30 comments/ 134826 views/ 94 favorites Annie's Indiscretion By: Mister_Shy I love my daughter. I can't say I've always been happy with her decisions, but I love her. Her father is impulsive too, and our life together has had its share of romantic and happy thrills, but I've always been more reserved, more aware, and I've done my best to make sure we saved, put away money for college, and retirement. And Charles, who is the love of my life, has been a trustworthy and warm husband - prone to sudden ideas of fortune and, I'll admit, somewhat cracked expectations of the real world, but we've always had a balance, the two of us. And I think we raised our children well. But, Lord, I wish that daughter of mine knew how to control herself. I'm not the impulsive kind. Except, of course, as every mother knows, I'll find myself looking back on decisions I've made for the good of my child and can't help but curse them for making me do so. There was the time Carly was caught spraypainting the school with her girlfriends and I had to drive down to the police station at 2 am to go get her, and of course drive her back to the courthouse for community service. There was the time she, her prom date and their assorted friends were found in the woods by the police having a grand time - except they were all underage and drinking. I made her father come with me to get her that time. It's not that I don't know what it's like to be young and reckless. I'm not that far removed from my own questionable years. Charles and I got married when we were 18 and I had Carly about 6 months later. To be honest, I loved getting married young, and I loved Charles, and he was always going to work for his father's firm - probably why he's so carefree. So, yes, I was happy to play housewife. Because I always wanted to be a mother, even when I was a little girl. And to tell the truth, it broke my heart a little bit every time Carly came home a little too tipsy to have driven home safely or brought home a boyfriend that I suspected could barely spell his name. Carly has two brothers who are both wonderful boys, who never had trouble in school, who both excelled, one in theatre and the other in football; Bobby founded a community theatre and Doug went off to Notre Dame on a scholarship; but I still felt personally responsible every time something happened with Carly. Carly has always been her father's girl and I tried to keep him from indulging her too much, but of course Charles' answer to most of our daughter's adventures has been to say that nobody got hurt, and she's a smart girl. Well Carly is a smart girl, but she was still capable of hurting the ones she loved. And to talk about it all like this I'm sure it sounds terrible. It really wasn't. Most of the time I could say we had a great household. I was the designated soccer mom and baseball mom and even for a brief season the archery mom (Carly's bow is still somewhere in the garage, which Charles still loves to take out and mess around with from time to time). I loved packing the kids' lunches and making dinner for everyone. I loved doing our taxes. I loved my home, and everyone in it. I feel so terrible about this. But writing it out makes me feel a little better. Not much. But then, better doesn't necessarily mean...good. And "good" has so many meanings. What I did felt...good, of course. I'm guilty, and ashamed, but... Well, I'm already getting ahead of myself. When Carly met Michael I almost thought it was a joke. Not the greatest thing to say, I know, but Michael was the antithesis of any man Carly had dated before. They met while Michael was finishing his graduate program in journalism; Carly was in her sophomore year of college. Michael had spent his years between his degrees working for various papers and he already had a career by the time they met. He was 25, she was 20. When she first told me about him I was worried, because he sounded too old for her, and I was suspicious. But that Thanksgiving, when she brought him home, none of us could help but fall in love with him. Michael is one of the sweetest men I have ever known. He smiles easily, he instantly bonded with Carly's brothers over their equal distaste for the Broncos and he impressed my husband with his knowledge of the market and what Charles' dubbed 'thoroughly sound investments.' I loved him, of course, because I knew he was good for Carly, because I could see that he made her happy. But I worried because I didn't want him to indulge her too much. In the past that was always the precursor to Carly growing bored with her boyfriends and she had a habit of dumping them unceremoniously, usually without their knowledge. Before, in most cases, it hadn't been a great loss. But Michael was different. He was handsome, he was smart, and he was polite. He did dishes with me that Thanksgiving, until he convinced me Charles needed me in the living room. When I got back into the kitchen he'd barricaded himself in the kitchen and wouldn't let me in until he'd cleaned every dish and wiped down the counters. Of course he did it to get in my good graces. It worked. He was going to work for the New York Times and Carly told me later that he'd asked her to come with him. She didn't, that first year, but then she transferred to NYU to be with him - and even though I loved Michael I was still worried that it was impulsive. But then he asked her to marry him and I wanted so badly to tell Carly to say yes. Of course she did. The wedding was beautiful. Charles gave Carly away in a sweet little church in town, the same one that we'd been married in, and I didn't think I would stop crying. The whole night Michael would come by to make me laugh, to tell me absurd things to make me mad, all to make me stop crying. And when I did he gave me a big hug and kissed my cheek and told me, "Annie, you're a beautiful woman. And you have a beautiful daughter. I promise I'll take good care of her." And of course that set me off to crying again and he shook his head and laughed at me, which made me mad, which made me stop crying, if only briefly. That was the kind of man Michael was. Still is, maybe. Michael is tall, never too thin but not as stocky as my husband. He was obviously good looking and Carly once