I had always been a good wife. Married a couple of years after university, my husband and I have made a good life for ourselves and our two kids, and now a third is on the way. His job as the manager of a local plant pays well and so does mine.
My work seldom involves travel, but when it does I really enjoy it. It gives me an opportunity to get away from the family and to stretch my wings a bit. Don’t misunderstand: I love my family and wouldn’t trade my life for the world, but domestic life can get mundane for a girl who was once a bit of a wild thing.
Three months ago I found myself having to travel to Chicago with a colleague of mine, Sarah. Of similar age, we have always enjoyed travelling together. In our younger days, we both thought we were pretty hot stuff, and so did the boys. We have both kept our figures and even in our mid-thirties we can still turn heads, although that is easy to do with primitive creatures like men: give them a glimpse of cleavage or show them some leg and bingo!
I first met Sarah in university. In fact, my husband went out with Sarah before he met me. She sometimes teases me that my husband is her hand-me-down, but what Sarah doesn’t know is that I started sleeping with my husband before he broke up with her. In my mind, that makes her a cast-off … but maybe that’s a little catty.
Sarah’s situation was much like mine – married with two kids – until about a year ago when she separated from her husband. This was our first trip together since then.
Our company is a good one but the owner – an old Scot named Angus – can pinch pennies until they squeal. By sending two females to the Chicago convention, he could rationalize booking us into a single hotel room. It would be up to us if we wanted to chip in a few extra dollars to stay in a suite … and we did. We flipped a coin. I won and got the comfy bed in the separate room. Sarah lost and got the squeaky sofa bed in the sitting area.
Our flight got in at 1:30 in the afternoon. We freshened up at our hotel, then went shopping. Returning to our suite, we had a few drinks and played around, trying on each other’s things in anticipation of our night out. Of course, we dolled ourselves up and when we were done, with a bit of make-up and the soft lighting we expected to find at the restaurant, we were sure we could pass for couple of 25 year olds.
It was just a short walk to a popular local restaurant. We arrived to find that, despite having made a reservation, we were looking at a 40 minute wait. As we were being shown to the bar, we met Mike Strobel from one of our west coast competitors.
Mike’s friend had just called to say that his wife and he would not be able to join Mike for dinner. Their flight was stuck in Des Moines, so Mike had been preparing to leave the restaurant. “Why not join us?” asked Sarah. “Sounds great,” replied Mike.
It wasn’t long before Mike’s reservation was called. We were led to a booth. The table was round, with candles and a nice tablecloth. Mike sat in between us. He was a handsome man, about our age and obviously still in very good shape. We fell into conversation easily. We learned that he had just gone through a divorce and that he expected, sometime in the few months, to quit his job and just travel for a while.
The instant she learned that Mike was divorced, I sensed that Sarah’s interest in Mike grew. I think it had been some time since she had been intimate with a man. It was fun, really, to watch her operate: the attentiveness, the eye contact, the casual touching, the coy looks and subtle closeness. Watching him react was also interesting. Men are so predictable. I swear they are easier to catch than fish in a barrel.
Of course Mike was too much of a gentleman to concentrate exclusively on Sarah. From time to time he would turn his attention to me, and when he would do so I could see why Sarah was so attracted to the guy. He really did have an enchanting way about him. Why would any woman want to divorce a guy like this? Jealousy?
When dinner was done, Mike asked Sarah if she would like to dance. She accepted with an almost ‘schoolgirl-ish’ glee. I felt embarrassed for her. They danced for a few songs, leaving me alone at the table. When they returned, Mike asked me to dance. Sensing that her interest in him was reciprocal, I had expected him to press me for information on Sarah, but instead his focus was exclusively on me.
It felt good to treated like that: to have such a handsome man look into my eyes as if I was the only woman in the world who mattered to him. It was also a rare treat for me to dance, and Mike danced effortlessly, unlike my husband for whom it seemed to be an unnatural act. He held me gently in his arms, close enough that my breasts would brush lightly – erotically - across his crest. A real gentleman.
