Lover. Mistress. Adulteress. It’s what I am now, although I hate two of those words and all the other ones I won’t even mention here. I broke my marriage vows nearly a year ago, as my lover broke his. We weren’t bad people and we weren’t in bad marriages. It’s just that there was something seriously lacking in both our sex lives with our spouses and although we’d each tried for years to deal with the issues within the sanctioned bonds of our marriages our respective spouses had shown no interest in changing. We’d both wearied of the chase, as it were, and had begun to look elsewhere for satisfaction.
We’d found each other through the internet, the pick-up joint of the new millenium. I had posted my profile on a site for married women looking for an outside fling – I never was one to beat around the bush – and he had found me within the first month. We’d corresponded for six months via email, exchanging photographs and learning as much as we could about each other before finally setting a date to meet about half way between our homes. That first time had been intense. We had both managed to get away overnight, which we had agreed would be more comfortable. I arrived at the hotel first and was wet with anticipation long before he ever got there. From the time he walked through the door of the room to the time I was impaled on his impressive cock was under ten minutes and we’d fucked and sucked each other as many times as we could in the twenty hours or so we were together. In between we had managed a few showers, three meals and a lot of talking about ourselves, our marriages and our childhoods, filling in the blanks leftover from our correspondence.
The four plus hour distance between us was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it kept us from being stupid and just getting together any old time, which is a sure formula for getting caught. A curse because we both had huge sexual appetites and demanding schedules which made arranging a meeting hours from home extremely difficult. Since that first time we’d manage to meet twice more before today, once at a convention I was attending when he was able to get away and join me, once nearer my house on some trumped-up trip of his. This time we were meeting dangerously close to his home. We had discovered, as the saying goes, that beggars can’t be choosers and we had to take the opportunities presented. My work had taken me to the city nearest his house and I had emailed and asked if there was any place we could be alone for a few hours on Saturday before I had to head home. My business had actually concluded on Friday, but my husband didn’t know that. My lover replied that it might mean taking a friend into his confidence but he was sure he could work something out.
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I waited, as agreed, in the restaurant parking lot for him to pick me up. As I climb into the blue club van he’d rented for the day and drop my bag on the floor in front of the seat I ask where we were going.
“A friend’s house, they’re away for the weekend,” he answers.
“Happy to see me?” I ask, eyeing the obvious bulge in his pants. He just grins.
The van is warm and I wriggle out of my winter coat. Beneath it I am wearing a black button-down shirt, a long black jersey skirt and my favorite sexy black boots with the metal toe and heel pieces.
“I hope it’s not far,” I say, “I’m horny as hell.”
“About twenty minutes, if you can stand to wait that long,” he replies, his sly grin returning.
I’m in a mood to play. As he concentrates on guiding the van onto the highway he notices me moving around in the seat of the van. I reach over and drop something in his lap. As soon as he gets the van up to speed with traffic he picks the object up. It’s my panties, and they’re soaking wet. I reach a hand under my skirt and slide a finger inside my cunt, then pull it out and run it over his lips.
“Lick it off,” I whisper, my voice husky with desire. He does, with as much concentration as he can spare from the road. He glances at me briefly and seeing my smile he understands that this is a game. He nods for me to continue. I trust that he’ll recognize what to do from our email fantasy exchange, which is how we keep from going crazy during the long months when we can’t get together.
I reach to the seat controls and push the back of the seat down as far as it will go. I lie back and move my right hand under my skirt, stroking my sex slowly. My eyes are closed and I am breathing heavily. After about five minutes I look up at him. “Nope, can’t wait” I say and reach for my bag. From inside it I retrieve the vibrator he bought me as a gift for our first rendezvous, twist it on and hike up my skirt so he can watch as I slide it easily all the way inside my hot wetness. The van rides fairly high off the road but I pray no big rig is pulling along side us, as exposed as I am. I’m too aroused to want to stop, though, and with one hand controlling the movement of the vibrator and two fingers of the other hand circling my clit I come hard after less than a minute.
“Bitch,” he says, as I catch my breath and make myself more presentable. I retrieve my panties from his lap, intentionally brushing the hardness beneath his fly, and use the dry part to clean off the vibrator before stuffing both back in my bag.
“I’m not a bitch, I’m a tease,” I reply in a saucy tone.