told me that he could fly into great fits of passion and shower her with affection. His greatest passion was his work but he never let that get in the way of being with Carly. He made sacrifices, passed up on stories to make time for her, and she hinted that their sex life was great - which I didn't need to hear, but I wasn't surprised. Michael occasionally had a mischievous glint in his eye that any woman could spot from a mile away. But he was so decent, and so honest. I hoped that Carly knew how lucky she was. Speaking as a mother, I can say that Carly is a brilliant girl, beautiful, and strong - but speaking as a woman I know that men like Michael don't come along every day. You hope your children will find good mates, and you want them to make it. Carly and I look similar, mostly around our cheeks and mouths. She has my husband's blue eyes and my eyelashes. My eyes are hazel and my hair is a slightly curly blonde, and Carly's is a long, wavy mix of her father's brown and my mother's auburn. I won't lie, Charles has gotten a little soft around the middle as we near middle age, but he's still my man. My mother was always a plump woman and I've been obsessive about staying in shape, all my life. So though I'm now pushing 42 I still visit the gym four times a week (a housewife needs to keep busy), I swim, and have since almost before I could crawl. Carly's body took after her father's side, so she is short but curvaceous, with breasts that are firm and round but smaller than mine. I still get plenty of wandering eyes at the mall and around town, and I remember the way the boys' friends used to gawk at my chest when I would come to pick them up from practice. I won't lie, I'm not above showing a little cleavage when my husband and I go out, but I have always tried to be classy about it. Michael even called me classy when we first met. I want to say I don't know what happened. I want to say I'm sorry. I am sorry. I'm very sorry, but I do know what happened. I think I know why. It doesn't make it better, even if it felt... It was this past Christmas that it happened. Carly and Michael were in town and were staying at a hotel. They'd flown in from New York that Thursday and Friday was a wonderful family reunion and dinner. Michael talked all about his latest interviews and trips, Doug was getting married next year... Carly seemed distant, or bored. I could see in Michael's eyes as he gazed at her across the table that there was something amiss, but I didn't know what. And so I was surprised when he came to the house alone that Saturday, when everyone else was out. It was early morning, about nine am, and it was raining outside, a hard, heavy downpour. It seemed cold enough for snow but all we had was that thick, heavy rain. Charles and the boys were out last minute Christmas shopping and then they would be meeting up with my husband's brother and their family. We would all rendezvous back at the house later that afternoon. I didn't expect to see Michael or Carly until then. I was in the kitchen in my bare feet, wearing a thin skirt underneath my apron and an old t-shirt of my husband's. I had the oven and the stove going and kept reminding myself to turn on the heater; it was absolutely freezing in the house. But some new piece had to be added to the soup or I needed to cut up some more onions and I kept dashing to the next thing, so I never quite got to it. I was surprised to hear the front door open and shut and I popped my head around the kitchen corner to see who it was. It was Michael, folding up an umbrella and carrying it into the bathroom. I gave an exasperated sigh to see him, assuming Carly was with him. I didn't want to be distracted from the kitchen. "It's me," he said from the hall. "I see you," I said. "I'm in here." He came into the kitchen, wearing a black sweater and jeans, his usual, lop-sided smile, and he pecked me on the cheek as he made his way to the kitchen table and sat down in the nearest chair. "How are you, Anne?" "I'm fine," I said distractedly, trying to remember what I had been looking for in the spice rack. "Is Carly with you?" "No," he said. "She's out with some girlfriends." "Oh," I said, not registering. I realized in a moment how quiet he was and I turned to him and frowned. "What's wrong with you? You're usually talking a mile a minute." He shook his head. "I dunno. I'm-" He opened his mouth and nothing came out. He shook his head again. I'd never seen him like this. I left the thermometer by the stove and passed by the kitchen counter. I leaned on it. "Honey, what's wrong?" He gave a big, mountainous sigh, his wide shoulders rumbling and falling down like they were folding in. But Michael was still very much there, very solid. I'd misjudged his emotion. I thought he was sad. He was more than that. He looked angry, but not aggressively angry, angry and independent, on his own island somehow. "Please don't stop what you're doing, I just needed to come somewhere. I don't know the area and I didn't think I could drive the way I felt. Especially not in the rain." "It's coming down real hard today," I agreed. I returned to the stove and flipped the burners off. I wiped my hands on my apron and strode back to him until I was standing before him at the kitchen table. "Mike, what's wrong?" He looked at me intently, but he said nothing. "Tell me," I said. "Carly," he said. He said it as if it explained everything. I didn't tell him that it almost did. He shook his head, shook it again, pressing his lips together until they were in a white line. "She's seeing someone else." He said it very firmly. My stomach flipped. I went down on my knees in front of him and cupped my hands over my mouth. "Mike," I said. "What do you mean? Are you sure?" "I'm pretty damn sure," he said. "They've been texting each other since... It's been a few months at least. I know I shouldn't have looked at her phone but it kept ringing last night in the hotel room and... I saw..." He drew his fingers through his hair. He couldn't go on. "I'm so mad I don't know what to... Annie, I'm going to lose it." I leaned forward in the carpet and took his hands in mine. I laid them on his knee. "Mike, don't. Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?" "I read as many texts as I could stomach," he said bitterly. "I don't know how long it's been going on but I know he's somewhere in town. He's an old boyfriend of hers. Ryan?" I remembered Ryan. He was still living in town, a good old boy. Carly had flirted with him relentlessly in high school and I thought they'd seen the last of each other when she went to college. "I confronted her about it this morning and she broke down, told me everything, said she was sorry, that she'd end it today but-" He bit his lip. I kept his hands in mine and stared up at him, horrified by this. Carly was married. She had a wonderful husband. Michael was a wonderful man. I thought of him as my third son. In fact I'd always felt very maternal about him, probably because he never seemed to need help, was always so straightforward, always so good. But he was shaking now. "I didn't say anything, I just had to get out of there," he said. "Are you- what are you going to do?" "That's a good question." "Honey," I said, "Mike, Carly loves you, too. She's impulsive. But I know she-" "She said she loves me," said Mike. "But I would never do that to her. And now I want to," he said. "It's the only thing I can think of. I want her to know how it feels." "Mike!" I said, shocked. "You're better than that. Don't even say a thing like that. You'll make me lose all the respect I have for you." "Right," he said. "I'm serious. You're a good man. You wouldn't do that." "I just might..." "Don't you dare-" I started. "I know it's petty," he said. "I know it's childish, and stupid," he grew more heated, "and wrong but I'm just so sick of it. I'm-" He let out a gruff burst of air. "I understand now why she didn't want to have a baby." "What?" I said. I hadn't heard anything about this. "I wanted to," he said. "She said she wasn't ready. I asked her when and she just said, 'later.' That was all she said. I love her, Annie, you know I do but... Maybe we should call it quits. Because I can't go on like this, knowing she's done this - hell maybe it isn't even the first time-" "No," I said. "Mike, she would never-" "She did," he said flatly. He rose to go. I rose with him, meeting his eye. I tried to push him back down. "No, you're not going anywhere," I said, "not in the state you're in. Don't you dare get in a car now." He tried to push me away but he wouldn't risk hurting me, so he reluctantly let me set him back in his seat. On my feet now I looked down at him with wounded love. I put my hand to his cheek. "Honey, I'm so sorry. Carly loves you. She's-" "I'm tired of hearing it," he said. "But-" "No," he said. "I'm taking the next flight back to New York and taking my stuff." "No!" I said. "Don't do that, Mike. Think about it, give her time to think about it." "I've made up my mind," he said. "Besides, it's dangerous for me to be around anyone right now. Because I know what I want to do." I placed my hand on his shoulder and could feel the muscles tense and shiver. It was still cold but he was boiling underneath his sweater. "Oh, honey," I said. I bent down and kissed his forehead. He reached to take my hand off his cheek but I just raised my other to his neck. I wanted to hold him back, keep him from breaking away. I hated what Carly had done and wanted to comfort him. I kissed him gently on the cheek. "Mike, I'm so sorry," I pressed my forehead against his. My hands on his cheeks, I gave him a maternal peck on the lips. "Please don't go," I said. "Don't do something you'll regret." He relaxed in my hands but kept his fingers curled tightly around my wrists. "Annie..." he said. "No," I said. I kissed him again on the lips, trying to keep him in his chair. My bangs brushed over his nose. "Don't leave her, Mike, please, you're so good for her. She needs you." I was whispering into his face, our foreheads touching. His hands reached for my shoulders and we rocked together. "Please," I said. This time he pushed his mouth into mine; it was a soft kiss, a hurt kiss. It was alright, it was security. Somehow though my hands cupped his strong jaw as we rocked together. His mouth was so beautiful. His stubbled lower lip brushed my chin. I shook my head against his face, my eyelashes brushing his eyes. His finger sifted up the hair at the back of my neck. Then he kissed my mouth. "Just don't," I said. "We love you. We all love you. You're a part of this family." "I'm leaving and I'm never coming back," he said. His hands tightened on my shoulders. "Then why did you come here?" I said. I was still bent over him, uncomfortably, thinking I was comforting him with my soft words and hands. But his hands wrapped around my arms and brought me closer. I was off-balance. His lips grazed my cheek, and then pushed firmly into the corner of my mouth. "I can't-," I breathed into his mouth. He pulled me forward. "Can't what?" he murmured. What was happening? I couldn't stop him from pulling me so instead of falling I pushed forward until I fell into his lap. Without meaning to, I straddled him on the chair. He squeezed my body against him and I had to throw my arms on his shoulders to free my arms. I could feel him begin to undue the knots of my apron. "Mike, don't-" I breathed into his mouth. I had to. Our tongues touched. I didn't know what to do but as long as I kissed him I thought he'd leave the apron alone. "Don't do something you'll regret," I managed to gasp out as he squeezed my midsection and drew me closer to him. He reached down and pulled my skirt up. He laid warm hands over my cold thighs. I jumped. "Mike!" He took my face in his hands and kissed me deeply. I hadn't been kissed like that in years. But I hadn't wanted to be! This, this man in my lap was a strained ball of muscles and fury- he was dangerous. He was Mike! I kept telling myself I didn't want this, but I never pulled away when he kissed me, only kept myself at a remove so that he had to keep pressing forward into my mouth. Into my mouth. His fingers sifted into my hair and gently pulled my hair tie off. Without thinking, I ground my panties into his lap, squeezing him with my thighs. His fingernails raked my leg. "Oh my God!" I cried. He loosened the strings of my apron and pulled it off me, between our bodies. But I fought him. This time I pushed