for a long time. I tossed and turned that night and when I finally managed to fall asleep, I'd wake up every few minutes, or so it seemed, unable to go back to sleep for a while. I left the bed and went downstairs to my study, browsing through porn sites and working myself up to what was to follow the next day. I called the Weston Hotel on the lake and booked a room. While I was told I was very lucky to have found a vacancy at all, due to the conference that had had most of the hotels in Chicago booked, I also felt foolish for spending over three hundred bucks on a room that would be used for a simple fuck. The fact that I didn't have to pay the woman on the phone for her services made me break my rules of a restricted budget and pay the amount that I found to be absolutely ridiculous. When the alarm clock went off, I was so tired I didn't feel like getting out of bed at all. Nevertheless, I got up and took another shower, washed my hair and carefully inspected my face for any previously missed unruly facial hair. I found the best pair of silk boxer shorts, compliments of my wife after a particularly generous shopping spree that she had awarded herself. Not wanting to appear too businessman like, I dressed casually, in khaki pants and a sweater. Danielle's suspicious looks didn't faze me at all, and when she asked why I wasn't wearing the suit, I told her I was to be at work only half a day and spend the rest in the gym. I doubt she believed me, knowing my dislike of rigorous workouts that she swore to, but she didn't prod further. Duffel bag full of clothes I wouldn't be wearing in tow, I walked out of the house with a heavy and yet a light heart. I was excited, but at the same time, I worried that the woman on the phone was just taking me for a ride and I might bitterly regret the decision to ever answer the ad in the paper. On my way to the city I called my office and told them I was taking a sick day. Always a responsible workaholic, I found it hard to do so, but the prospect of what was to follow later made it slightly easier on my conscience. I parked the car in the Weston Hotel lot and checked in. The view of the lake was stunning. The overcast weather that we had had for days had broken and the mid autumn warmth had brought out the sailboats to taste the water one last time this year. A Woman from the Ad Finally calmer than I had been all night, I plopped onto the bed and within seconds I was asleep. The ringing of my cell phone woke me up and I jerked out of bed, almost falling over. I fumbled through my duffel bag in a panic, worried that I might miss the call. I was almost certain the woman wouldn't be calling back. "Hello?" I gasped into the phone after I finally found it and managed to open it up without accidentally turning it off. As if the caller could somehow see me, I quickly smoothed my clothes and ran a hand through my hair. I peeped at the watch on my wrist and was surprised to realize that I must have slept for good four hours. It was very close to noontime. "Did you book a room?" Said the voice. No 'hello', no introduction. "Yeah, Weston on the lake." I said and wildly looked around for the key, having already forgotten which room I had checked into. "Room number?" Asked the woman just as I spotted the key lying on the floor. "Eh..." I stalled for time until I had a chance to look at the small metal plate. "Four, four, four." I said and smiled. Four was my lucky number if one believes in such nonsense. My mother had been over her head in superstitions and omens, lucky charms and anything similarly bizarre. Even though I haven't believed in most of her nonsense, some of it had rubbed off on me. The lucky number four being one of those. "I'll be there in a little while." She said and hung up. I felt annoyed by the fact that she didn't ask where I was. I might have been still at work and it would have taken me a while to get there. Her presumptuousness was not very appealing. In all honesty, it was quite intimidating. I paced the room like a caged animal, made up the bed as well as I could, but coming nowhere near to perfection that the hotel maids were capable of. I ordered room service, coffee and juice. For a moment I toyed with the idea of asking for champagne, but changed my mind. No matter how eager I had been, I didn't want it to show in a pathetic display that might have been ignored. Just as I closed the door on the room service guy, a knock so soft I barely heard it announced that the moment I had been waiting on for the past few hours was here. I quickly checked my image in the large mirror before I opened the door and sighed deeply. I hoped what I was doing wouldn't get me into some sort of trouble. I didn't care so much about my wife, but I felt ridiculously vulnerable, and for the second time in a twenty-four hour period, like an inexperienced virgin. I opened the door and before I could take a good look at her, the woman standing outside pushed her way past me into the room. I caught a whiff of fruit scent, probably her shampoo. I closed the door, my eyes never leaving the woman who now had entered deep into the room and paused by the window, curiously admiring the view. "Hi," I said for the lack of better starter of a conversation, which was to precede the inevitable. "Hey," she