All of a sudden I prefer to play naughty!
fter being taken in the middle of the day, behind a shop, by the handsome shop assistant, I thought that would be it.
I was now in my fifties; I’d had a family and a responsible job for a long time. I couldn’t now go back to my previous life as a hotwife, cuckolding my husband on nights out, at parties, swinger’s clubs. I couldn’t do all that again, could I?
The man who had fucked me so well, made me feel wild and young again, hadn’t been in touch. Two weeks later I felt myself calming down.
Except that’s a lie. I may have not had any other random strangers, but I was getting a lot more of my husband. Every night he couldn’t wait to get me into bed, to bury his face in my pussy or ass until I couldn’t take any more. I’d almost scream, “Just fuck me!”
And he would. He’d be harder than he had been for years and any problems of not being wet enough due to the damned menopause had disappeared. One thrust and he was inside. Nowadays I look into his eyes, inches above my head, and see all the old lust return. His kisses on my neck are passionate, not just because he knows I like it, like it had been for years.
I grip his ass and it’s over. He fills me and shudders and collapses and smiles and we hug and we “I love you” and basically everything is more fun. All of this from a quickie behind a clothes shop in town.
You see my husband knows all about it. He’s always known if I had a quick liaison or long affair, and I tell him all the sordid details.
“The man dragged me behind a skip in broad daylight. He pushed his fingers so hard against my pussy that it lifted me off the floor. After the best orgasm I’ve had in months I sunk to my knees and sucked him. I wanted him to cum in my mouth, but he was a great lover and wanted me to have more. So, he picked me up, turned me over and fucked me from behind. Once he’d unloaded it all inside me, it’s still inside me now by the way, he brought me off with his fingers. No man has ever brought me off with his fingers as well as that, including you, hubby boy.”
I whisper how damn good the man was in his ear, how he couldn’t get enough of me, how I could never get enough of him, and my husband gets so excited at my apparent cruelty. He is putty at the telling, a quivering mess, but like a rock between his legs.
So my “cheating” has not only improved our sex life but also made us happier in general, and we’re looking better too. His arms and chest feel more solid. His dad bod stomach is giving way to abs again. He turns me on more each day. Sexacise and just ‘living’ a bit more is doing wonders. It’s all a self-help book should say. “Have a lot more sex and with a lot more people, and all the shit will fall away and the world will be a happier, brighter place.”
I looked in the mirror this morning and thought, “Hell yeah, any guy would want to fuck that!” My confidence has obviously improved too!
I thought I was done with all this, that all I’d had behind the skip was a blip; until today, that is.
The carpet fitter had me up against the wall of the upstairs corridor. I wanted to feel him pressed on me. His hard erection thrust against my stomach, ready to penetrate me in seconds.
But nothing had really happened yet. We were clothed and he was still only flirting. He was measuring me against a huge poster of the tallest man in the world that had gone up when the kids were small to amuse and amaze them. His hand brushed the top of my head to show where I came up to. Just above his crotch, of course!
With his other hand he held my shoulder firmly. He was the classic rugged workman. Not much younger than me but still in great shape. A housewives’ dream no doubt, and I wondered how many women christened their new shagpile carpets with a hard shag from him? How many women cheated on their husbands in the newly decorated room even before their partners had seen it?
“I guess you won’t because your husband wouldn’t like it?” he said, and of course it was obvious what he meant.
I wanted to say, “No! Yes he would! He’d love it! If he came home tonight and found out I’d been fucked by our carpet fitter he’d sink to his knees and lick my pussy. He’d try to taste you as I described how good a fuck you were, how great you made me feel, how much I want you again as soon as I can. Then he’d fuck me so hard begging me to call you, begging me to let him watch the next time I knelt and sucked you off.”
Oh, I wanted to say that. I wanted to badly, but something, my old learnt ‘normal’ response, meant I couldn’t do it.
I nodded slightly, agreeing with him, my hubby wouldn’t be happy. He penetrated his eyes into me. I wanted him more than the shop assistant, more than my husband, but somehow not more than my modesty.
He winked and left. I was bereft. I was so wet, so desperate, felt such a fool. What now? Do I get out my rabbit and please myself and him out of my mind? Do I call my husband and plead for him to come home quickly as a poor replacement for what I really wanted?
A third option raced through my mind, and I raced to the bedroom window. I opened it so quickly and hard I thought it might break as it swung on its hinge.
But I wouldn’t have cared.
“Wait! I need to show you something.” I didn’t care either how it might look to the neighbours, I just wanted to stop him before it was too late.
I sprinted out, not locking or even closing the door. He had waited coolly, he’d not bothered coming back to the house. As I ran towards him he opened the van’s back door wider, where he’d just put his tools in, and without thinking I threw myself in.
He followed me, closed the door and was on me in seconds. I hadn’t meant for it to be like this. I’d meant for him to undress me on a bed. The marital bed, a soft cushion for my head.
What I got instead was metal ridges in my back from the bare floor of the van, the smell of glue and oil, my head hitting against his toolbox to the rhythm of his fucking. And he hadn’t taken long to start fucking me and I didn’t care about how uncomfortable it was because I was getting what I needed, and every painful bump added to the intensities of the orgasm his suitably large cook was giving me.
As soon as the door had closed, he had ripped off my knickers, pulling them from underneath my loose dress. He was no more undressed than me, just his beautiful cock was all that needed to be exposed.
We didn’t kiss. We didn’t caress. But we didn’t take our eyes off each other. I felt like I’d known him for years, that he had always been my lover. He knew what I wanted and I felt a wordless connection. I imagined I was the only thing he needed in the world, despite his wedding ring.
I was probably right though; at that moment I was everything to him. Soon we’d go back to our families but right now we cared about nothing else.
I came very quickly, like I used to as a young woman. I screamed my relief and for a moment pictured my noises and the rocking of the van creating a gossip-mongering reaction in the cul-de-sac. But seconds later I didn’t care as I came again and again.
Almost as if sensing I was getting the most pleasure out of this he withdrew himself. I felt lost, empty. Then he pulled my right arm across my body, and I was flipped over.
He was taking control and taking me as he wanted me. So, I shouldn’t have been surprised when I felt his bulbous head push against my anus. I could take anal sex. I did it with my husband. I even did it with strangers back in my slutty swinger’s heyday, but I wasn’t sure I could do it now.
I found out the answer quickly. Yes! He grunted his way in, my juices the only lube he needed. I quickly put my finger to my clit to masturbate away any pain and bring myself more orgasms.
Then it was over. With a deep earthy sound of violent pleasure, he exploded inside me. He had only pumped half a dozen times and I was sure there was still some of his length to go in, but it was enough for him.
He lay heavy on my back and regained his composure slowly, his warm breath loud and hot in my ear. It wasn’t over for me though. With my hand trapped against my pussy and his cock still hard in my arse, I frigged myself. I touched myself as best I could with the little room for movement I had.
And I was moaning. It worked. My own fingers were bringing me as much pleasure as his manhood had. But in the end it was all of it together that brought me shuddering to climax again and squeezing more pleasure out of him as everything contracted. The situation, his body, his brooding quiet, the thought of the partners we were cheating on.
No more words. Just his business card. But when I talked tonight, described my day, boy was I going to get another seeing too!
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All of a sudden I prefer to play naughty!