my bare feet into the floor and tried to get up. His hands cast the apron aside and brought me down, deep down, into his hard crotch. I jerked my mouth away from him. "Mike-" I gasped. "Think about Carly-" "I am," he said. And I knew that was true. We both were, and Mike was either settling the score between them or completely out of control. I should scream, I kept thinking. I thought it with every push his trapped erection made against my soft panties. Instead I laid my hand over his mouth. His hands, meanwhile, were dug firmly into my lower back and ass. My toes curled on the kitchen floor. "Let go of me," I said. He reached up to pry my fingers off his face. I wouldn't budge, so he began to lick my palm. I could feel his wet, hot tongue sliding over the creases in my hand. Before I knew it he had his hand up my t-shirt, kneading the muscles up my sides, and then my back, pulling me all the time into him, against his solid chest. Already his hands were behind my bra, unsnapping it. Suddenly I felt both his palms rub over my nipples. "Oh, Michael...why would you make me hate you?" He bucked up against my panties. Squiggles of tension burst up from between my legs. For the first time I leaned back, my hands on his shoulders, my ass balanced on his thighs and my aching pussy in his lap. "Please go," I gasped, my face turned towards the ceiling. "Please go, Michael." Annie's Indiscretion "You said you didn't want me to go," he said huskily. His fingers trailed down my flat stomach. I knit my brow in anger. He pulled my head roughly until his lips were in my ear. I was still in his lap and I still didn't know which of us was incessantly grinding. "Kiss me," he said. "No..." He pulled my face to him and slipped his warm, wet tongue over my bottom lip. "Ah..." I moaned, allowing his tongue to slide into my mouth, allowing it to enter me. He slid his fingers back up, bringing the t-shirt with it. My thick bra came, too. It bunched up against my clavicle. "Christ, Annie, you're so beautiful." My lips fluttered against his mouth as I spoke. "I hate you." "No you don't." I was bare breasted in front of him. I wanted his hands on me so badly I was shaking. "We can stop..." I said. He held my t-shirt and bra against my neck. My heavy breasts shivered in the cold air. My nipples pointed straight at him, pink and stiff. I was naked from the waist up, held by my daughter's husband, shivering from nerves and arousal and the chill, my skin trembling over my muscles, my eyes seeking him, trying to capture him. "I said no." I said it weakly. Too weakly. He pulled me towards him, popping my nipple into his mouth and sucking on it hard. I cried out. Those were the nipples I'd nursed Carly with! And now her husband was licking them, tasting them, savoring them as if he owned them. He leaned back, and with one arm holding me down he pulled the shirt and bra off my head. I rose up, but it took practically nothing for him to rise with me, grab me by the ass and pin me back into his lap. I fell on his erection hard and he reached to cup my heavy breasts. He sucked at me, his tongue swirling around my nipple, his teeth teasing it. My fingers slithered over his shoulders, pricking his muscles with my nails. I rubbed against his penis with my panties (which were far from dry). I pushed my breast into his mouth and gave him the other to squeeze, and I masturbated him with my vagina. "Everyone's coming home," I heard myself whisper. "No," he groaned. I watched him suck at my nipple, watched him lick the dark areola. Between my legs I grew wetter. I pulled his face away and he grabbed my hands, pulling me to him to kissed my mouth. He wrapped his hands over my tits possessively. Then he reached for the hem of his sweater. He pulled away as he did so, and I gasped at his muscular chest, because it was suddenly our skin that was touching. He threw his sweater onto my bra and husband's t-shirt. Our stomachs met and tingled against each other and he hugged me hard. My naked breasts squashed against his chest hair. "I want you," he breathed. That was a grand understatement. He pushed me back, my hands still on his shoulders, his hands squeezing my hips. We gyrated against each other. "We have to stop," I said. My vagina was leaking. My womb was hungry for him. But it was wrong and I was desperately trying to quell the pulsating tension that made me open my legs wider. I put my feet on the floor. I rose off of him and he reached to undo my skirt. I didn't fight him. Then I did. I batted his hand away, again, again and again, until he finally rose and pushed me back. I never thought I would be here, never thought I would be alone in my house with my son, never in my most private imaginings have expected to be practically naked in front of him and see his dick tenting in his jeans and want to know if he planned to show it to me. There was a brief struggle. I was more trying to keep him at arm's length, but he came forward, tall and bare chested, and wrapped his arms around me. I tried, I tried so hard to convince myself I wasn't making him chase me. He grabbed me. He turned me. Then I was pressed against the kitchen table. The smell of the oven and its gusts of warmth blew past us in the chilly house. Behind me Michael softly dragged his fingertips down my arms. I remained where I was, legs planted apart, my palms flat on the table. He planted a thick kiss on my neck, beneath my jaw. This wasn't me, I kept telling myself. This wasn't who I was. I was a good mother, a good wife... Behind me, I felt him working his belt. Its metal whipped out and struck me coldly, then it was gone, and I heard his pants descend, and I felt his boxers brush the fabric of my skirt. He managed to step out of them and tug apart my skirt in one motion. And suddenly his meaty cock was pressed against my left buttock. "Oh..." I said. I heard it like it came from somewhere else. It rumbled up from inside me, and it rumbled again when Michael laid hands on himself and began to roll it against the tight skin of my ass. My whole body shook. Uncontrollably, from my tight calves to my jiggling upper thighs, to my pendulous breasts, which he reached around me to squeeze. He pushed it into me and it went up flat against my