3 comments/ 20615 views/ 5 favorites Mid-life Crisis Ch. 02 By: mandywilluk2000 I did see twenty-year-old Craig again for we had to complete the tennis competition, but we both knew it was over. Having him cum on my face, fuck me three times in my house and sleep all night with me had brought closure to our fling, we both knew that. Over the next few months I was tempted a couple of times when I would see his number in my addresses on my phone and he called once and suggested a 'for old times-sake get together,' but we didn't. With flings like we had, which are totally based on sex, but then what else is there between a forty two year old woman and a twenty year old guy, there's no going back; so I went forward instead. Kevin and I got back together again. It was good for a while with him being wonderfully attentive and fabulous in bed. Slowly though he drifted back to his old ways: sudden overnight trips up north in England or trips overseas, long lunches from which he came home half or completely pissed, increases in client entertaining, dinners a couple of times a week and so on. As the frequency and amount of this increased I became suspicious. I didn't like what I did for I checked his shirts and suits hoping against hope I didn't smell perfume or find mascara or lip-gloss smudges. I went through his pockets seeing if there were any incriminating receipts and I looked at the numbers he had recently called on his mobile. I didn't find anything, but wasn't confident enough to believe that was because he was 'going straight,' just that he was being careful. That's what happens when you love a man that has cheated on you many times. The other thing that happens is that cheating takes on another meaning and starts to become a 'if he can do it so can I,' a sort of 'what's good for the goose etc...!' I got bored. Although he'd promised to travel less and be home more he didn't; nothing changed. Sara was doing great at school, he was doing great with the business we had built between us and I was stultifying. I became suspicious of him. I questioned him too much and continually asked where he was going and where he had been. I wanted our marriage to work, I loved Kevin and had thought we would spend the rest of our lives together in wedded bliss, bringing up our gorgeous, intelligent and very balanced daughter. But it was slowly dawning on me that was not going to happen and as with many of our friends the 'magic' was going from our marriage. That scared me. The thought of being alone, starting a new life and bringing Sara up by myself horrified me. Ok I would be fine financially, but a wreck emotionally. I just didn't know who to turn to or what to do and that made things so much worse. In some ways Kevin did try. He was extra attentive, made sure I got plenty of sex and took me out frequently. He took me to the Villa d'Este on Lake Guarda for a week and bought me a big diamond. It was all nice and we had some good sex, but I was depressed. I knew that soon this would all stop and not much would have changed, except perhaps the young bimbo he was fucking would be a blonde instead of a brunette. I started golf lessons again; I hadn't played for year. I quite enjoyed it and I arranged to be coached by a young pro at his club and, by god, was I tempted? It looked as though it might be another Craig all over again. He was good looking, had a lovely personality and was quite bright but did not have the level of inteligence necessary for my panties to come off. My knickers are intellectual snobs! On the second day on Italy it rained all day, it often does in that region. The clouds sometimes seem to get caught on the mountains and they just stay there dumping their rain. It's surprising that when it does rain at a holiday resort, just how little there is to do. "Why don't I take some photos of you, sort of commemorate the holiday?" Kevin suggested. Although it was raining it was still quite warm and we were sitting on the balcony of our suite looking out over the lake. "We've got loads." "I know that but just a few portraits." He's always been keen on photography, but didn't really have the time to spend on it. He had the money, though and was always buying new cameras and other stuff and for Christmas I had bought him a Canon digital SLR, which he had wanted. I was wearing jeans and a white blouse, nothing special and certainly not clothes to commemorate a really special occasion, but I agreed. He took a number of photos of me from different angles and with me in a variety of poses. I was quite used to posing for him for he was always taking snaps, especially when we were on holiday. "Open another button," he said squinting at me through the lens. "What?" "Your blouse looks a bit too tight." "If I open another button I'll show a lot of cleavage." "So, I can handle that." "Yes I know darling you handled it and more last night didn't you?" I smiled back pleased that we were getting on so well. "Well yes, but why so much cleavage?" "I'm wearing a new bra, one of those I bought in Milan; it's Italian and on the small side for me." "Yes not too many Italian women have D cup knockers do they?" "No they tend to be smaller as do their bras." "Well why not take it off then?" "The bra?"