Fucking On The Edge Literally

Entry 36

'Okay, first things first, I don't intentionally put myself in situations where I have to or might think of cheating on Gary. I just spontaneously find myself there sometimes, and there's no way that I can get myself out of it.

Mind you, I'm not particularly trying to get myself out of this situation. Hot sex with even hotter men? Yes, please. If my husband won't please me, then maybe random strangers and university crushes will.

Wink, wink.

I was just out for a casual shopping trip to get things for my upcoming trip to Paris that I mentioned in my last entry. I deserve a break, right? It's not like Gary is paying much attention these days anyway. So there I was, minding my own business, when life decided to throw me a curveball.

I randomly met a college crush who sought me out in the store because he spoke to me first. We barely spoke during our college days, and I didn't even think he noticed my existence, so that was truly surprising.

He walked up to me and began to converse. And not in the trying-to-be-nice kind of way. No, he was actively flirting with me and hoping I'd flirt with him back.

And you know I always love good flirting, so obviously, I indulged him.

I'd spent years secretly fantasizing about this college crush. You know, the guy who barely knew I existed but had me doodling his last name in the margins of my notes. Yeah, that guy. Except now, he's a billionaire. And not just any billionaire--he has a penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire city. The kind of view that makes you feel invincible. Or maybe that's just what he made me feel.

Okay, I'm getting ahead of myself here.

He invited me back to his penthouse to catch up and have 'drinks,' but we all know what that's code for.

And how could I resist having drinks with a billionaire who I used to have the biggest crush on? Plus, he looked smoking hot too.

One drink turned into two, and before I knew it, I was pressed to the glass of his penthouse, being fucked from behind. And the craziest part? I didn't feel guilty. Not even a little bit. Not when I realized that the people in the buildings across from us could see everything. I mean, really see. It was... exhilarating.

The rush of knowing we were being watched, of knowing that anyone below, anyone across the street, could be filming us, was a thrill I didn't even know I needed.

I had never participated in voyeurism before, but I really got the appeal and the thrill. The adrenaline rush I felt was completely insane, something I hadn't felt in all my life.

Look, I'm trying to be a good wife. I am. But these situations just keep finding me. Or maybe I'm finding them--I don't know anymore. It's like the universe is testing me, throwing these ridiculously hot, ridiculously unavailable men in my path and daring me to say no. Spoiler alert: I didn't.

It's very hard to say no, especially now that I've realized I'm a sex-hungry housewife. I need to be pleased and pleasured to be kept in check, and if my husband can't do it, then you can't blame me for wanting to get fucked by random men.

Am I proud? Maybe not. But I can't lie and say I didn't love every second of it. The way he looked at me like I was the only woman in the world, the way the city lights twinkled below us, the way I felt... free. More alive than I've felt in years.

I knew people were watching down below, but I also knew there was nothing they could do about it. They could only see silhouettes of our bodies moving in sync and gossip about it, but that was just it.

And yet, here I am, trying to piece it all together. Trying to be a good wife. I keep telling myself that I can still be both. That I can be the responsible, caring, doting wife for Gary while indulging in these... other moments.

I also wonder if he is indulging in these other moments, too. He had to be. There was no way he was going through this long stretch without sex and feeling alright. I wouldn't be able to stand it if I were him.

I always wonder if he's fucking his secretary. She's blonde and gorgeous and looks like a Victoria's Secret model or maybe even his boss. She's gorgeous, a little bit older, but hot in a dominatrix sort of way.

Still, the thought of potentially being a good wife is all I can think of sometimes. I want to be as spotless as some women in the suburbs, but maybe I don't just have that in me.

But sometimes, I wonder if I'm fooling myself. Can I really have it all without completely unraveling?

I guess that's the question, isn't it?

For now, I'm just going to ride this wave. Maybe Paris will be a fresh start. Or maybe I'll find myself wandering the streets of Avenue des Champs-Élysées with another handsome stranger. Who knows? All I do know is that this? This is just the beginning.'

I hit the publish key as I pushed my laptop to the side of the counter and waited for the notifications to start pouring in.