back. His mouth kissed my ear so tenderly I let out a soft cry of longing. Then he was whispering to me. "I wanted you from the moment I saw you." His warm hands cradled my breasts. I could barely stand. I was shivering, shaking, I could no longer feel the cold. I felt my son's hard cock in my lower back and felt his hot need pouring out of it, his sticky pre-cum lathering my skin. He'd stripped me. He'd pushed me. He'd kissed me. Between my legs, I was flowing. "I wanted to take your hand," he whispered into my ear, kissing it so softly. He gently slid his cock up my back, squeezing my breasts and rubbing my nipples with his deft fingertips. "I wanted to make love to you on your husband's bed." My knees turned to jelly and I would have fallen unless Mike were there to push me into the table. Oh, Charles, I'm so sorry... I knew then that if I screamed, if I pushed him away, if I moved, Mike would leave and never come back. And yet...his fingers on the soft skin underneath my breasts. The way his cock slid down my round buttocks The way his breath softly penetrated my ear canal. I knew, more than I had ever known in my life, how badly a man wanted me. And God help me... "Mike," I said so softly the rain nearly covered it up. "Honey, I..." His hands gripped my hips and pulled me into him. His dick slipped into the plush seal of my crack. "Do you want this to happen?" he said. "I..." Could we go back to the way things were, now? Had he really always wanted this? Had he always held it in check, loyal to Carly? Was all it took for the dam to break her cheating on him? Before I could answer his hands snaked down from my hips and sifted into my panties. I let out a sharp gasp as he touched me, touched my clit. He went deep into the hood and retrieved it, and began to roll it up and down. I pinned my knees together reflexively. Sometimes I wondered if Charles even knew where it was. His other hand trailed up my shivering skin, to my bellybutton. "I want to fuck you," he said. My legs nearly gave out. "I want to fuck you right now, Annie. I want to take you here, now." His dick squeezed between my thighs. "Are you going to stop me?" I felt it pushing, pushing. It was thick, and engorged. The sweat in the humid center of my body was already dripping to the floor. Mike pulled my panties from between my wet labia. "Are you?" he said. "Yes..." I whispered, as he bent me forward. "Yes..." I had never been taken this way before. I felt exposed. A thick sob suddenly burst from me. "No!" I said. "No, I won't." Michael reached around and pulled my face to him. My body stretched against his as he pulled me around. Then we were face to face and his lips were on mine, his penis pressed to the tensing muscles of my belly. Michael took me in his strong arms and kissed my mouth, my eyes, my nose. "I love you," he said. "I..." I did love him, and I didn't love him in the way that Carly loved him or a woman who was married to him would love him. But now, right now, I just... "I don't want to think," I said, in the barest, plainest moment of my life. I was hot and bothered, and he was stiff, hurt, and strong. His mouth was once more on mine and I let him lift me up onto the table. He held me up like I weighed nothing at all. Had I known that he was that strong? The table felt freezing to my bare bottom. He parted my legs wider, opening me with his fingers. He pulled my panties to the side. Then his fingers, lightly, shaking, trailed down my labia. A finger slipped in me. Every muscle in my lap seized up. "I never would have told you," he whispered in my ear. My breath caught in my throat as Mike's finger slid up to his big knuckle. I had to grab his arms to keep from screaming. "If Carly and I were married, I never would have told you Annie, that I thought about you... I promise." Another finger squeezed into my dribbling pussy. "How kind you are..." His mouth was on my mouth. I could smell him. I could smell his breath, his scent! "How beautiful. Given half a chance, if I was another man." He reached for my pussy with his other hand and softly opened me. I watched his beautiful cock glide forward. I watched the tip of his penis part my pussy lips. As it entered me I turned to stare up at the ceiling and asked someone to forgive me. Would he cum in me? Would he make me cum? His penis slid up into the warm, tight recesses of my vagina. And I screamed like I hadn't since I was a teenager. Mike's cock entered me and didn't stop sliding until he was buried to his balls. We were joined, utterly, and irreversibly, and as evil as I felt for it, the thrust of his unrelenting thickness between my legs made me wetter and hotter than a married woman has any right to feel. My breasts squashed against his chest and he kissed down my shoulders to savor every drop of sweat I shed for him. He pulled out, nearly all the way, and pushed himself back in. I screamed again. And I knew that's where he took half his pleasure. "Is this what you imagined?" he groaned into my mouth. "When you looked at me that first night we met?" "Oh, God," I groaned. I couldn't keep my hands out of his hair. I never imagined this boy kissing me, touching me, fondling me...on top of me...fucking me on my kitchen table. I had always been so good, always did the right thing. And Mike's cock, filling me, entering me, penetrating me, making me...that felt so right, and it was not. It was so very far from the right thing but I couldn't stop myself from wrapping my knees around him and leaning back. His hands slipped down to my waist to hold me at an angle while he fucked me. He fucked me, hard, but with a rolling rhythm, an insistent push and play that sent every sparking nerve in my vagina up into a full conflagration. I wanted to tell him to stay with Carly. That's why I was doing this, to let him get his revenge if that's what he wanted, to sleep with another female. If it had to be me, so be it. Maybe sometime in his lap I had conceived that's what I'd do, but how true was that? I really didn't know. I reached down between his legs and fondled his balls. He liked that. He lifted his young face and closed his eyes, entering me harder, given over to bliss. I leaned into him and pushed my mouth onto his. He pushed up inside