# "Yes" he said a little croakily. "And have you photograph me?" "Why not, it might be er fun." The idea gave me an adrenalin rush, it excited me. I did undo the extra button, I did show him the deep cleavage, he did photograph it, I did remove my bra and he was right, it was fun.. "Put the blouse back on." "Kev what are you up to?" "Amanda this is good, I'm enjoying it. Please." I did as he asked. He photographed me with the blouse done up, the thin cotton stretched across my boobs, my nipples, which I realised had hardened, clearly on view. "You won't show these to anyone will you?" I croaked realising I was getting worked up. "Of course not, now undo the buttons one by one." As I did that looking down and occasionally looking at the camera, Kevin took loads of shots of me. "Undo it and let it hang." The edges of the blouse caught on my immensely erect nipples as if that is what they were designed for, they were in the right places and were the right size. I had never done anything like this and I did feel shy when we had started, but now that had gone and I was enjoying myself. "Now undo the jeans." "No Kevin we can't," I said, but, and I could hardly believe this, I wanted to. When I had undone my belt and the zip on my jeans it all kicked off. He shot me topless in my jeans, undoing the jeans and taking them off. He took loads of me in my panties including me lying on my back on the bed and on the floor and him kneeling across me. His erection was very evident as he croaked. "Now the panties Amanda." I demurred at first, but eventually they came off and Kevin photographed me like that, I was half expecting him to tell me as Craig had, that I had a gorgeous cunt, but Kevin is always slow on the compliments. We did though have sex and it was brilliant. Posing for your lover as he photographs you was, I recognised, the perfect foreplay. It also gave vent to the exhibitionist streak that my toyboy had discovered lay dormant in me. A couple of evenings later we were getting ready for dinner at a posh restaurant just round the lake. "Stay right like that," he said as he came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. I was in my underwear, a black bra and thong and one stocking, and was just pulling the other holdup up my leg. I hadn't done my hair so it was tumbling in an unkempt pile of chestnut locks onto my bare shoulders. "I must shoot you like that." "We can't we'll be late for dinner." I watched incredulously as he picked up the phone, called the concierge and told him to cancel the restaurant. "And send the waiter up in forty five minutes so we can order room service," He went on getting his camera from the bag. "On the bed Amanda I so want to get you in that outfit." He snapped away as I, now far less self-consciously, rolled around on the bed striking up my own poses and removing my bra with little hesitation when he asked. I knew that my tummy had a little bulge, my full breasts had a bit of a sag and there was some excess on my bum and hips so I struck poses that mitigated as far as I could those parts of my body. He was beside the bed snapping away as I pusheed my breasts together and pinched my nipples into even larger lumps than they had become involuntarily. I could see the outline of his erection under the towel, it was so tempting. I gave into it, rolled onto my side, pulled the towel so it fell away from him, grabbed his erection and started licking and sucking him. Unlike Craig he didn't shoot his lot onto my face and tits. No my husband came in my mouth and I swallowed him! Back home the glamour gone we went back to the norm: the grinding, fucking, boring life of a working housewife and mother. I was going out of my head with worry over what Kevin was up to, who he was fucking this time and if he would leave Sara and me. I couldn't stay in the house. I tried more tennis, but kept meeting Craig and at the golf club the spectre of Craig Mark two loomed so large that I stopped going to lessons. So I got a job. A proper job, well a part time proper job, one where I had to go to an office to work I mean as opposed to working from home as I had for years. It was in a marketing and promotions agency. They did lots of research both for clients, their own use and for publication. They needed someone to edit the reports, present them in a readable form and create and maintain a database of materials for use in their research. I'm not sure why I got it, but it seemed a good idea at the time. We didn't need the money and it was a bit tiresome commuting to Covent Garden from Chigwell three days a week, but it sounded like fun and the work appeared to be interesting. I hadn't worked in an office other than as the boss since my early twenties when I was employed in an ad agency and committed the cardinal sin in advertising, I fucked the client and that was Kevin. So it was all new to me. I got my mum and dad who lived near by to pick Sara up from school although on two of the days I worked she had something on in the school one night and studied at a friend's another. As I didn't have to be at work until nine thirty and with school being near the tube station making the necessary arrangements to cope with our daughter was a breeze. Kevin did help, but I could never trust him to collect Sara; he was just too unreliable and I thought in my dark moments, his bimbos were more important than his daughter who wasn't that much younger than his bits on the side. Strangely I loved it. I liked the buzz in the place, the camaraderie of being part of a team, meeting new people from walks of life I rarely experienced who I had nothing common with but the job, the office politics, the going out for a drink after work and, of course, the flirtation. PC hadn't reached such agencies then and so many of the comments were quite ribald; I just loved it. I also loved kitting myself out. I had to buy a range of casual office clothes, jeans, trousers, tops, cardis that sort of stuff and several uniforms for client meetings, power suits in black, blue, red and white; I bought each suit with both trousers and a skirt. 