responded and turned around. She wore a deep red flower dress, with a huge baggy sweater covering most of her figure. She was much taller than I had pictured her, almost as tall as me. She wasn't fat or even overweight, but from by the initial impression, she was much bigger than my perfect-size-six wife had ever been. She wasn't beautiful, but I can't deny that she was very attractive. She had big eyes of the indeterminate green-hazel color, dark brown hair, bunched up in a bun on the back of her head, wearing hardly any make up. Her skin was tanned and appeared to be very soft. She didn't look exactly as you would imagine your everyday housewife to look, but she certainly didn't look like a hooker either. "I'm Chris." I said and wondered for a moment if I should attempt the shaking hands greeting. It didn't' seem appropriate. Without a word, but keeping an unblinking stare at me, the woman carefully dropped her purse on the floor and pulled the sweater over her head. The dress, which appeared to be slightly baggy from the waist down was very tight in the torso and had held her breasts close together, awarding me with a look of a very generous cleavage. She twisted her arms behind her back and unzipped the dress, letting it fall to the ground. If I had said before that she was slightly heavy, I was mistaken. Her body was absolutely perfect. She had big, heavy breasts, and from what I could tell they were real. Her waist was tiny and hips wide, giving her a beautiful hourglass shape. She wore a matching set of white-laced bra, panties and garter belt. In an instant I felt my dick responding to the site in front of me. The woman kicked off her shoes and walked back to the window, pulling the curtains together, yet allowing enough light to ray through the heavy material so that I could see every inch of her without straining. "Eh..." I was at my most comfortable dorky awkwardness again. "What's your name?" "Well..." Said the woman and began walking slowly towards me. I made a conscious effort not to take a step back. She seemed like a lioness ready to pounce on her prey. "I'm here for one thing only and it was my understanding that you were, too." She reached up to her hair and pulled out one single pin, allowing her hair to fall freely over her shoulders and back. The hair was much longer than it appeared when in a bun, and it was beautiful. An avalanche of silk, it seemed, softly glowing in the sliver of sunlight she allowed in the room. "No small talk." I still didn't recognize her accent and that began to bother me. "Well... yes..." I agreed and stood still like a dummy. "Good. As long as we have that sorted." She said and by that time she stood so close to me, I could feel the heat radiating off her beautiful body. "I'm Elizabeth." She said and with her gaze still locked with mine, her hand reached out and she pressed the palm of it against my crotch. I couldn't help but gasp and close my eyes. I was afraid I would be incapable of sex that day. A thousand thoughts were running through my mind, most of them had to do with fear and "what ifs". I even threw a bottle of Viagra in the duffle bag, just in case. It seemed like I wouldn't need it after all. Elizabeth dropped to her knees and finally averted her gaze away from my face. Very slowly she reached up to my zipper and pulled the little silver tag down, sliding my pants off and letting them fall to the ground around my ankles. She snaked both of her hands underneath the boxer shorts, softly scratching my legs, causing my already eager cock to stiffen up completely. Her red lips were slightly parted and wet, and I could imagine my cock entering and simply exploding inside her warmth. As I felt her fingers touch my cock, stepped back and pulled her up. "Wait, wait..." I said and a shadow of puzzlement fell over her face. "I..." I smiled and gasped at the same time. "You're going too fast for me, here. I'm afraid it might be over too soon." "Doesn't matter. I'd expect that to happen the first time around." "The first time around?" I asked incredulously. "Well, the first time like this, is what I meant. Nothing wrong with that." She raised her eyebrows and smiled, exposing a set of perfect, small white teeth. "A compliment, really." I smiled with her, but I'm afraid I must have looked more like a sour lemon than a happy camper that I really hoped I would be. I was right, she was intimidating. Her attractiveness didn't help me to relax at all. It only seemed to make me feel more insecure. "Come on," she said and reached inside her bra, pulling out a small package. She broke the plastic cover with a very unsettling ease. "The sooner we get this first-time thing over with, the better." She pulled down my boxer shorts and my cock jumped up in salute, the precum glistening on its head. "Better for both of us." She added and I was grateful for that. How did she manage to push the condom over my cock with barely touching it I'll never know. A lot of moments from that day are hazy to my recollection, but I do remember that everything seemed just right. She stepped away from me and admired her work. "I like wide cocks." She said crudely and reached for her bra. To my great surprise she didn't take it off. She simply pulled the cups of it off her breasts and safely