Much too soon the dance ended. After a short rest, Mike returned to the dance floor with Sarah. This time they seemed to be gone a long time. Occasionally I caught glimpses of them on the now-crowded dance floor. They seemed to be dancing more closely this time. It made perfect sense, of course: he was divorced, she was separated, and they both had needs. Still, I wanted at least one more turn on the dance floor with Mike. I guess I was envious of Sarah. Maybe it was the schoolgirl in me, or maybe it was the bitch.
When Mike and Sarah returned I noticed they were holding hands. My heart sank. Surely they would want to leave … so it took me by surprise when Mike asked if I would have one more dance with him. I looked at Sarah. “Go ahead,” she said with a wink, “I need to go to the lady’s room anyway to freshen up.” Diaphram time!
It was only reasonable for Mike to be more interested in Sarah than in me, but I thought it might be fun for a married woman to tease him a little: maybe give Sarah a little competition. After all, I used to be at least as good at attracting men as Sarah and I still knew just what to do.
It was nearly 10:30. The lights were dim. The dance floor was crowded. The music was soft and slow. Mike took me in his arms. This time he held me more closely. I could feel my breasts pressed up against his body. The feeling excited me. As our bodies swayed, I could feel that he too was excited: probably Sarah’s work. I could use that to my advantage. I felt like a little high school vixen again.
“Look at me,” I said to him. “Keep your eyes locked on mine.” Then with my left hand I reached inside his jacket and let my fingers dance their way along his belt line, coming to rest on the small of his back. “I think you like that,” I said coyly, and I could see from his eyes that I now had his full attention. I then brought my right hand up to caress his cheek. Next, I ran it slowly down his neck and under his jacket to his chest. With the nail of my index finger I traced patterns around his nipple, stiff with the excitement of a woman’s touch. Then, looking deep into his eyes I whispered “Now do that to me.” Ever so slowly, in the dim light of the dance floor, he did. It was so erotic. It reminded me so much of high school.
Swaying on the dance floor, surrounded by other couples, I let him discretely massage my breast and tease my nipple. Not counting that drunken beach party a few summers back, it had been years since anyone other than my husband had touched me like there. God it felt good. I decided I would push things a little farther.
Growing damp with excitement, I let the hand, which was resting on the small of his back, drift down below his belt line. Then, to the beat of the music, I pulled his hips against me. The rhythmic pressure of my body rubbing against his prick caused it to stiffen noticeably. He quickly followed suit, bringing his hand to the small of my back and squeezing me against him, matching his rhythm to my own … and there we stood, grinding our loins into one another on the dance floor. It was wonderfully sexy.
His passion aroused, he moved to kiss me. I offered him only my cheek. For a woman, kissing really signals a degree of intimacy that I did not yet feel for Mike. I was just having a bit of fun, really. I knew he would soon be fucking Sarah, and the bitch inside me wanted him to be thinking of me, not her, while he did it.
When the song ended, I suggested we return to Sarah. I wondered how he had enjoyed his time dancing with me in comparison with the time he had spent with Sarah. I knew, however, that my little game was over After all, Sarah was the one who was available, not me. I took Mike’s hand and let him lead me back to the table. I held on to his hand until I was sure that Sarah had seen us.
I excused myself to go freshen up. When I arrived back, Mike and Sarah were sitting closely together and holding hands. “We’re going back to our place for a nightcap,” Sarah informed me. “You’re coming too, aren’t you?” Mike asked. The situation was awkward. I didn’t want to get in the way, but I really had nowhere else to go. “Well, yes and no,” I said. “I’m coming back to the room, but I’m going right to bed. I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.” I could see Sarah’s relief.
As we walked back to our hotel, Sarah made a point of holding Mike’s hand. Then, in the elevator, Sarah and Mike stood side by side. Suddenly I saw Mike’s eyes go wide and then I noticed Sarah’s fingers dancing their way up the back of his thigh. Not very subtle I thought.
