Cheating Wife: the Game

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This is a stand-alone story. You do not need to read any other 'Cheating Wife' story of mine to understand this one.

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I hated that Tom loved this game. Sure, the lovemaking was usually great afterward. That part I liked. And getting dressed up is always fun: I love the attention. It was the deception that I hated. I know what it is like to be led on and I didn't like doing it to others. Still, you do crazy things for love. And so for Tom I played this game.

The game itself is pretty standard. The couple arrives to a bar separately, one partner (usually the woman) flirts with some of the patrons, and then the other partner (usually the husband) comes over and sweeps this 'stranger' off of her feet. Then the husband and wife leave together, both with hugely boosted egos.

Tom and I have played this game often over the last few years. Lately, though, I have been feeling like it is a little unfair to the guys I've flirted with. They don't even know the role they play, or that the outcome is determined for them before the night even starts. I felt it was time to put an end to this.

I devised a plan that would leave no one hurt but would also make Tom a little less excited to play. To make sure no one was hurt, I'd arrive early and confess to a man that my husband liked to play this game, and that I wanted to put an end to it. That way the person would not feel led on. To make Tom less likely to want to play in the future, I'd pick a tall and athletic person to flirt with. Tom has insecurities, and I know his height bothers him.

Preparing to go out has always been my favorite part of the game. Tom is a visual beast, and thrives on diversity, so I've developed a large wardrobe. Tonight had to be special.

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"What should I wear?" I pondered, as I stood, naked, in front of the mirror. I considered, and dismissed, many outfits prior to deciding on a tight-fitting black jersey fabric dress. The dress hugged my body perfectly, and showed off all 5'6" and 120 pounds of me. The horizontal halter-like strap crisscrossed around my shoulders and accentuated my 36C breasts, and the asymmetrical skirt showed off my long legs. In it, I felt beautiful.

After showering, shaving, and dressing, I applied my make-up. I decided to go with smoky black eye shadow and crimson lipstick. Looking one last time in the mirror, I recognized that my Louboutin pumps matched my dress, the sole matched my lipstick, and the 4" heel matched my mood. Now all I needed was a compassionate stranger to bring my plan to completion. I grabbed my keys, my purse, and left the house.

I arrived at the bar, parked out back, and walked around to the front door. Tom had selected the bar from the yellow pages, and it was pretty unremarkable. As I walked in I noticed a lot of young men, so I guessed there must be a college near by. I missed college, so it was fun to be back in that environment.

And I loved walking in. I felt that every man's eyes were on me. My scanning was subtle, but still it took me only about a minute to pick out the perfect man. And I mean perfect. After seeing him, Tom would never want to play this game again. My hopeful collaborator must have been 6'4" or 6'5" and about 250 lbs. He looked like a cartoon of what a football player should look like: tall, muscular, and very handsome. More than just that, he was black. I knew that would drive my husband nuts.

I walked directly up to him and introduced myself. "Hi, I'm Janet."

He smiled back, looked me deep in the eye, and with a stunningly deep voice asked, "What can I do for you, Janet?"

"You could do me a huge favor, if you're up for it."

"Come on, girl, do I look like a man that would have a hard time getting up for you?"

I laughed at his statement, placed my hand on his forearm, and explained my situation. He seemed disappointed at first, but agreed to flirt with me for about an hour until my husband arrived. He understood that this was a game, and that I didn't want to lead him on. After a bit, we kind of laughed about it all and started to have a really nice time.

His name was John; he played football, and majored in English. His opening line aside, I found him to be intelligent, polite, and respectful. He was also very graceful on the dance floor, which I was most thankful for!

While we danced, I thanked him and told him that he'd be a great catch for a single girl. That made him laugh, and in return he thanked me. "Seriously", he said, "having everyone here see me dancing with such a beautiful woman works in my favor." He was a sweet man.

My plan was working perfectly, but Tom didn't arrive on time. When he was about an hour late I went outside and checked my messages. There was one from him - he needed to work late and had swung by the bar but didn't see my car. He apologized and said he'd be home by midnight. It was 10 now so I should have just left. But not to be rude I went in, told John what had happened, thanked him, and told him I was leaving.

Being protective by nature, John walked me out back to my car and gave me a little hug.

"I'm sorry your plan didn't work, but I liked spending time with you."

"I liked it too, John. Thanks for being such a good sport." And with that I gave him another little hug. He held on this time, just a bit longer than he should have and I pulled away - but just a little.

"You know I'm married." I reminded him as I kissed him gently on his cheek.

I heard him whisper, "I know." But he held my head, moved his closer, and kissed me. I didn't intend to cheat on my husband, but I enjoyed the kiss. As our embrace became more passionate, I felt his huge hand envelope my breast. My nipple, positioned perfectly between his thumb and finger, responded quickly.

I tried to stop him, but my effort was feeble. I was awash in unplanned excitement, and I simply reacted to his movements. I was pushed against the hood of my car by a passionate monster of a man.

"Don't leave me like this baby," he whispered in my ear as he positioned my hand on his crotch. With my hand on the front of his pants, I could feel him straining to get out. "Don't leave me like this." This was clearly out of control, and it was wrong, but I pulled him out of his pants.

His penis was so hot in my hand! I stroked his long, fat shaft as he kissed me deeply. I felt incredibly sexy when I heard him moan. I was pretty sure, given his age, that I could make him cum with my hand. I loved doing that in high school, and the thought drove me wild now.

But this was his game, and he was in charge. He pulled his lips from mine. "I need that mouth, baby." His intent was clear. The passion of the moment was sufficient – I would not turn him down – but he was also demanding something of me that I loved doing. I love the look of a glistening cock, the feel of the head pushing to the back of my throat, and the look of a man as he stares down into my eyes. I needed to make him cum in my mouth.

"Touch yourself, woman, make us cum at the same time." That took no convincing at all. I was so excited I couldn't wait to touch myself. I continued to stroke him as I wiggled out of my panties. Once free I began rubbing myself in unison with my stroking. The moment was impossibly erotic and dangerous, and I loved the feel of his hand on the back of m y head. I loved feeling him thrust in and out of my mouth. That alone may have been enough, but rubbing myself simultaneously was almost too much.

He read my body perfectly, and just as I was almost there he pulled away. "I want your hand again. I need to kiss you." He moved in quickly, and his mouth tasted perfect. My hand found his shaft, and I began to stroke him as we kissed.

"Pull it close, girl, use my dick to make yourself cum." We continued kissing while I pulled his shaft along my swollen lips and ran his head around my clit. I was in heaven before my orgasm hit, and when it did I went to a new place – unnamed and uncharted in my previous experience.

While a second orgasm was mounting, he pulled me closer, kissed me deeper, and pushed his body into mine. I was completely under his power, he was much larger than me, and held my mouth quiet with his. He entered me quickly, and thrust in and out of me with shocking confidence.

Between orgasms, I had a moment of clarity: I was being fucked by a stranger on the hood of my car. A large, passionate black man was fucking me like my husband only thinks he can, and I was doing nothing to stop it. Worse - I was thrusting my hips to meet his - my body was begging him now.

If I could speak I'd say, "Fuck me, fuck me like you own me."
But 
I couldn't speak. I communicated my desire only with moans and by wrapping my legs tightly around his body. His last thrust almost made me pass out. He held my face close to his, held eye contact, and came deeply into me.