tucked them underneath. Her nipples were dark brown and big, something I would have loved to suck on for a long time, but it didn't seem like she would allow me to do so at that moment. She turned towards the bed and bent over it, placing her hands firmly against the covers. She lifted up her legs one by one, kneeling on the bed, legs spread wide. It was an obscene sight, the kind that makes a man go wild with desire. With her panties still on, she reached with one hand between her legs and simply pulled the fabric to the side, allowing me a glance at the soft muff of her crotch. "Come on," she said and looked back at me. "I'm ready." An image of a hooker flashed in my mind again, but I was past the point of caring any longer. I stepped out of my pants and boxer shorts and still wearing the sweater I walked behind her and positioned my cock against her cunt. "I like it rough," she said and smiled. "Just so you know." I nodded and grabbed a hold of one her hips, my other hand guiding the cock. I slid it in gently, pushing in the head and pausing for a moment. I had heard plenty of complaints in my lifetime, of how I have hurt a woman. It's not that I'm hung like a horse, far from it. But I had seen women wince at the width of my cock, sometimes, even cry out in pain. Elizabeth's pussy was slick with its own juices. She must have gotten turned on just by thinking of what was to happen on her way to the hotel. "I said rough!" She said impatiently and that was all I needed. I pushed inside of her roughly, burying almost the entire length of my cock with one clean stroke. She winced alright, and gasped, but the smile never left her face. "Ah!" She panted and with one free hand reached behind her and grabbed onto my hip, pulling me closer to her. "That's how you like it?" I asked and pulled myself out just a little only to ram into her with all my might. This time I could see her eyes close tight; her face was a mask of discomfort. I couldn't care less, though. This is what she wanted, this is exactly what she was going to get. I began fucking her fast and hard, furiously pounding against her body, making her head jerk up in what I couldn't say was pleasure or pain. I buried myself deep and paused for a moment, only to circle inside of her a few times. Now I could tell it was painful. She bowed her head and I couldn't' see her face anymore, but one of her hands grabbed onto the bedcover, squeezing it tight, while the other one pounded against it each time I moved from side to side. "You like that?" I asked and continued circling, driving my own self crazy, punishing her for the haughtiness and frigidity with which she had scared me shitless on the phone. "Yeah?" I gasped. "Tell me!" I continued circling, squeezing her hips hard. "Tell me!" She didn't say a word though. She tried hard not to make a noise, but soft whimpers escaped her and each one made me reach the inevitable moment faster. I pushed her on the bed so that she lay flat, her legs hanging off it. The knees were too high up to reach the floor and she desperately tried to get a hold with her toes, but I wouldn't allow her to do that. I bent over her, my cock still all the way in and grabbed onto her shoulders. I began pounding her hard and fast, every once in a while moving her legs apart as they closed up on me and prevented me from clear entrance. My pelvis smacked against her crotch and thighs, while she held onto the bedcover with what looked an almost desperate attempt to keep herself on the bed and not slide off. I turned my head and looked at the big mirror next to the bed, in which I was checking myself out just minutes ago, when I was on my way to open the door for her. The image of the two of us was quite pathetic. Elizabeth was lying on the bed, her legs hanging off, half-crumpled, trying to position her feet so that she could keep the balance, while I pounded her as hard as I could, my face red with effort and covered in sweat. It had taken less than two minutes and I felt my cock stiffening in an oncoming orgasm. "Will you swallow?" I gasped, never missing a beat and continuing to pound her fiercely. She said nothing, only whimpered. "Will you?" I asked again, or rather half-shouted out to her. She shook her head in denial and I pulled myself out of her, sliding off the condom and furiously jerking off against her ass. Still on her tummy, Elizabeth tried to turn around, whether to finish me off or maybe she even changed her mind, but I pushed down on the small of her back with the palm of my hand. "Stay still!" I commanded and she did. I reached between her legs and pinched her clit, sending her into a surprised scream. I kept pinching her with one hand and jerking off with the other. I could tell she enjoyed it, though. Her entire body was responding to me. Her ass was bouncing up and down and she finally managed to push her feet against the carpeted floor, and spread them as wide as she could. I dipped my thumb deep inside her cunt and just as I felt my cum flowing through my cock, I took the thumb out and roughly, without a warning pushed it deep inside her asshole. I'm not sure if she actually didn't expect that move, but her scream had intensified the orgasm with which my cock exploded. I sprayed my cum all over her back, my thumb deep