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. But I swear 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 office romance, a predictable work colleagues' affair. But to me it was not that. I think Patrick could well have been the true love of my life and I feel I was that to him. Patrick was one of the directors and he was my boss. He was just older than me, nearly fifty and lived in Potters Bar an upscale North London suburb which was just a few 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, many other similarities emerged. 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 and at clients' premises, most of which were in London, but some were round the country; we usually travelled together. We got to know each other, we talked of many things including our personal lives, which I soon learned were dangerous discussion topics. We started to work late together, we had lunches, sometimes with clients, but more often 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 Amanda, perhaps when we are both at a loose end having been partner dumped?" Ok. 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's 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 Kevin that I was going to dinner with Patrick my boss than Patrick 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 Liverpool Street Station and I got the tube 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, were 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 Kevin were adding up to him being 'at it' again I'm not sure. But he was away and out more, he had more 'urgent' trips and then yes, I did smell the 'cheap' perfume that bimbos wear, that is until he buys them Chanel as a present, and the tell-tale smudge of lip gloss or lipstick on his jacket. That convinced me he was up to something, but then 'leopards never change their spots' I thought feeling remarkably relaxed about the fact that my husband was fucking another woman, or more! Again whether it was me 'knowing' that Kevin was up to his old tricks' or some other force 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 bitch 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 Liverpool Street 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 Amanda, 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." And still neither moved. Then I felt his hand on my shoulder as he applied some pressure. Slowly we closed the gap between us. He pressed his body against mine and buried his face in my, what some would say was too long for my age, chestnut coloured hair. "Maybe Amanda, 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 Amanda 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 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 Amanda." "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 East London traffic. Chigwell is almost due east of London and Potters bar is nearly due north, but both are about the same distance from Covent Garden. The route from Chigwell to PB is along the M25 and can take ages so I had insisted he drop me at a tube station on my way home, making it easier for him to get home. We agreed on Stratford where the Olympic Park was rapidly being constructed. In any case he and Marcia, the shrew, were entertaining that evening and Kevin 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 tubes every few minutes and it only takes twenty minutes or so to Chigwell so there was no rush, well at least on my part. Mid-life Crisis Ch. 02 However, if we had had to rely on the odd evening and the infrequent afternoon in the romantic setting of hotel rooms for our affair then it would have been even more frustrating than it was. Fortunately we didn't. I don't want to make what we did sound too sordid or overly calculating and disloyal to my family on my part. Also I don't want to go into exhaustive explanations to explain the background to how we came to start fucking in the office, in his car and at our homes. The first two locations were exciting, but a little tacky. The latter, having one's lover come to one's home, was extremely morally dubious, but when you are in love and are having an affair the normal rules and moral standards go out the window somewhat. I'm not trying to justify the fact that we had sex in our marital homes, simply explain the lengths that married lovers will go to in search of fulfilment. "You coming to the station Amanda?" "No I have some stuff I have to finish this evening, Patrick needs it for tomorrow, I explained to Charlotte a brand manager who lived my way. "Well don't stay too late," she said walking out and leaving me with just two other colleagues who were having a meeting. They seemed to take an endless time to wind up their business, but eventually they left. I knocked on Patrick's door as we'd arranged. "They've gone." We were in each other's arms almost immediately. We both badly wanted to be together that day. It was a Tuesday and we hadn't even seen each other, let alone had sex since the previous Tuesday even though I had increased my work days to three a week. Something had cropped up for Patrick that prevented us meeting for lunch, I couldn't get away from the office in the afternoon and neither of us could spend a great deal