Victoria's First Secret

Both of Victoria's secrets began life as a single 750 word project, but that proved too short even for my own tastes... Like Topsy, it grew and grew, so I hope they're worth the time I took in re-writing it.

My husband George and I had a hotel reservation at the venue on the night of the company's Christmas party; it's invariably a boozy evening and more than one colleague had already lost their driving licence to the breathalyser test that year. In the event, I was to be alone for the night; George having suffered a flight delay in Spain, where he'd gone to investigate a takeover-opportunity for a rival company.

This year's event proved to be no exception and after a good meal and far too much wine, I was on the dance floor with an equally inebriated colleague when I recklessly invited him to join me in my room. In my defence, that was unusual, in fact unheard of for me; this wasn't just another case of 'when the cats away, the mouse will play'. Or perhaps it was?.

The company is my father's, but since his retirement, my husband George has been the MD, while I notionally head up the company's Sales and Marketing Department. Though I only took up that post once our three boys had gone away to boarding school and I only work three days each week anyway; it helps to keep me out of both mischief and the town's more exclusive clothing stores.

Gary, my... paramour, on that fateful evening was our recently appointed Production Manager and from conversations overheard in the office, I wasn't the only woman to have noticed him; though I'd kept my own attraction very much to myself. It would be difficult not to notice, Gary, he's a powerfully built and ruggedly handsome young man.

More pertinently, to me at least; Gary's disposition is so very different to any other men that I've known. My life's been one of relative affluence and privilege: Harrogate Ladies' College followed by Newnham College Cambridge, with a social life that revolved around pony clubs, tennis clubs, house parties and Hunt Balls; the men I've dated, including George, have all been from a similar background.

Gary meanwhile, had grown up in far less salubrious circumstances; not exactly from the 'wrong side of the tracks', but rather too close to them for comfort. After being none too successfully educated at the local comprehensive school, Gary left there at sixteen to take up an Apprenticeship on our factory floor.

Gary's appointment had been one of the last that my father had made before retiring. Daddy having apparently 'seen past' Gary's below-par educational and disciplinary records, not to mention his juvenile criminal record, to spot the 'Engineer who lay hidden beyond'. Ten years later and Daddy remained smug about that decision.

Until Gary's recent promotion to Production Manager, he'd been no more than a name to me; though one which in recent years has often been mentioned. Gary had proved to be a talented engineer and had attended the local technical college one day each week, along with any and every other training course that he'd been offered.

Gary passed every one of those courses with flying colours, usually at the head of his class; but beyond those qualifications, Gary possessed a gift which my father had seen in him as a sixteen year old. Gary saw solutions to problems which nobody else could visualise; indeed, there were times when no one else had yet even spotted the problem!

Ten years down the road and Gary was our new Production Manager, respected by both Management colleagues and the work-force alike. The latter especially seemed to love Gary, perhaps in part because those ten years hadn't knocked any of the 'rough-edges' off him; he was still 'one of the lads' a mainstay of the local rugby team and always up for a beer.

So how did Gary get from the factory floor to my bedroom? I'm still not altogether sure myself; though for me and I suspect perhaps for us both, there was a touch of the Lady Chatterleys about it? I found Gary attractive in a 'rough and ready' sort of way, while to Gary, as I've since heard him say himself, I was a bit of seemingly unattainable, 'Posh-Totty'.

I'm sure that Gary was to some extent in awe of me; in our few conversations prior to that evening he'd only ever addressed me as Mrs. Hamilton and on one occasion even called me Ma'am, did Gary think I was the bloody queen? Over the course of that evening however -- as the drink took hold? - I'd managed to get Gary to call me Victoria and once or twice even use my preferred diminutive of Vicki.

The alcohol certainly fuelled our mutual fires, but I've no doubt that those were already smouldering and their convergence turned into a conflagration. Having overtly feigned his own departure twenty minutes earlier, Gary loitered outside the hotel, before discretely returning to make his way to my room and tap gently and very quietly on the door.

My granting Gary entrance was the end of his being either quiet or gentle: Barely thirty seconds later I was pinned against the wall, with my feet well clear of the carpet; Gary's hands were beneath my thighs and his cock was buried deep inside my pussy. Or more precisely, to use the parlance of that night... inside 'Vicki's slick cunt!'.

My panties lay torn and discarded on the floor; Gary had reached beneath my dress to rip those off me in the moment after the door had closed. My dress had fared no better, that was torn from the neckline to my navel; my bra too having been pulled aside equally roughly, to leave my left breast swaying in the wind; the right one meanwhile, or a good proportion of it anyway, was inside Gary's mouth.

I'd never even caught sight of Gary's cock, but it felt substantial; certainly far larger... and stiffer, than George's was nowadays and that fairly pounded into me. Gary seemed able to support my weight easily and between sucking on each of my nipples in turn he repeatedly asked if "the MILF-slut was enjoying his fat cock?"

To my disgrace I gasped "Yes" in response to each and every enquiry.

I've no idea how long that initial coupling lasted... I'd orgasmed hard and was already away with the fairies, when I heard Gary growl and felt him begin to pulse inside me. Though I was sufficiently coherent to note that Gary's climax was far more... copious than George could manage nowadays too and that thought had me thinking of pregnancy.

Gary carried me across to the bed with his cock still inside me; my legs were wrapped about his hips, but it was still he who bore my weight and he did so easily, I'd never encountered a lover more powerful. During our transition I resolved that pregnancy concern in my mind: Fuck it! While still possible at forty six, it was bloody unlikely, but I'd be sure and fuck George tomorrow night, just in case.