inside her ass, pushing and circling, just like my cock did before. Finally empty of any fluids, I let go of my limp dick, pulled the thumb out of her ass and plumped down on the bed next to her. I was suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue and I could barely look at her, somewhat embarrassed, and a little worried that she would go crazy of what I just did. I could have sworn she didn't orgasm and as much as that added to my discomfort, I didn't really care about it then. I kept my eyes closed even as I felt her get out of bed. I heard her footsteps on the carpet and then the water running in the shower. For a moment I thought of joining her there, but then thought the better of it. I still wasn't sure what she's say. Minutes later she came back into the room and began redressing herself in front of me. I looked at her and found a mischievous smile playing on her face. I smiled back, and silently thanked whatever force there had been that I didn't blow it. "Same time next week?" She asked. "Wait! You're leaving already? There's coffee if you want it." I said awkwardly. She nodded. "Yeah, I gotta go. Besides, I told you this is all I'm here for. Nothing else. You can talk and have coffee with your wife." How did she know I've a wife, I thought for a moment. Well, if nothing else, my wedding band would have given me away and I thought the better of inquiring about her own spouse if there indeed had been one. "Oh!" She exclaimed as she was stepping into her shoes. "You know the Lincoln Avenue?" I nodded. "Well, there's a whole bunch of small motels going north, past Foster. I'd rather we meet there from now on." "Why?" I was dumbfounded. Here we are in a three-hundred-dollar hotel room and she would prefer a funky motel. "I like the perversion of creaky springs and stained bedcovers." She smiled and blew me a kiss and then she was gone. There were a million questions I forgot to ask her. The main one regarding her phone number, although I had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn't have told me anyway. I wanted to know when she would call me. Next Tuesday afternoon or Wednesday morning? Why that was so important to me, I couldn't tell, but at that particular moment it seemed the most pressing issue in my life. I crawled under the bed sheets and fell asleep. As short and frenzied fuck as I had just had, it was more than I was a part of in a very, very long time. I must have been smiling in my sleep. * * * The week that followed my wild escapade in a downtown Chicago hotel was the longest I had ever encountered. Or so it seemed. Every minute seemed like an hour, every hour like a day and by the time the end of the weekend came, I wasn't even certain I would recognize Elizabeth if I was to accidentally bump into her on the street. I have replayed the entire incident in my head a thousand times. I wished I had been more assertive, appearing more confident, not like an awkward little boy who doesn't know what to do with his hands. I wanted to know things about her; just trivial things, nothing too important. But I hadn't had a chance to ask her any questions. Whenever I did try to get something out of her, she would slam me down with words or ignore me. It bothered me a lot. Even though all we did was have a quick, uninhibited fuck, I still wanted a bit more out of it than the simple carnal pleasure I received. When I thought about her and that first Wednesday, I would get aroused instantly. The coldness that she radiated heated me up more than I could believe. She was like a challenge to me now, and although I realized that I had thought about this whole business much more than I should have, I couldn't stop myself from doing it. I would think about her constantly. I'd think of Elizabeth in the car on the way to work and then back home, at work, nostalgically glancing at the clock when it neared the noontime. I thought about her at home, while playing tennis and even when I was helping my kids with their homework. I hoped that the second meeting and then the subsequent ones, if they were indeed to take place, would calm me down some and rid me of this constant pondering that dangerously bordered on obsession. I mean, think about it! One fuck, lasting literally a couple of minutes and I my mind was completely wrapped around it, making me almost debilitated to think of anything else but Elizabeth. I masturbated a lot that week, much more than I usually did. It became a sort of a ritual in the shower at night and a couple of times I even retreated into the men's bathroom at work, sitting in the stall with my eyes closed, jerking off furiously, hoping that no one would come in and hear my muffled gasps. I could normally do it silently and no one would know, but thinking about Elizabeth made me lose some of the self-control I had always been proud of. I don't know if my wife Danielle sensed something was amiss because she never mentioned a thing. However, the Tuesday before the second meeting with Elizabeth was to take place, she came to bed wearing the best and the sexiest of her nightgowns, sliding between the sheets gracefully and pressing her small body against mine. I felt a twinge in my crotch, but decided to ignore it. Danielle ran her hands up and down my back and shoulders, even