of the evening in a hotel bed. We'd discussed this in a series of phone calls on the Monday and Tuesday morning. He shut the blinds and we looked out across the larger open plan outer office as we kissed and caressed each other. His hands were all over my breasts. I was wearing a crisp, white blouse, quite tight jeans, knee length 'stockings' and heels. His hand slid round me right onto the cheeks of my bum. He gripped them and pulled me hard against his erection, it felt wonderful. "Jesus, Amanda, I want you so much, I've been hard all day thinking of this." "Well you've held onto it well," I smiled, grinding my mound against it and adding with a smile as I grabbed his cock inside his expensive, thin woollen Armani suit trousers. "Just as I am going to." "And now I'm gonna use it and get rid of it," he sighed squeezing my bum even harder. "Christ Patrick, we can't here," I groaned my hand rubbing his erection through his trousers. "Can't we Amanda? Why not?" He said getting up and locking the door. He put the lights out, walked back to his desk and perched his bum on the edge with, his legs crossed at the ankles and pushed out straight in front of him. "Nobody comes in the office this time of night and even if they did they can't see in here." "We shouldn't." "Still too sordid is it?" He laughed. Smiling, I replied. "It was too sordid for our first time." "And now Amanda, now we've fucked a few times, is still too sordid?" My resistance, if there had been any in the first place, almost immediately evaporated, I loved the dirty talk, I saw the logic in what he was saying and that other side of me, the Hyde I think, took over. That wanted thrills and excitement, it wanted different sex, extreme stuff and risky places, just as it had with Craig. I felt bold, adventurous and confident. I walked towards him my eyes locked on his, my fingers fumbling at the buttons on my blouse. The first came open just after I started moving, the second when I had covered about half the distance between us and the third when I was standing just a couple of feet away from him. Staring straight into his eyes I slowly undid the remainder as his eyes seemed to plunge into my cleavage and my boobs inside the thin, dainty white bra. "But it's not too sordid for later times," I smiled as he cupped my breasts, which I had sort of proffered to him as my fingers fumbled at his zip. I wanted to feel his cock so badly that nearly all rational thought went from my mind. He pulled my tits out of my bra. I stopped him, removed it completely without removing the blouse, a trick every girl knows, but few display, but then they rarely need to for the guy usually takes it off. I dropped it into my bag. I was working on the basis that it would easier to button my blouse up rather than struggle with a half full and half empty bra if the unexpected happened, so some rational thought was still around! On top of that I felt deliciously wanton being in my workplace, with my blouse open to the waist and my bare breasts bouncing around. Visions of the tennis clubhouse filled my mind. I got to feel much more wanton very quickly. I undid his belt and fumbled his, by now, quite familiar dick out from his boxers and the tail of his shirt. It was very hard and wonderfully warm. He undid my belt as well and also slid my zip down. He got his hand inside and was quickly arousing me with his fingers towards my first orgasm; I was still a quick cummer. I went to sit on his leather couch thinking we could cuddle and hold each other and gradually lead into having sex as I lie on my back on the couch. But no, that wasn't in the script, it wasn't on the agenda. Mixing metaphors horribly, it was also not in the plan. "No come here," he almost growled getting hold of me and pulling me behind his desk. There was still a little method in the madness that was consuming us, for through a crack in the blinds we had a view right down the outside office from behind his desk. Just roughly enough to complement the circumstances, he yanked my jeans down, nearly to my knees. I was wearing a thong purposefully for him for I don't usually wear them with jeans, the thong and the seam of the jeans traversing the crease in your bum can get a little uncomfortable. "You sexy bitch," he, again, almost growled looking at the slither of black lace and silk that just covered my pubes and sneaked sexily, I thought, between the cheeks of my bum. "Turn round," he instructed me as willingly, eagerly even I did as he asked. He had a large wooden desk becoming the status of a senior director in a marketing consultancy. Rosewood I think it was and it was kept beautifully polished so it was as shiny as glass. It was quite cold when he pushed me face forward onto it so that my boobs were squashed against the wood making smears on the shiny surface. I was at ninety degrees or so at the waist, with my jeans round mid-thigh. He didn't take the thong off, but merely pulled it to one side. He ran his finger deliciously along the crease between the cheeks of bum, pausing meaningfully on the place that hadn't yet featured much in our relationship, and right onto my soaking, pulsating, bloated pussy. Then, not to put too fine a point on it, he fucked me bent over his office desk. We both knew only too well that would be a constant reminder of this every time he or I were in his office in the future. And that was sordid, very sordid, deliciously so. It gradually got worse though. Or maybe better, dependent upon your viewpoint. I have often looked