Come Again

Dianne's bare thighs closed against the toy humming between them. She groaned and then gasped as she gave in to the vibrations. Her left hand rubbed tiny circles over her clit. Slowly, then furiously she drove herself toward the edge. Her knees bent then straightened, toes curled up and her back arched as the first tremor of orgasm overcame her.

"OMG no!" she gasped then cried out, "Fuck me!" to the empty room and she thrashed about on her bed until the waves subsided. She lay spread-legged and breathless, satisfied superficially and achingly empty as the toy hummed, still inside her. Then she heard her husband's car in the driveway. She sighed and pulled on a pair of plain pink bikini underwear and a long tank top.

Dianne placed the toy under a stack of what her bff calls "granny panties" and was about to close the drawer when she noticed the card a tall dark-skinned man had given her late one night at the Super-Sudsey Washateria. She briefly felt weak inside and almost put the card back. Hearing footsteps, she slipped the card into her bra, closed the drawer and was tying the ankle strings of an old pair of sandals when he walked in.

"Going to stay half dressed all day?" he enquired gruffly.

Dianne fluttered her eyelashes and sang in a diva's drawl, "May-bee," and picked up a bottle of glossy black fingernail polish.

"That stuff makes you look slutty, you know."

"Well maybe I feel slutty sometimes," She replied. "And it matches what I'm wearing tomorrow."

He mumbled something about horny, shuffled away and had no sooner settled in front of the TV than she closed her closet door, pulled out his card and, trembling, dialed his number. She collapsed into a pile of old clothes when he answered. He remembered her. He was not surprised. He was more enticing over the phone than she recalled him being at the laundromat. His voice dripped sex as he asked her if her dryer was still working.

Then he whispered, "Take off your panties."

Dianne gasped, her mouth opened but no sounds were heard.

"Tell me when you have them off."

Dianne's hands shook as she pulled up her tank-shirt, slowly hooked her thumbs around the waistband and pulled down over her hips. The panties brushed past her knees and landed on her feet. She kicked them aside. "They are off now." She was quivering, vulnerable, and becoming moist.

"You may put them back on after your hubby has seen you a few times. If he asks about it, you answer that you heard voices telling you to go bare underneath."

"Yes, sir," Dianne whimpered to a man half her age.

"I'll see you tomorrow at lunch hour." he continued. "I'll call with instructions at 10:00." And he was gone. Her head and groin were both spinning as she closed her phone and walked into the kitchen. Her tank-shirt brushed her legs halfway to her knees. She felt like anyone could see that she was naked underneath.

He hardly looked up.

Dianne left for work wearing a short black lace dress with spaghetti shoulder straps. Black thigh high stockings and flat sandals the showed off her pink pedicure and a pink denim handbag completed her outfit. Underneath, she wore a sheer black string bikini panty.

Her phone rang as promised. She was in the ladies room. He was brief. Take the 14 bus to Wendell Plaza, walk half a block to #522. Go up one staircase and go in in Suite C. The door will be unlocked. There will be a paper on the dresser with instructions.

He concluded with, "Take off your panties, now." He hung up. She trembled as she complied, went back to her desk and put them behind a tissues box in the bottom desk drawer. And accomplished nothing between then and noon other than making herself wet by reaching under her dress every chance she had. When noon finally mercifully arrived, she took out a bottle of Red Door and dabbed it on her ankles, behind her knees, behind both ears, and down there.

On the bus, and walking on the street, Dianne felt like every man she passed could see through her dress. And she was partly right, in that when light shone behind it the outline of her legs was clearly visible. She was a total case of nerves by the time she opened the door to Suite C. She found the the page of instructions, which directed her to close the door, turn off the lights, which would dim automatically, then get comfy, face down on the bed facing the dresser.

She could hear her heart beating as she lay there in the darkening room. She was very aware of how short her dress was and how bare she was under it. Then it was dark. She trembled and waited.

He walked silently, naked and erect. She sensed rather than heard him, before his hands grasped her ankles. The lights came back on slowly, as his hands felt their way up her legs, fondling them through the stockings. Then he was kneeling above her, hands sliding over her ass, taking her dress with them. And his manhood nestled in between her thighs and probed at her entry way.

Dianne could barely breathe as the dark bulging member pressed her. He reached for her hands, pulled them up above her head and used the leverage to sink himself partially into her. She squealed, then whimpered as he nuzzled her neck, and she screamed when he drove himself home. Deep down inside her, he became very still, only twitching it while she acclimated. As he twitched, she began to wet, and then he began the thrusting motions, slowly, gently at first. He pulled almost out, then drove it all the way down. Almost out, plunged it in. Long deliberate sensual fucking. Her bff calls it long-dicking. Whatever, it felt delicious. Dianne whimpered and squirmed. She felt so overwhelmed, so submissive that he could have taken her ass if he had wanted.