me. "Let it out," I said. "Use me if you have to but go back to C..." I couldn't finish my sentence. He thrust his dick higher. "Ah! Please-" "Please what?" he asked. "Sl-slower..." I moaned, even as I ground my pussy down on him. I kissed him with the depths of myself, the dark and hot pool of desire, bubbling up from submerged places. I melted over him and loved his hands on my breasts, his mouth on my shoulder and neck, the way he licked up my throat to my chin, and kissed me, and rocked me, and pulled his penis out. And up. And out. I raised myself up on the table. He thrust up as I sank down. "Oh, God, honey." He was inside me. Michael was fucking me. His naked cock was rubbing the inner lips of my vagina and I was riding him eagerly, desperately. I hadn't been on the pill in years and it occurred to me that our sexual fluids were mixing recklessly. If Michael's seed spilled inside of me I could be conceiving Carly's brother tonight. And God help me... His young cock was so unlike my husband's. It had a life and drive of its own; it thrust open my pussy forcefully, as if every time it retreated merited another passionate return. I leaned back, he held me. I leaned back to face the ceiling and smelled the oven, and the cold emptiness of the house. The heavy rain pounded the asphalt of the patio and I held Michael's hips with my thighs and let him enter me, inhabit me, take me. His cum leaked into my vagina. The movement was a blur. He slid me off the table with ease, his liquid muscles, his certain hands. When his cock left me I felt empty. He forced me up, forced me against the table. He pulled my panties down roughly and cast them aside, then I spread my legs for him and braced myself as he pushed in from behind. "Yes," I said. "God, let it all go, honey. Fuck me..." He grabbed my hair and shoved forward. He bent me over. He plunged harder. I screamed. "You'll - unh, talk to Carly," I stuttered. "Yes, Annie." He pulled my hair harder, bent me lower. It was demeaning, it was needful. And I'd never been fucked that way before. His lips brushed my ear. "You're mine." "Yes," I said. I shouldn't have said it, don't know why I said it, but in me, hands gliding up to play with my nipples, I wanted it to be true, wanted him to feel strong, as strong as I knew he was, wanted his cock to never leave. Had Carly felt this way? Had he made love to her just like this? How could she ever leave him? Ever stray? The thought suddenly made me so angry I cried loudly at his next thrust. He stopped abruptly. He pulled out and turned me to face him, his fingers taking my shoulder gently in hand. I was able to turn well enough, but I fell back against the table, my naked ass on the edge. He saw the tears in my eyes and wiped them away. "Did I hurt you?" he asked. He gathered me up in his arms. I felt myself shivering in his embrace, my breasts against him, the breasts that had swollen for my children, the breasts that were not as young as Carly's, that had the light stretch marks to prove it. And yet every inch of my skin was his and he held every part of me like I was a delicate work of art. "I'm sorry," he said, kissing the streams of my tears, my cheeks. "I don't understand," I managed to choke out. I felt his cock, hot and stiff, press into my hip when he held me tighter. "I don't understand you, or her, or me," I said. "Do you want to stop?" he asked. "Does it matter now?" I asked. He took my hand. "Yes. Annie, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He kissed my hand, kissed my fingers. I looked at my apron and skirt on the floor, realized I was naked in my own kitchen with my daughter's husband's cock sticking into my belly and my juices trickling down my leg. I watched him kiss my fingertips and wanted to hold him so badly just then. I reached for his face and brought it close to me, so close we couldn't see each other, so close that we had to kiss to keep our mouths from biting through. And as I held his ears his hands softly made their way down my back, and cupped my buttocks, and brought me into him. "Do you want this?" he asked. "Yes," I said between kisses. "Yes, yes, stop making me say it." He dipped low, even as I was kissing him, and slid his hand under my knees. He braced me with the other and scooped me up, actually lifted me up into his arms. I hooked my arms around his neck and he carried me easily through the living room and up the stairs. I kissed his neck and rubbed my lips against his ear, wanting to consume him, his vitality and earnestness, his honesty, his strength. I'd had his penis, my daughter's husband's, and all I could think of was him inside me again. He dropped me on my bed, my marriage bed. Charles and I had slept here uncounted times while he and Carly shared her room. Now he stood naked before me, proud cock swaying away from his body. I was lost. I was utterly lost. He joined me on the bed, and for a time we simply held each other, soft kisses exchanged on top of the comforter, him a bolt of warm iron on my thigh, my lips dripping sweat. After I felt the heat inside me build to a near unbearable level he reached down and opened me once more with his fingers. I moistened copiously, hearing myself moan for him as if I were rooms away, hearing the need build as his exploration deepened. I reached blindly for his cock but he batted me away, and slowly, taking as much time as his hungry mouth would allow, he kissed and sucked down my chest, my breasts, my taut stomach, down to my bush, until he was kneeled at the edge of the bed and eating my pussy like a ravenous wolf. I clutched at his hair between my legs and let out another scream, one more of the many this young man had pulled from my lungs and body. My thighs wriggled against his ears and he grabbed my buttocks. His fingers dug into my skin and his tongue went deep between my folds, slathering my sticky bush. I felt his lips kiss and suck me. Then his fingers pried me open and he went deeper still. I try not to picture what I looked like in that moment, because if there was any control left to me by that point Michael swallowed it whole. He made me curse; he made me hiss; he made me cum. And part of that orgasm, that first climax, was knowing that his hard cock was