reaching over my hip to put her hand on my half-aroused cock. "Stop it!" I said and brushed her off. "I don't feel like it. I have a hard day tomorrow." I said and heard her sniff in annoyance. Very dramatically she spun around and slammed her head against the pillow, picking up the book and after just a few seconds dropping it on the floor. She turned off the light and after a few minutes her breathing slow down and she was asleep. I wished I were that lucky. Exactly like a week before I couldn't sleep well that night. I tossed and turned and thought about Elizabeth. I pictured her big brown nipples between my lips, my fingers inside her pussy and then stabbing her with them in the asshole. Just the mere thought of the latter got me so hot, I could barely contain myself. I wanted to fuck Danielle so bad, I ached. But at the same time, I didn't want to see another stone cold face, looking about as if she was checking the ceiling for cobwebs, sighing not in pleasure but annoyance that I had taken so much of her time for my own satisfaction. Once she actually asked me if I was going to be much longer. Needless to say I stopped right there and then, angry enough to bash her head against the wall, instead simply sleeping on the couch for weeks. When I returned to the bedroom neither of us mentioned the incident. A Woman from the Ad I got up and went into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind me. Without turning the light on I staggered towards the toilette, lifted the seat up and in a position like I was pissing I jerked off with my eyes closed and my thoughts on Elizabeth. When I was done and had blindly cleaned myself with a face towel I turned around and my heart skipped a beat when I saw Danielle quietly standing in the bathroom doorway. I was so engrossed in what I had been doing, I didn't hear her open the bathroom door and step inside. I wasn't frightened of her, of course. I was simply surprised and startled. I walked past her without a word and returned to the bedroom. I expected her to say something, yell or protest of the sight she had just encountered, but none of that happened. She simply came back to bed and turning her back towards me went back to sleep. I wished she would have said something, I hoped for a huge argument and it irked me that it didn't happen. The frustration that had been building inside of me had been reaching the boiling point and I knew that one of these days I'd explode. What would happen afterwards I couldn't imagine, nor did I want to. I wasn't ready to simply walk out on my family, but at the same time I didn't feel like a part of it any longer. The kids were growing up fast, becoming more independent of me, and my wife treated me like a disease. The Tuesday before the meeting with Elizabeth was to take place I drove up and down the Lincoln Avenue, carefully inspecting a great number of motels squeezed in between Asian restaurants, gas stations and bars. The area didn't seem seedy and the motels, although not of high quality, appeared fairly respectable. I had never visited that particular part of town and found it interesting. Most of the motels sported signs that the cable was free, a few even advertised complementary adult channels. Well, that's all I needed to know. I felt I wouldn't be making a fool of myself by trying to hire a room for an hour. I didn't plan to spend the whole day in it as I had at Weston Hotel, where besides the sexual relief, I had also found a peaceful place to sleep off the fatigue and frustration. I decided not to take the entire Wednesday off again, so I went to work in the morning, although that proved to be a complete waste of time. I couldn't concentrate on anything properly and had spent most of the morning browsing websites, foolishly logging onto a few porn ones, even though we've had a strict policy about surfing the x-rated content ever since a big scandal involving the students and interns broke out the previous summer. Pleased with myself and in expectation of what was to take place very soon, I whistled my way out of the office, winking at my secretary who had always blushed when I was kind enough to pay her even the slightest attention. In the elevator I toyed with the idea that I might invite Alison – my secretary – to lunch one day and see where things might go, if anywhere at all. I immediately dismissed the thought. Fucking with the staff was never a good thing. I learned that from the example of my good friend Joe. Besides being sued for sexual harassment, he lost his wife and with her a good portion of his hard earned savings. Even his kids were treating him like a leper. I stopped at the coffee place near the motel where I was to meet Elizabeth, somewhat worried that she called me yet. At that point it was almost eleven and I felt antsy, firmly determined that this time things would go like I want them to. No Miss half Dominatrix, half Dictator business. Finally, I picked a motel that was closest to the city and to my great relief had the least cars in its parking lot. Not that I was worried anybody would have recognized me there. If I was to bump into any of my acquaintances, well, I would be pretty certain they were there for the same reason as I had been, and discretion as Elizabeth stated was of