The rest of that night was a little less... barbaric, but still far from cultured. After divesting me of what remained of my clothing, along with his own Gary crawled between my legs and fucked me for a second time, while I lay passively awestruck. I'd finally seen Gary's cock... it was huge; more captivatingly, it was again as hard as iron and it hadn't been ten minutes since he'd climaxed!

That second fuck was a little, though only a little, more restrained than the first; it lasted far longer too, though once again, I was too far gone to guess at its duration; will three orgasms long cut it time-wise? For the most part Gary's lips were wrapped about one or the other of my nipples -- he was enamoured of those -- but when they weren't his language was appalling.

My 'cunt' was in turn 'wet, sweet, greedy and dripping', though most often it remained 'slick'; while my breasts... sorry 'tits' were 'fat, juicy' and my own favourite, 'chewable'. Gary also continued asking after my enjoyment, though these enquiries were invariably directed toward 'My MILF-slut' or 'My MILF-whore' rather than his using my given name.

Whenever Gary did enquire, that brazen-trollop would always gasp 'yes', then go on to indecorously offer Gary some equally lewd, profane and downright vulgar encouragements of her own; in hindsight, Gary's appellations were perhaps apt? Though when Gary climaxed for a second time, not even my greedy cunt could cope with the flow and it genuinely was dripping.

It took rather longer, but Gary then got his cock hard for a third time that night; or more accurately, Gary had his MILF-slut get it hard again: Having rolled off me and recovered his breath, Gary caught me by the hair and pushed me down the bed; my location when he stopped, coupled with the expression on his face left no question as to what was expected.

That wasn't the first time I'd taken a cock into my mouth, far from it, but it was the first time that anyone had suggested such, after it'd already been between my legs. Even flaccid Gary's cock was impressive and its coating of our combined fluids glistened in the lamp-light; once up close I paused and began trembling in the face of Gary's debauched proposal.

But Gary didn't force it onto me; he didn't need to; I soon realised that it was excitement rather than disgust which had given me the jitters. Not ten seconds later, fully half of Gary's cock was inside my mouth, having arrived there to the sound of another growled instruction "Yesssss. Just like that you MILF-whore... And use your slutty-tongue on it too."

It would've been five minutes, but certainly not ten before Gary was once again hard; I'd long forgotten about the... recuperative abilities of young men. Once he was, though he'd seemed to enjoy my oral ministrations, Gary wasted no time in getting back between my legs; this time around Gary shuffled around behind me and dragged me onto my knees.

Doggy style... Ooh goody... My favourite. Gary didn't disappoint; those thoughts had barely crossed my mind before he was pounding into me once again and this time Gary's cock felt to reach even deeper. Had I ever been fucked this hard? Certainly not since I've been married and not that I could recall in my student days either; though to be fair, there were quite a few... hazy nights back then which I might not have remembered.

This fuck too endured for a three orgasm time span before Gary shot his load; I did note that the emission and roar with which Gary concluded things that third time were both significantly less... powerful. Thank God, he is human; I was exhausted... and bloody sore! My plan to fuck George the following night had by then been revised to... 'perhaps early next week?'

Not only had our lovemaking left us both exhausted, when we did recover or breaths and equilibrium, we found that it'd sobered us both up substantially too. The aftermath was embarrassing and... awkward. It was only a few minutes later, during which we'd sworn each other to secrecy, that Gary got dressed and left, departing as surreptitiously as he'd arrived.

I've no idea how Gary explained his dishevelled appearance and late return to his wife that night and I've been careful never to ask. Neither of us had intended an affair, just that single illicit fuck; we're both married, with kids and there's a twenty-year age gap between us too. However, on returning to work in January, I discovered that it wasn't just me for whom that night hadn't been enough.

There were few valid reasons for Gary and I to cross paths at work, but during early January we utilised them all. Those allowed several lurid grope and necking sessions in my office and one rather unsatisfactory fuck in the back of Gary's car; we both wanted more, but we knew that in or around the factory and office was not the place to get it.

Our opportunity arose in mid-January: Gary's wife and kids went to visit their grandparents; they had contracted Covid over Christmas and hadn't been unable to visit. That same week my husband was over in Spain again, progressing that take-over bid and on the Thursday morning, my three sons all went back to university.

I dropped the boys at the railway station en-route to work that morning and waved them off on their trains. Chris heading up to Durham, where he's in the final year of a degree in English, while the twins, Paul and Ian are first year Accountancy students at Sheffield University. George would be home by the following evening, but Gary and I at least had that Thursday night.

After checking that all remained clear on the home-front that evening, I met Gary in a pub at a discrete distance from either of our homes. We shared a meal and a few drinks for forms sake more than anything else -- I certainly wasn't hungry... Or not for beef bourguignon anyway - before driving back to our house just after ten o'clock.

We'd left Gary's car at the pub; I'd drop him back there to collect it in the morning. Gary hunkered down in the seat as we arrived and I parked my car behind the house, allowing us an unobserved route to the kitchen doorway. Gary's hands were already working on my blouse as we went through that and he growled "It's been weeks, is my MILF-whore ready for some more cock?..."

One of Gary's hands delved beneath my skirt as he kicked the door closed behind us and added: "I'll bet your slutty-cunt's dripping wet." I didn't voice a reply, though my own hands eagerly tugging at Gary's belt perhaps answered his first question?

Seconds later we'd both reached our goals, each announcing the other's success with a primal groan. The subsequent hush was broken by: "Fuck Me!" Those words coming from the doorway to the dining room and being voiced by my eldest son, Chris.

For a long moment we froze, after which Gary pushed me aside, repeated Chris' "Fuck Me!" like an echo and disappeared through the outside door at high speed; did Gary walk those eight miles back to his car? I've never enquired about that either.