back in recent years, after Patrick and I finished, to try to discern just how much was really just lust and sexual adventure and what was real love. I still haven't found a full answer to that. Of course there was loads of remorse after that first full sex in the office. Both immediately after he had cum, later that evening when I was home and for a few days after. My thinking was that what we'd done was dangerous, rather sordid, a bit like teenagers, but so fucking exciting I could hardly wait for the next time. That wasn't long in coming either. I hadn't wanted it to turn out as it did. I didn't really want to become an office 'bike.' I wasn't really expecting my deep love affair with Patrick to revolve mainly around me being fucked in the office and fucked in his car. But then with married people who go off the rails, sexually and romantically, where else is there? That first time in the office was probably the most sordid position I had ever been in, but then I haven't been in that many, yet on the other hand when I think of Craig, no don't let's go there. Face down on my bosses desk, my blouse open, my tits bare, my jeans round my ankles and my panties pushed to one side, I had been groaning and moaning with pleasure as he had made me cum and now I was bathing in the warm afterglow of a strong orgasm as Patrick softened inside me. He pulled himself out and I stood up. His eyes ran up and down my near naked body and dishevelled clothing. He took me in his arm, kissed me deeply and with a broad grin on his face said. "That was fantastic Amanda, almost as fantastic as you look right now. Perfectly and absolutely wonderfully fucking sordid." It was exactly the right thing to say to reassure me, but I wondered if he would have felt the same if he could have seen what I could feel, his sperm slipping down my thigh! I was finding out new things about myself. I realised that not only had I got the capability of being a devious and calculating cheat, but also I was becoming a 'thrill junky!' Being prone to analyse most things I do, I worked out that the thrill and excitement of the affair, the going to hotels and now having sex in the office, were as equally exciting and important really as the sex itself. But wasn't the sex an expression of our love? I got a little stumped there for other than sort of working together at a distance, having the occasional lunch and dinner, our relationship was sex. There wasn't a lot more, but hey, don't get me wrong I wasn't complaining. We enlarged our repertoire. There were nights, well evenings actually, when we didn't have 'late passes' to use a hotel; we had perhaps an hour when we needed to encapsulate all of our love and lust for each other. Whilst not a cheapskate by any means, Patrick baulked at shelling out a couple of hundred pounds for an hour or so in a hotel bed with me, or anyone probably. So when it was not possible to use the office as people were around in late meetings, we needed somewhere else. The question was where? 'Let me give you a lift home,' Patrick messaged me about three one afternoon. 'You can't it's miles out of your way,' 'So what, it's worth it for an hour or so together isn't it?' 'Of course.' It wasn't actually that far out of his way. But as he had to use the M25 or the North Circular to get from Chigwell to Hadleigh Woods, ot could take ages if the traffic was heavy. "Ok, so what time were you thinking of leaving?" "'Get your coat." 'What?' 'I'm just round the corner, come on.' As I now had my own clients I was able to leave the office without explaining where I was going so meeting him wasn't a problem It was just getting dark when we turned off the main road and into a narrow lane which was a short cut to where I live. "Anywhere around here we can stop and er, um, chat?" He smiled at me. "We can chat anywhere can't we, but I doubt you really meant that do you?" I asked leaning across and resting my hand on his upper thigh. "You know me too well, no of course not." I hadn't 'groped' in a car since Craig, I realised as we got into the back of Patrick's Merc. After he'd pulled the car into a car park in a wood, to which I had directed him, even though I had no idea just how safe it would be, we had kissed and talked. I didn't want to get into the back on the grounds that if another car, or worse, the police or forest rangers drove into the car park how could we explain that? "We don't have to, we're doing nothing wrong and we are consenting adults," he replied with impeccable logic, reassuring me, so I eventually, but rather reluctantly agreed. I don't know just how much of the extreme excitement and immense pleasure was down to my feelings for Patrick, the slight frustration I was experiencing through not having had sex for more than a week or the fact that we were in car, but what I experienced was sensational. I resisted at first, just as respectable, well brought up married women are supposed to do. I don't mean his advances, I relished those. I don't mean him kissing me, having his tongue in my mouth or caressing my breasts, I enjoyed those. I don't even mean him slipping his hand up my top, cupping my breasts in my bra and then wiggling his fingers inside that onto my boobs and nipples, after all that's what 'boys and girls' do when they sit in the back of a car. It wasn't, either Patrick slipping his hand up my skirt and pressing his fingers on the gusset of my panties. No, my resistance came when he scooped my boobs out of my bra, when he pushed my skirt up round my