importance for all. A pretty twenty-something receptionist with no bra and a see-through t-shirt greeted me like I was a bug that needed to be squashed. She kept popping her gum and looking me up and down, disgust on her face obvious. "Can I have room number four?" I asked eagerly as she reached towards the keys and went for one of the teen numbers. "Why four?" She rolled her eyes towards me, and blew a pink gummy balloon in my direction. I could have smacked her! "Because, I want room number four." I said patiently, with a voice as sweet and patronizing as I could possibly muster. Not that that did any good. She didn't even blink. "That particular room is more expensive than the one I was going to give you. It can't be rented for an hour." She said, and measured me with her eyes. "Well then! I'll pay for the whole fucking day!" I began losing my cool. I could have kicked myself for being so stupid. Knowing that the time for Elizabeth to show up was very close, I should not have been pissing the receptionist off, no matter how ignorant she appeared to be. I had only minutes left and running up and down Lincoln Avenue, trying to find a place that would not treat me like scum was not a good way to start off my I'm-in-charge decision. The girl rolled her eyes again and carefully glanced from the intended key to the one I asked for as if she was myopic. You better be a good lay, girl. I thought to myself. Or you'll be in trouble for life! Despite the eagerness and frustration I managed to keep those particular thoughts to myself and when the blasted key number four finally clanked on the counter, I pulled out the money and paid for the room, leaving absolutely no tip for the rude girl. I ran up the stairs to the second floor and madly searched for the room. The cell phone rang just as I had found it and stuck my key in the lock. "Which motel?" Came the question even before I managed to say a word. Elizabeth was obviously still in a hard-as-a-rock mood. Ask me if I cared! I gave her the name of the motel and the room number, half expecting her to comment on whether it was coincidence or deliberate decision to pick four. None came. "I'll be there in a minute." She said and hung up. Yet again, she managed to make me feel small and completely unimportant. I wished I had a drink at hand. A stiff one would be more than welcome at this time. True to her word, only a very short time passed and there was a knock on the door. For all of her I-take-no-crap behavior, she did have a decent touch in at least announcing herself before bursting in the door and sweeping me into a whirlwind of crazy sex. "Come in!" I yelled out and remained standing in the middle of the room, again feeling like a dummy. I didn't know what to do with my hands, whether to lean against the wall or sit on the bed. Everything seemed bizarrely inadequate. The door opened and Elizabeth walked in. This time, however, she didn't wear the little housewife outfit. Her gorgeous body was clad in loose fit black jeans and black turtleneck made of thick black wool. Sure, we were in the middle of autumn with occasional breeze chilling the streets of Chicago, but it wasn't cold enough to call for this kind of attire. I noticed she wore platform shoes with the soles so thick I estimated them to be at least six inches. I've met women who were taller than me before although it wasn't an everyday occurrence. The fact that the shoes made her good three inches taller than me added to the intimidation factor. Her hair was loose, soft curls falling over her front and back, giving her an image of a goddess. Her fingers were heavy with big-gemmed rings, three on each hand. She looked like a biker chick, having just crawled out of some seedy bar on the west side. She looked ready to kill. And she sure looked delicious enough to fuck. This sudden change in her appearance had caught me completely by surprise, but not unpleasantly so. The first time I saw her I would have estimated her to be in her late thirties, now I could have sworn she was still in her twenties. Heavy make up that she didn't wear previously but was sporting now, probably added to the deception. I watched her walk around the room and peep out of the window, satisfied that the view was to the back of the building where the dumpster stood, with a huge pile of black bags neatly stacked next to it, completely eliminating the need for a dumpster in the first place. She walked around the bed and bent over it, trying the springs by pushing her hands into it a few times. Like she said before, the bed certainly creaked exactly like one would see in a cheap porn flick. I presumed the bedcovers were clean, but there were visible stains, compliments of the by previous occupants. Save for the bed, a shabby looking small table and a chair on which I wouldn't have dared sit in fear it would topple under my weight, the room was bare. I watched her move around the room in such comfort it seemed she had been there a thousand times before. For all I knew, she had been. Elizabeth threw her bag in the corner of the room and pulled off her sweater with yet another surprise in store for me. I expected another lace bra or something similar, but there had been nothing. No undershirt, no bra. She kicked off her shoes and they landed next