I originally submitted this story in the non-consent/reluctance category. After considering readers' comments, I have moved the edited version to the Romances. I did consider submitting in the Loving-Wives thread but in the end decided that I had come to like the two main characters and felt that they deserved an audience that was a little more forgiving.
This entirely fictional story, involving adults over 18, is set in the UK.
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My name is Scott; Scott Mason. I'm twenty six, a civil engineer and, up until a week ago, happily married. What happened to change that? It depends on your point of view. Let's say it was Davey finally announcing that he had got around to proposing to Anna, his long-term, live-in partner. Anyway, when he announced to the office that she'd actually said yes, we knew that we had to have a session in the pub to celebrate. Doing it straight after work that afternoon was a non-starter; not knowing there would be drinking involved after work, we'd all driven into the office that morning. Tuesday though, public transport and lifts would be the order of the day.
I told my wife, Liv (she hates being called Olivia) about Davey's news and asked if she was happy to drop me off in the morning and collect me from the pub near the office around eight that evening. Of course, being the amazing woman she is, she agreed without hesitation. That was our last ordinary evening. We ate, cleared up and she went to complete some outstanding accounting for her business while I read.
When she finished, she joined me and we sat and talked about our day as we watched some fluff on TV. That night we made love and it was as good as ever.
As I climbed into bed, she snuggled backwards into me, grinding her tight little bum into my groin. I responded, of course, and reciprocated by reaching over her body to cup her breast. The course was set now. Within a few minutes we were face to face; kissing and exploring each other's bodies with our hands.
Eventually that wasn't enough for me and I set off on a journey of oral rediscovery. Her breasts were as delicious as ever; her nipples grew even more pronounced as I suckled. She moaned anticipation as I reluctantly moved on from the starter though, in fairness, I was well aware of the delights awaiting me at the junction of her thighs.
I tasted and tantalised with my tongue until I heard her breathing began to catch. That was when I slipped my index finger between her slippery, engorged labia and pressed my thumb against her clit. Less than two minutes later, she began to chant my favourite refrain, "Yes; there; just there; harder; oh, fuck; oh: Yes....!"
I always tried to make Liv come before I actually slip inside her. It might seem pathetic but, despite having had several lovers, I'm painfully self-conscious about my cock and seem to over-compensate as a result: Not that the women tend to complain.
Despite my insecurity about my size (barely four and a half inches) Liv insists that I am all she needs. When we first started dating seriously, we agreed not to compare our body counts, but Liv admitted that she had slept with men larger than me. She claimed that she didn't care. That night, as the muscles of her vagina milked me as she orgasmed while riding me like gorgeous, wanton Valkyrie, I believed her.
A word about us; it is relevant. Liv and I are the same age, 26, our birthdays only two months apart. She's a slender woman of average height with a taut figure that she maintains by swimming a couple of times a week. Her boobs are small but perfectly proportioned for her build. Her long brown hair with its flecks of auburn contrast with her flawless pale skin. With her adorable open features and a hint of flush on her cheeks, she was my perfect English rose. Any Disney casting director would give a kidney to have her in the role of Snow White. Ironic really.
Me? I'm just under six foot and just about good looking enough not to scare babies. I've darker hair than Liv but we share the same shade of blue-grey eyes. I swim with her occasionally but my work on site involves a lot of walking and hauling gear about, so the gym and I tend to be strangers. I seem to be popular with the women at work. In truth, I think that my insecurity about my penis size makes me behave less, I don't know, less like they are potential conquests and more like friends.
Tuesday started much as I expected. We had recently won a new contract for a major river crossing to replace a rather tired bridge on a section of road that was being upgraded. A couple of us had been tasked to come up with stress analyses to ensure that the project ran smoothly. Apart from a brief lunch and coffee and toilet breaks, I barely came up for air until after five o'clock.
Davey finally dragged me away from my workstation and into the pub just before six. It was a pleasant evening, at first. A dozen of us, eight blokes, four women, all gently teasing Davey, asking him if he worried that Anna would get her sight back one day, or if she'd ever exhibited any other signs of mental incapacity.
I had completely lost track of time and was listening to Becka unload about her latest ex when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Liv. "Don't rush," she reassured me. "Finish your pint."
She sat next to me as I introduced her to a couple of colleagues that she'd never met before and, as she congratulated Davey on his engagement, I stood up. "I'll pop to the loo, love, then I'm ready to go." She nodded absently as she turned to chat to Becka.
I noticed Jerry, an engineer on assignment from another office, staring at Liv from the other end of the table. He looked puzzled, as though he was trying to place her but couldn't. I tried to squeeze past the assembled drinkers, politely ignoring their playful attempts to block me as Becka continued to berate her ex, only now Liv was on the receiving end.
Becka must have got to the part about the sext he'd accidentally sent to her instead of another girl, because I heard Liv's characteristic throaty chuckle and her demand to see it. "Oh, this I have to see," she exclaimed. "Show me!" I noticed, without realising, that this seemed to trigger a recognition in Jerry's memory but, at that moment, my need to pee was more urgent. I finally got free of the office hooligans and set off to the toilets.
Jerry followed me, frowning as he tapped on the screen of his phone. "Where the fuck is it?" I heard him mutter in frustration as I let loose into the urinal. I was just washing my hands afterwards when I heard him exclaim, "I was fucking right! I fucking knew it!" I looked up from the hand basin. He was still on his phone.