When we entered the room, I kept my word and retreated down the hall to my bedroom. I did, however, leave the door ajar, and it wasn’t long before I heard Sarah moaning. This went on for quite a long time. I had no idea what Mike was doing to her, but it must have felt awfully good. Remembering my own time with Mike on the dance floor, I lay naked on the bed, legs spread, gently fingering myself. Sarah’s moans soon gave way to a rhythmic squeaking. It was the sound of a sofa bed undergoing a repetitive stress test. With it came the squishy sounds of sex.
Mike was doing his duty and, judging from the way Sarah was panting and urging him on, he was doing it very well. I found that I was really excited by the sounds of sex, especially the urgent, guttural sounds made by Sarah as she approached climax. I imagined her legs wrapped around Mike, hips bucking madly, trying desperately to pull him inside her. I reached down with my left hand and began finger fucking myself in rhythm to Mike and Sarah. With my right hand I continued to stroke my now distended clit. I could not help but moan softly. When at last I heard Sarah come I squeezed my legs together and came too. To my embarrassment, I could not stifle a deep moan. I was sure they both heard me.
After about 30 minutes of mumbled conversation, they went at it again. This time, if anything, they were even louder. For me, it was wonderful torture. I lay there listening to every sound, imagining what they were doing, eyes closed, fingers dancing over my own naked body, imagining what it would feel like if Mike were doing those things to me. When they came again, I came again too.
After a while it went quiet in the other room. I figured that Sarah and Mike, exhausted from their sex play, had fallen asleep in each other’s arms … but I couldn’t get to sleep. It seemed like I lay there for a long time. I then became aware of the need to pee. I tried to ignore it, but it wouldn’t go away. I had no choice: I was going to have to tip-toe out of my room to go to the toilet.
Throwing on my robe, I crept out of my room, down the hallway, past the darkened sitting area with its sofa bed, to the bathroom. In the dark, I started peeing. What a noise! I was sure I was going to wake them. As quietly as I could I made my way back down the hall to my bedroom, leaving the door ajar so that the sound of the latch wouldn’t wake anyone. Then I removed my robe and quietly climbed into bed.
It was then that I felt someone beside me. I knew right away it was Mike. He was naked, I was naked, and we were facing one another. “I couldn’t get to sleep,” he said, adding “I kept thinking about the two of us on the dance floor … and about the sounds that Sarah and I heard coming from your room. I thought we might talk.” I felt him reach out with a hand and touch my hip. The feeling was electric. It would have to stop, of course. After all, I was a happily married mother of two … but the feeling was so heavenly.
His fingers traced their way down the outside of my thigh. Maybe I could let this go on just a bit further. With my hand I reached for Mike’s chest. It was lightly covered in hair: I like a hairy chest in a man. I ran the nails of my fingers through his hair, gently raking his chest. I heard him gasp. I liked being able to make a man do that.
I felt his fingers wander back up my outer thigh to my hip, then dance their way across the soft skin of my belly, lingering there, teasing me, before moving up under my arm to gently cup my bare breast. My nipples were taut and sensitive. He played with them in the same gentle way that he had done on the dance floor. God did he ever know how to please a woman.
Without thinking about it, I slid my upper leg forward and rubbed it against his. Then I drew it back and up, leaving my thighs apart and inviting his touch. He responded by moving his hand down to my thigh. Then he stroked it up, almost to my cunt, and then back down. On and on it went, first one thigh and then the other, pleasing me, teasing me, and making me crazy for more.
By now my cunt was wetter than it had ever been before, nor had I ever felt my clit as stiff as it was when he finally touched it, making my whole body quiver. The feeling was sinfully delicious. He hesitated, making me wait, making me ache, and then he touched me again. He kept teasing me that way. “Oh God it feels good” I said. My hips betrayed me by thrusting forward. My legs trembled. I parted them even more. For what seemed like an eternity he did nothing. Then I felt his middle and ring fingers slip into me and explore my liquid recesses. Next, he slowly withdrew his fingers and slid them back along the folds of my skin to my clit. After toying with it, he would slid his fingers back inside me - cupping me - pressing down on my clit with the palm of his hand while the tips of his fingers searched for the G-spot inside me. Why wasn’t my husband be this skillful? With him these days it was a dash of foreplay, just enough to get the juices going so that things moved smoothly, then a bit of missionary work, and then off to sleep. It wasn’t always that way.