to me with a heavy thump. Had she used more force they would have hit my toes and they looked thick enough to hurt. Brushing her hair off the face she continued to undress herself without ever giving me a look. It was like she was completely alone in the room and I was but a fly on the wall, watching this beautiful spectacle. She undid the zipper of her black jeans and pushed them over her ass, making me swallow hard when I noticed that there was no panties, either. She came dressed only in jeans, sweater and shoes. That was it. Nothing else. It appeared she had thrown clothes on only a minute before she ran out of the house, if that's where she had indeed come from. Her hips were very wide, heavy breasts slightly sagging and there was a small bulge to her tummy, but she was in good shape, I could tell. There was an indication of muscles on her upper arms and calves. She obviously worked out, but wasn't too obsessed with it. The image of possible health concerns that she might have had was shattered immediately when she reached into her back and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. She opened the pack up and stuck a cigarette between her lips. She browsed through the bag some more and pulled out an expensive looking lighter. Not that I'm an expert in the matter, you understand. She flicked the lighter open and lit the flame. As I watched her slowly bring the flame to her face and pause it just before it touched the cigarette I also realized that she was observing me carefully, her eyes wide open, half hidden by the hair that had by now fallen back over the shoulders. "Well..." she said and inhaled deeply. She seemed to drag the smoke off the cigarette forever. She parted her lips and removed the cigarette and then inhaled the air, letting the smoke reach all the way down to the last part of her lungs, before she exhaled a thin and delicate ray of gray smoke. She obviously enjoyed it. "Fuck, I needed that!" she stated and I admired her ability to talk and act crudely without appearing vulgar in the least. "Come then. Come on!" she exclaimed all of a sudden. "I only have minutes here." She walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it, spreading her legs wide, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Soft muff that covered her pussy was carefully trimmed in a triangle pointing down, as if it was a big arrow revealing the target to any fool who might have missed it. I followed and stood before her, leaning against the bed with my knees. Elizabeth took another drag from the cigarette and then to my great surprise flicked it across the room and out the window. I didn't even realize the window had been open and for a moment I panicked. I didn't need the snotty receptionist's comments on why the place was all burnt up. Elizabeth clearly showed no concern that someone might have been standing underneath the window, even though I seriously doubted there actually had been anyone. She reached for my zipper and undid it with expert moves, pushing down my pants and boxer shorts in one. Without a pause or a thought she wrapped her lips around my half hard cock and gently cupped my balls. She kept the quickly growing cock in her mouth without moving, yet I could feel her tongue pressing against it in circular motions. She brushed her tongue and squeezed with her hand in synchronic rhythm and the effect was mind blowing. Again, I regretted the fact that I didn't pop a Viagra pill before coming here. It seemed like I was ready to come after ten seconds of her expert manipulation. If nothing else, she certainly knew how to work a man in more ways than one, and the sexual part of it was awesome. My cock hardened to its maximum and suddenly she gagged and pulled away. As if on queue, I grabbed her head and pushed her back towards me. She gagged again but the hand squeezing the balls never stopped working, and never applying more pressure than was comfortable. She sent shivers up and down my spine, into my head and even legs. They trembled like leafs, barely able to support my weight. I let go of her head and grabbed generous handfuls of her hair pulling her onto me and fucking her face. She gagged and her eyes watered, but like a true trooper, she took it all. I pulled out almost completely and kept only my cock's thick head inside her mouth, then pulling that out, too, I ran it over her lips like a chap stick, covering her soft skin with my precum. I knew I was close to cumming and didn't want to waste this load as quickly as I did the first one. I wanted to taste her pussy, lick it up and down, suck off her juices, cover it in my spit and bite on her clit. But she wouldn't let me. When I tried to step away she grabbed onto my ass cheeks and pulled me towards her, burying the entire length of the cock inside her mouth, and this time without gagging sucked it off with such force I wasn't sure if I was hurting or enjoying it. She must have known by my gasps that I was cumming, I sped up the thrusting into her mouth, I let go of her hair, squeezing her head between my hands, my knees half-buckling, my entire body puffing up like a peacock's tail. She didn't stop, though. As I was squirting into her mouth, she kept sucking and circling her tongue around the cock as far as it would go and than