Dianne was in fact, helpless, face down, her hands pinned as he screwed her doggie-style. She drifted toward the edge, riding a plateau that promised but didn't quite deliver. He knew she was on a schedule and didn't want her being distracted by the time. So he abruptly pulled out and rolled her over. She lay there looking dumbly up at him, her dress wadded around her waist, her legs open and knees bent like a whore in heat. He moved slowly, teasingly to her, bent down and kissed her pussy with a full open mouth. His tongue probed her lips then flicked across her pearl like butterfly wings. She was making unintelligible animal sounds and pulling at the bedcovers with both hands. His tongue danced and probed, and Dianne's hips raised up clear off the bed. She came on his mouth, in spasms and cries, her fingernails tattooing his shoulders.

In a gazelle-like jump he moved, his mouth planting on hers and his cock spearing her, even as her climax was still bursting. He fucked her furiously, his mouth muffling her cries, and he broke the kiss only to throw his head back and bellow his triumph. He spurted into her and the sticky honey smoothed out his stroking. Well lubricated, he slid and spurted repeatedly, buried deep, and Dianne, overwhelmed by his passionate finish, caved again, first in sharp mini waves, then it washed over her. She inhaled sharply, her mouth opened but no sound came out, then she collapsed in breathless, wide-eyed abandon. It seemed like it would never end.

They lay still, clinging to each other. Finally he mentioned the hour. "OMG, I don't think I can walk," she looked into the dark eyes of the man who had just turned her inside out.

"I'll drive you back." He helped her up and she smoothed down her very wrinkled dress. And something gooey began to leak out between her legs.

He found a parking space half a block from her office and turned around to the back seat, where she had been busily repairing her makeup. He kissed her and said he would call again. And said he'd send her the link.

"A link?"

"Link to the video, from the camera that was on the dresser."

The words took a moment to sink in. Then the color drained from Dianne's face as her hands covered it in embarrassment. She fainted dead away.

She came to, flat on her back on the seat, with his cock pumping away inside her. He was fully dressed and on a mission. She tried to protest, but he pinned both her hands, and oblivious to passers-by, he finished, grunting and cumming with the excitement of risking being caught. And he sat up and zipped like nothing had happened. His gooey cum made a wet spot on the back of her dress. Her thighs stuck together as she walked in.

She had been back in the office only long enough to put her underwear back on when her phone rang. An exec needed her in his office. She put on lipstick and checked her hair before going in.

He was over-complimentary about her appearance and in so many words asked her to go out with him. She hedged a bit and reminded him she was married. He said he knew, but he also didn't think it mattered. His pants bulged out as he spoke. After all, had he not just seen her in the back seat of a Mercedes, eyes closed in ecstasy, as a man pumped away on top of her?

Dianne couldn't get a sound to come out of her mouth. She could not deny it, and what would explain it? Her shoulders shook as she began to sob. Tears flooded her mascara-ringed eyes. Then he showed her the pic on his phone. For the second time in an hour Dianne fainted dead away. He deftly caught her and laid her gently down on the carpet. He locked his door, unzipped, pulled off his necktie and bound Dianne's wrists above her head.

And for the second time since noon, she awakened to penetrating intimate resusitation. This time she had her underwear on, but it wasn't in his way. And he stayed in her, thrusting then waiting, until she could not help it, could not stop and was lost in her waves, writhing and clenching her bound hands. He waited until she was coming completely unglued and was arching her back and crying and begging him to fuck her, marry her, whatever her, then he let go, grunting, shooting, spurting, flooding her insides with jism like he had not cum in 10 years.

He lay heavily on her, exhausted, still inside, softening, kissing her mouth, telling her how beautiful she was. She drank in his kisses, his words. She was glowing. As reality returned, he untied her hands. She caressed his back, his shoulders and cuddled his neck. His honey, mixed with hers, began seeping into her underwear. She wondered if she would still be employed in the morning. He helped her up, then knelt in front of her, held up her dress and kissed her soaking wet pussy right through her panties. Then he kissed her long, on her mouth.

He gave her the rest of the day off. She stopped at the mall on the way home, and was still leaking his cream as she shopped and bought some cute lace underwear and a skirt too short for a woman her age. She was totally glowing. Women smiled as she passed, and men looked at her like she was a prom princess. Or at least she imagined it. She drove home with her dress pulled up high and her legs open.

As she parked in the garage a text came on her phone. It was from the exec who had fucked her on the office floor. "Take off your underwear. Now."

She did. And she sent him a closeup pic and a smiley face. As she walked through the kitchen, her hubby looked up from the news he was watching. "How was your day?"

"Just a day, nothing to write home about, and yours?" She sang lightly.

"Dull." he rejoined. "Except something on the news made me horny as hell. The cops got a call downtown. Caller said a woman was getting force-fucked in the back of a Mercedes in broad daylight. Time they got there was no one in the car. They ran the tag. It came back to that Sean Salvatorr, you know, the millionaire financier going on trial for tax evasion. It was down your way. Thought you might have heard about it. Imagine the nerve, fucking out in public like that!"

Dianne slumped into an easy chair. She felt dizzy, faint, and nauseated.

"Did they catch him?" she offered weakly.

"Nah, no evidence. Can't charge what they didn't see."

She let that morsel of information soak in. "Are you still horny?"

"I could be," he looked over at his wife. "After dinner, maybe. What are we having?"

Dianne relaxed a bit. "Whatever you want, dear. You can make reservations while I change and freshen up. I'll put on something really cute and lose the black nail polish."