still beneath me, still standing straight and deep red below the mattress, waiting to enter me again, and waiting to fill me. It got to the point where I wouldn't allow him to feed on me like that anymore. I shoved my pelvis into his face. He fell back, surprised, to the floor. And I slid on a trail of sweat down, down to the floor, following after him. I was so wet. His cock was so wet. He held it under me and suddenly he was fitting it inside of me. When he slid in we shuddered together and squeezed against each other's bodies. I'd seldom been on top, and in these last few years I was too self-conscious to try. But he wanted me that way, wanted me on top of him. His penis curved inside me and spread my lips apart. I was straddling my daughter's husband, his big cock inside me and his fingers stroking my cheeks as I winced and tried to work his shaft the rest of the way inside. My knees dug into the carpet and I rode him. I rode him hard, the way I thought Carly might, the way I wanted to, the way I knew he needed me to. I could look down at him as he scooped my breasts into his palms and licked them, suckled at them. His eyes rose to met mine, and they were passionate, hungry, horny. I soaked his pubic hair with my dripping pussy and shoved myself over him. When his hands touched my hair my eyelids fluttered and I felt his pelvis work, begin to pump. He softly bent me back. I kept my hands on his shoulders and he lightly drew me away from his chest, my face up to the ceiling. "Just like this," he said. "I want you just like this." The boy knew what he wanted. "Do it," I said. "Do it, baby. Do it." He touched my cheek. "Can I?" I brought my face from the ceiling. I clutched at him, so tightly. I pressed my body to his as he thrust harder, harder. Our eyes locked, I let him see what he was doing to me, let him see the terror and satisfaction in my eyes. "Yes, baby. I want you to, honey. Please." I was going to give him everything. I could feel his dick stiffening inside of me. His grip on my wrists loosened so I pulled my arms over his back. "Let it out, honey. Let it all out." I gasped as his hips thrust with renewed vigor. "I've cum so many times." It was the awful truth. "I love you," he said. His penis jerked and I felt the first spurt of his cum. I felt it. I felt everything. I felt him burst and his thick jism whip inside my vaginal walls. Our mutual fluids mixed and squelched and he continued to fuck me on my bedroom floor, all the while emptying his balls of his sperm, giving me what was Carly's by right. But I took it. I wanted him inside me, as deep inside me as he could squirt. He groaned into my mouth, my red lips his for the tasting, my tongue his to suck. He thrust up, higher and higher into my lap, and I came again, came harder, longer than before, and we finished each other there against the bed, rubbing each other raw, guilty as sin, crazy, needful... Annie's Indiscretion He didn't let me finish shaking. He pulled out, and then he picked me up (I couldn't have stood on my own). He carried me into my bathroom where he sat me on my vanity stool and went over to the shower. I watched him twist the knob, admiring the tracks his sweat made in the singular muscles in his back and the wet trail that disappeared into his buttocks. He came back to me and stood behind me. I felt his wet penis slide into my back, and he touched my neck, massaged my muscles with his fingers, and together we watched the steam rise. I wanted it good and hot. Though we'd separated less than a minute ago the house was still so cold. I didn't say another word. What Michael wanted to do with me was his to divulge, and he did so physically. We didn't enter the shower for some time; he spent it massaging my back, my arms, kissing my neck. Sore as I was, he got me wet again, and just when his fingers were kneading my ass on the stool and I thought he might enter me, he lifted me up and led me into the shower. I turned back only once as we stepped into the glass together, looking shyly at his face, then casting my gaze downward to see his cock hardening anew. He washed me, letting me first squirt and thread the shampoo into my hair and then generously filling the loofah with the soap. He kissed me sweetly on the lips and dragged the abrasive pad around my neck, over my shoulders and back. I raised my arms for him and he glided the loofah down to my armpits, where he scoured me, trailing it down between my breasts. He skated down, all business, to rub my stomach and get into the matted stickiness of my pubic hair. He attended to my thighs and knees, and then took me tenderly by the hips and turned me around. I faced the glass and put my soapy palms against the pane. He did my buttocks next, and gave them a bit more attention than I would have liked, than I was used to. He scrubbed me good, and I would have been mortified by how he pinched and prodded my cheeks apart, wiping me down, cleaning me as thoroughly as if I were an animal, but his scrubbing and rolling so near my tender asshole made me feel dirty enough to need the cleansing, and how Michael could make me feel both clean and filthy at once was, I learned, his specialty (at least where I was concerned). He slid the loofah down to the backs of my legs and then I felt him hang it up on the shower knob. His hands led me by the hips into the shower spray, and he washed the soap down my cheeks, helping the suds flow down my legs, opening me to let it wash down my crack. When next he touched me his palms were thick with the soap, and now he gave my breasts their due attention. He came up close, his cock sliding up into the cleft of my buttocks, and, my back to his muscular chest, he wrapped his arms around me and covered my breasts with the gooey soap. I sighed as his fingers swirled around my tender nipples, as they hardened, and he kissed his way up my neck, his cock hardening as he sawed it up and down my ass. All thoughts of the oven and when the family would arrive evaporated as his fingers roved lower and began to play with me. I heard myself making noises I hadn't made even in the height of our lovemaking, and now the hot spray and Michael's eager attention was getting me anxious; at his thumb's soapy circle about my