back in the other direction. As the last of my spunk left my cock and slid down her throat, I felt completely drained. I wished I could lie down and take a nap. She seemed to have drunk my energy as well as everything else. She wouldn't let me, though. "Come on!" she commanded as I finally pulled out of her mouth and slid farther up on the bed, far enough where she could place her feet flat on the bedcover. "Do me," she said and again spread her legs in a freaky width, opening her pink pussy to me. The clit stood straight up just like my cock did minutes ago, large and almost purple, ever so inviting to my lips and tongue. I fell on me knees and pressed my face against her crotch. "No, no..." she said and pushed me away. "I don't have time today." She said and seeing my obviously puzzled expression smiled gently. "Here..." she said and grabbed my hand. She put my middle and ring fingers into her mouth and generously coated them with her spit. Not that that was necessary. Like the previous time, her cunt was dripping wet. "Now..." she said and positioned the two fingers on the entrance of her pussy. "You do know where G-spot is, right?" I nodded. I did know, technically. I secretly read it in my wife's magazines and sometimes in porn flicks figured that's what the guys were maneuvering, but have never done it purposely. "Here..." she said and pushed my two fingers inside her. Her eyes traveled over the ceiling as if she was searching for something. She certainly searched for something, but it was my fingers she was using. "There!" she said suddenly and looked at me. "Feel that rough spot?" I nodded again. I couldn't tell that particular spot from the rest of her soft cunt. I felt stupid. "Rub that!" she commanded and I did as I was told. She laid back and closed her eyes, only to open them again and look at me briefly. "Don't bang it, for god's sake. Just rub it." I didn't feel as if I was banging against it in the first place, but I took great care and concentrated on the fact that I should be simply rubbing it. She lay on the bed, with me rubbing the mysterious spot inside her pussy, which to my great disappointment I was never to see. For a minute she simply lay still, not moving, not moaning, if I didn't know any better I would have thought she was asleep. I began rubbing slightly faster, again taking great care to be gentle enough for her to enjoy it. After what seemed like an hour although it couldn't have been more than two minutes, her legs twitched. They twitched again and she moaned, slightly lifting her ass in the air and letting it gently back on the bed. Now we're getting somewhere, I thought and kept that thought to myself, industriously continuing the labor that was bestowed upon me. It didn't take long before I began feeling a slight ache in my arm, the uncomfortable position of it half in the air hurting my muscles. She moaned again and her knees closed on my head, squeezing it gently only to release it. She began a dance of sorts, the small of her back bulging up, her legs twitching, opening and closing, her hands rubbing against her forehead as she was trying to exorcise a headache. Her pussy creamed and the clit seemed even larger than before I had started working on her. Her moaning and motion intensified, and she put the hands on her breasts, squeezing them tight and pinching her nipples. The sight was more than erotic. It was completely mind blowing. As I knelt there admiring this body weaving under my hands as if rocked by gentle waves, I still had enough comprehension to regret the fact that it had taken me this long to see something so beautiful again. Danielle and I haven't had a true and fulfilling sex in years and since she turned against me, she would never have allowed me to do something like this to her. Not even to see her stark naked lying on the bed in the middle of the day with no blinds or heavy curtains to prevent me from seeing her in all her glory. "The other hand. The other hand!" she exclaimed impatiently and waved her fingers towards me. Elizabeth's face was deep red with effort and her forehead was wrinkled into an ugly mask of pleasure. I loved it all! She never stopped moving even though she was whispering and gasping out commands. "Make a fist," she said and I did as I was told. "Now, press it right here," she pointed to her stomach, slightly above her Venus mound. I did. "Harder, dig in the knuckles deeper." She said and I did that, too. Now she began moaning in earnest. She was louder than before and it was very arousing. I could feel my cock stirring again, although I seriously doubted I could manage to get it up in such a short time. "Faster..." she gasped and I began driving my fingers in and out of her cunt faster. "When I tell you to stop, fucking stop, you hear?" I nodded, even though she didn't look at me. "Then press down really hard and move away..." she said something else but I couldn't understand. I didn't feel that it was the right time to be asking questions; I just did as she told me. She thrashed on the bed, nearly moved away enough to have pulled herself off my fingers, but I followed quickly and continued rubbing her delicate spot, whilst pressing down on her tummy. Call me naïve, or call me an idiot, but I had no idea what that was all about.