My followers had increased a great deal since my first entry, and now I felt unstoppable as I watched the number tick upward every single day.

Now, women send in anonymous messages, questions, and emails to get their problems fixed, and I do all I can to help them. Most of them were women in their mid-thirties to late fifties trying to get back their sexual energies and live life as interesting as mine.

I never thought I would be a sexual goddess that women in sexless marriages could look up to, but here I was.

I had stopped complaining about my lack of sex in my marriage on my blog and instead focused more on my entries on my sexual escapades, which a lot of my followers seemed to love.

Sure, I'd gotten on the bad side of the internet, where heavy misogynists have written long articles and essays about me, talking about how I was leading women astray with my blog entries and how I needed to stop writing.

Of course, the armor of anonymity had shielded me for so long, but I always got paranoid that one of those men who don't know how to mind their fucking business would find me using my IP address or some other techie means.

I shook the thoughts out of my head as I checked on my banana bread. It was almost ready.

I sprinkled bits of Oreos on one side of the bread alongside white and dark chocolates. Dawn loved her sweets, and I always made sure to make her side of the bread as sweet as possible.

Paul and I tried not to let her have too many sweets, but whenever it was that time of the week for her to have sweets, I made sure I wasn't stingy.

She had started swim classes, and I was incredibly proud of how athletic she was. Paul and I did not have any form of athletic bone in our bodies combined, so it was amazing that she got to participate in sports.

Also, I felt very motherly. It has been a week since the incident with Derek, and I loved that I was spending more time with Paul and Dawn and doing all the wifely things I was meant to be doing.

Our sex life wasn't remotely back, and I had gone from using the vibrating toothbrush underneath the sink to actually getting a real vibrator, which has been sort of doing the trick.

I still hide it, but I'm less feral with need and don't have as much of an urge to sleep with a random stranger. I was dutifully pleasing myself, baking banana bread in my Daffy apron while I cooked and basically having the time of my life.

This was exactly what I needed. Time at home so I don't bump into hot strangers, and a vibrator to get me off when I need to--and I always needed to get off.

I grabbed a bottle of wine and popped it open, filling my glass as I worked around the kitchen. Life was, dare I say, good right now.

What could possibly go wrong?

As I settled into the routine of getting dinner ready while I waited for Paul and Dawn to be home--he'd gone to pick her up from swim lessons--I decided to wash the dishes while I waited for them.

Just as I was palm-deep into washing the dishes, the doorbell rang. My heart skipped a beat. It was Tuesday evening--definitely not a time for unexpected visitors.

I quickly checked Dawn's location, and it showed that she hadn't left the swim center just yet, so it couldn't be her and Paul at the door. Paul would have also called me to let me know they were on the way back home.

I hadn't ordered anything, so it couldn't be the delivery man, and I wasn't expecting any guests either.

The second ring came, more insistent this time. I sighed as I wiped my soapy hands on my apron and approached the door, mentally preparing myself for whatever mundane interaction was about to take place.

It better not be one of those churches trying to invite me to service or the Girl Scouts trying to sell off their last batch of cookies for the day.

But when I pushed open the door, it was none of the people I'd expected to see. My breath caught in my throat as I took in the sight in front of me.

He was standing there more gorgeous than ever in his signature leather jacket and black boots. The white shirt he wore inside his jacket was a V-neck, which exposed the hair that dotted his chest and trailed down his shirt.

What the hell was Grayson doing here? And why did he look incredibly sexy?

I was meant to be a good wife this week by staying indoors, but what do I do when temptation shows up at my doorstep.

Grayson was supposed to be on tour, but we were not supposed to see him or hear from him for another six months to a year. So what was he doing here?

He looked incredibly casual with his hands in his pocket as he leaned on the doorframe languidly like he wasn't the very reason I'd spent sleepless nights fighting off the guilt that always seemed to creep in.

"Hey," he said, that familiar, easy smile on his lips, the kind of smile that made my stomach twist in a way it shouldn't.

I couldn't process what was going on, so I just stood there looking at him for a bit. I was unable to move, my hand gripping the doorknob.