clitoris I bent into him, rubbing my anus into his shaft. His lips found mine and I bent lower, lower still until I felt him grab his member and brush it against my dripping labia. I moaned "Again?" once, as if I hadn't known, and then let my body release a delicate cry as he took me from behind. My voice mingled with the shower's roar as his hands simultaneously roved up to my breasts and down to hold my hip in place. I did not remove my hands from the fogged shower glass and submitted to him wordlessly, letting him guide us into a slow, sensual rhythm sprinkled all over with the hot tickles of the mist. I bent my head, still thick with the shampoo and the water, and he, taking it as a cue, wrapped his fingers in it and pulled. It was gentle, but it was firm, and as I looked up I could barely make out our figures in the foggy mirror beyond the shower; the dark man behind and the prone woman, her breasts bobbing and flattening against the glass as he plunged, the wet slaps of our skin rising in the humidity. I had to wonder what was this for him? He'd already had me once. Was I now his whore? Was I his plaything to feed his cuckolded lust? Or had he always dreamed of this moment, us two in my shower, naked and panting in the heat. A heavy drip left the place where he slid into me and I felt it ooze down my leg. I thought it was the soap, but it was more than that. It was his semen, mixed with the soap he'd lathered me up with, the sperm he'd filled me with before, being squeezed out of me by his renewed entry. A shudder wracked my body, such that he had to grab my stomach to steady me. What was it to me? What was this to me? He thrust deep and pressed me up against the glass. His lips touched my ear. "What do you want, Annie?" he asked, as if he could read my mind. "Don't stop," I said. "Just don't stop, baby. Do what you have to do." Because he had to step back before he pulled out, pulling out felt like forever. Charles was never in me so long, or so hard. His big hands spun me around. Then he was against me, his cock on my belly, and he was kissing me again, our wet mouths fighting each other like hungry animals. "What do you want to do?" he asked. I took his cock in my hand and began to jerk him off in the cum and the soap. He didn't waste time touching me, reaching into me, thumbing my clitoris as he fingered me. "Don't leave Carly," I hissed into his kisses, even as I rubbed his shaft in and out of my grasp. "Annie..." he groaned. "Christ, Mike, if you fuck her like this why would she ever leave?" It was the wrong thing to say, the wrong argument, but I was far from in my right mind. But he smiled and pulled out of my pussy. He came so close to me that I had to drop his cock and let it rub up my bellybutton. He held me, and I slid my hands down to grab his tight ass. There under the water we held each other shivering, despite the heat, and I loved him and hated him at once. "Carly needs a good man in her life," I said. "For once." "You think I'm good? Even after this?" "What is this?" I said. "I've wanted you..." he started. "I know," I said. "You told me, I know. I know. And I gave myself to you. So if you love me do what I'm asking you. Make it work with my daughter." He looked bemused. "All this was for Carly?" I grabbed his cock again. "This was for me," I said. And for the first time I saw Mike lose a little bit of that composure, saw his head tilt back. I squeezed him for good measure. "But don't make me regret giving in to the worst thing I've ever done." "Your worst is the best thing I've had in years." We stared at each other in the shower's mist. I kissed him. He began to rub against me again and I tried to control myself as my sensitive nipples slid over his, the coating of soap making us slippery. "This was just one mistake," I said into his neck. Already his hands were working on me again, touching me, exploring me. "Two mistakes?" he teased. My fingers dug deep into his back. "I'll talk to Carly, you'll talk to Carly, and you can both work it out. I know you can." We were still kissing when he pressed me against the glass and turned my ass against his cock. "And you make me a promise," he said into my ear, his cock sliding under my buttocks and back into my hot pussy. I gasped uncontrollably as he pressed in to the hilt, forcing my heavy breasts into the wet glass. "If I need you..." he started. He thrust again. "No," I groaned, his hands taking my tender breasts. "You'll let me come to you," he went on, arcing his hips sharply. "No, oh God no," I moaned, trying to stay on my feet. "Promise me," he said. I met his next thrust with my hips. His voice was deep, barely contained, bordering a growl. My orgasm was tingling, frothing at the edges of my pussy like the percolating droplets in the puddle at our feet. "M-Mike," I tried. I wanted to feel him burst in me so that I could burst all over him. Again. Again. "If I need you," he said, and he said it with such mournful desire that my heart nearly broke. "Mike, please, I'm a good woman." "So good," he grunted into his thrust. We cried out together. "You'll help me, when I need you?" "Oh, God, Mike-" My breasts squashed against the glass. I was pushing my hands into it, bucking into his thrusts. "You can have anything you want just cum for me!" We cried out together as his ejaculate burst from his plunging cock. I made an utterly dirty sound when he grabbed my hair and pulled my last orgasm out of me. I shouldn't have said it, I should have never said it, but in the heat of the moment, with his heat inside me, I gave in to him, I gave him exactly what he wanted. * * * We finished the shower. It wasn't easy. And then we both...did what we'd promised we'd do. That night the family ate Christmas dinner like nothing untoward had transpired in our house, like Carly and Mike were a happy couple, and afterwards she came to me, talked to me, and I steered her back to Mike. They spoke that night and decided to keep trying. I was happy for them. I wanted their marriage to work. And when Mike left he left with that look in his eye, the look I would be worried to see again, the look a good mother should not encourage from her son. Of course it's not just the look that I can't stop thinking about...