Until this moment, I had never been unfaithful to my husband but when I felt Mike’s magic fingers bringing me to the verge of an orgasm, I knew I was about to become a fallen woman. Overcome by wanton lust, I showered him with wet kisses. I reached for him and felt his hardness. It was a whale of a dick. I liked how it felt, skin smooth as velvet. Here I was, a mother of two, in a hotel room with another man’s cock in my hand. Then, for the first time in over a decade, I said to a man other than my husband “I want you to fuck me.” Then I added “But please don’t come inside me. I’m not protected.”
“Trust me,” he said, rolling me over onto my side. Good, I thought: something other than missionary work. He raised one of my legs, rested it on his shoulder, then straddled the other with his legs. This was easily my favorite position. He brought the head of his cock to pussy lips and slid it back and forth to get it lubricated. Then I felt him slid its full length inside me, so deep that it seemed to force the air from my lungs. He rested inside me for a moment, then began his thrusting. I lay back to look at him, my arms above my head, my breasts floating about my chest with each thrust. He kept that up for a few moments.
It felt heavenly, but when he sensed an orgasm building up inside me he backed off. He was, however, determined to keep me on the edge of heaven as long as he could. Sometimes he would slip just the tip of his cock into my cunt and then withdraw, making me crave a deep thrust. Sometimes he would tease my asshole with his fingers; always threatening but never quite entering. More often he would stroke my distended clit with his fingers while thrusting deep inside. This sent a tingling sensation racing through me, which grew and grew until my body was in the grip of a massive orgasm. I was so focused on my own passions that I didn’t realize that he had come too, inside me. What had we done? I was unprotected and his seed on its way to places where it shouldn’t have been … and I didn’t seem to care.
We lay there for a while, kissing and cuddling. Mike really did know how to treat a woman, especially in that period of tender emotion right after intercourse. As wonderful as he had made me feel just moments before, it felt even better now as he lay beside me and touched me in that gentle, caring way of his, as if he were worshipping a long-lost goddess.
I must have fallen asleep in his arms, which is where I awoke early the next morning. He had woken up just moments before and could not resist the temptation of a naked woman lying next to him. The early morning sun turned the room a golden hue. Not knowing what else to do, I lay on my back, stretched out, and let Mike toy with me. What a lover! One thing led to another and soon we were kissing passionately. His fingers danced over my body, making it come alive, making my nipples grow hard and my cunt grow wet, making my hips move and making me want him inside me again.
He fingered me to orgasm. Then he fucked me. Just before he came, he asked if I should pull out. Overcome by passion, I pulled him deep within me and told him to come. And he was about to fuck me again when Sarah knocked on the door. Without waiting she poked he head in, catching me on my hands and knees with Mike’s cock in my mouth, trying to get him hard once again. She ignored Mike and in a very business-like way said that it was 10:00 o’clock and if we didn’t get going we’d be late for the convention. She was right, of course. Mike scurried out of my room, found his clothes in a pile beside Sarah’s sofa bed, and left. I haven’t seen him since. I hope he is doing well on his travels.
Sarah and I hardly spoke the rest of the trip. She was upset that I had stolen Mike from her and I understood that. I hadn’t intended to do any such thing, but she needed to come to grips with the fact that it was Mike’s choice, not mine, to leave her bed and sneak into mine. Score one for me.
What she didn’t realize was that almost the exact same thing had happened years ago when we were in university. A bunch of us had rented a ski lodge. While we were out one night, Sarah’s boyfriend asked me to dance. Things got a little heated. Later that night he sneaked into my bed. The only difference, really, was that I booted him out after we had done our thing, and Sarah was never the wiser. That man later became my husband, with whom I will soon be having a third child. Unfortunately, I just can’t be 100% sure who the father is.