waist, when he tried to pull my knickers down and when he whispered in my ear. "Amanda I have to have you. I have to fuck you." "Oh God Patrick we can't, it's too risky." It was risky. It was dangerous. The chance of being caught, literally 'in the act' was high. But by Christ it was exciting. We couldn't undress of course, we couldn't get naked. But Patrick could get his cock out, I could take my panties off, I could straddle him and he could, just like that, fuck me. And that is precisely what we did. Clearly, I realised as I lay in his arms on the large back seat, not all German cars have sexual design faults. More soul searching followed that of course, but I coped, probably better than I had with Craig and with when Patrick and I had sex first time in the office. So for the next few months our affair revolved around the occasional afternoon or evening in a hotel, the fairly regular once a week or so shag in the office and yes I did let him fuck me with me sitting on my desk as he stood between my legs, which were wrapped round his hips. And of course in the car and a few times at our houses, but they never worked too well, nerves I guess. After that first time I lost my reservations about being caught and inhibitions about being undressed and then fucked in his car in a car park. I actually enjoyed it and each weekend I looked forward to our, usually, Tuesday evening car sex. My new found cunning and conniving, scheming and slyness came into play at these times. "Just sit there," I said after we had parked and climbed into the back. I pushed Patrick into the corner of the usefully large back seat and knelt with one knee on the seat on the other side of the car. I was wearing a knee-length, quite loose, blue dress, with a lowish top and three buttons running from the neckline to just above my waist. Staring directly into each other's eyes, I slowly undid the top button. He smiled at me. "Mmmmm nice," he said as the next and the third came undone and the top of my dress parted a little, thus showing a goodly expanse of my boobs. Taking hold of the opened sides of the top of the dress I pulled them sideways, across my boobs and let go of them leaving my bare breasts staring invitingly at him. He reached out for me. "No, don't touch," I whispered pushing him back into the corner. "Christ Amanda, you flash your tits at me, then say no touching." "Well not yet," I smiled reaching down and taking hold of the hem. "And, by the way, young lady, where's your bra gone!" I didn't reply and instead reached down and took hold of the hem of the dress. Holding his gaze I slowly pulled the dress upwards. I eased it further and further up my legs, along my thighs and then stopped. "Why have you stopped?" "No reason," I replied, sliding it further up so it was bunched almost round my stomach. "Jesus Christ, when did they come off?" He asked looking at my uncovered pubic mound. I had taken my underwear off before leaving the office and had the garments safely tucked away in my wags bag in the front of the car. "Never mind, are you pleased?" I asked cupping one of my breasts, "Pleased I'm absolutely fucking delighted, but why?" "Because silly," I replied fumbling at his belt "You can now fuck me without me having to get undressed." That became another feature of our sexual repertoire. On the evenings when Patrick was going to give me a lift home I would go to the ladies half hour or so before we were due to set off. I would remove all but the essential parts of my make-up and during the day I would carefully avoid wearing perfume, real mistress thinking there, but then why provide any evidence for the wife! I would then slip into one of the cubicles and remove my bra and panties. Usually I would meet him a way down the road. Walking out from the office and then down the busy road naked under my outer clothes really was a massive turn on. After that and then being in his car for an hour so in that state of semi-undress of which he was clearly aware had me primed and ready for the stimulating sex we would then have in the back of his car. As our affair progressed so we became both more adventurous, but also sad. We knew that it would go nowhere, other than perhaps us being arrested for offending private decency, for we talked about it, a lot. We discussed setting up home together and talked about how wonderful it would be being together all the time. Deep down, though I think we both knew that it would never happen. There was just too much excess baggage to sort out and the cost of excess baggage is enormous wherever it's incurred. There were children involved, massive financial aspects and family and friends to consider. So such talk dwindled and gradually our focus became more and more sexual. And that became the problem but also the delight. We had great sex. We did it in so many different places and got great kicks from the 'danger' involved in screwing in the office, shagging in the car and fucking in the odd shop doorway, up against a tree and in a field. We both got a fantastic buzz when I started removing my underwear mid-afternoon and wandering round the office with Patrick aware of my lack of bra and panties. But in the end sex simply wasn't enough. In the end the affair with Patrick resembled my fling with Craig, far too much. And in the end it went the same way for in the end it really was just another example of the mid-life crisis that was influencing me. So in the end, just like a firework it simply fizzled out. Are all affairs like that I wondered?