What the hell was he doing here? And why didn't Paul inform me that he was coming?

There was no way he was just dropping by unannounced because he was supposed to be touring, from what I last heard about him.

And this was so random, especially when I was trying to be the perfect wife for a few weeks.

"What are you doing here?" I sputtered out, finally finding my voice.

Grayson straightened and leaned lazily on the other door frame. Oh, he was doing this on purpose. From beneath his leather jacket, I could see the way his muscles flexed, and that seemed to do a lot for me. I remembered the way his palm closed on my neck on the day of Dawn's birthday.

I shook my head and focused on what was currently happening.

"I realized I left my very important duffel bag in your garage the other night. Figured I'd swing by and grab it before heading back on tour?"

I frowned at him. That couldn't be it, but since it was a very important bag for a tour, there was no way he could be lying, right?

But I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it--there always was with him.

She forced a smile, though she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. "You could have easily sent someone to come pick it up. Or Paul would have had it delivered to you. Why put yourself through all that trouble?" I asked.

He shrugged, his gaze not leaving mine, and there was an unreadable look on his face.

"Yeah, but then, if Paul had it delivered, I would not have been able to see you."

There it was. He'd revealed the reason, and now I could feel the magnetic tension pulling us together. I swallowed hard, my mind scrambling for a response.

I was trying--really trying--to be a good wife, but it wasn't my fault that temptations constantly fell on my lap.

Grayson knew how I felt about him. He knew I wouldn't just turn him away, which was why he had that annoying smirk on his face that screamed 'gotcha.'

But I wasn't going to break, at least not yet. I could be the picture-perfect wife filled with devotion right now and then throw all caution to the wind as soon as the Paris trip rolled around.

I can do this.

"You can go around back and get it. Paul left the garage unlocked," I managed.

"Or I could get it from here," he said, pointing into the house.

That was dangerous, but I needed to show that I was in control, so I stepped back, my nose in the air. "Alright."

He gave me that smile again, the one that made my insides melt and my mind scream no, but my body waver in ways I didn't want to admit.

He walked through, leaving behind the smell of his woodsy and manly cologne that made me remember taking all of him in my mouth and choking.

This isn't what I need, I thought, clutching the doorframe till my knuckles turned a ghostly shade of white. I was doing my best to keep everything together, to be the wife Paul deserved, but I didn't know how much longer I could keep this facade going.

"You're really just here for the bag, huh?" I called after him, my voice sounding weaker than I wanted it to.

He paused, turning to look at me with that same unreadable expression. "Of course," he said, but there was something in his tone in the way his eyes lingered on me.

For a moment, neither of us moved, and my heart hammered in my chest.

"I'll just grab it and be out of your hair," he said, and a part of me believed him.

I went back to the kitchen to busy myself with the dishes when he appeared with the duffel bag slung lazily over his shoulder. Oh, there was actually a bag, and he wasn't lying?

"Thanks," he said, walking to the kitchen.

No, no, no.

He poked his nose about. "What are you making?"

"Banana bread," I responded without looking at him.

Grayson moved closer to me and held me by the waist, making me freeze.

"You're avoiding me," he murmured into my ear. "Why are you avoiding me, Ash?"

"Because we both know what will happen if I don't."

"I don't know what will happen," he said innocently, and I rolled my eyes.

I could feel his hardened cock pressing on my buttocks as he leaned closer to me. It took everything in me not to press back and grind my ass on it.

I pushed him away from me and stepped out of his embrace.

"We shouldn't do what we are about to do."

"I'm not going to fuck you if that's what you're scared of," Grayson drawled.

I frowned. "You're not?"

He smirked. "Are you hoping I do?"

"Of course not."

"I think you're hoping I fuck you silly right here in your kitchen."

My insides tightened, and I could feel my panties getting wetter.

Grayson stood in front of me, his eyes dark with desire, and I could tell I looked the same way, too, because the only thing I wanted to do was ride his cock until I had no more strength left in me.

But it wasn't like this was the first time we'd danced around this line. Not even close.

I swallowed and grabbed my phone, checking Dawn's location. They were on their way back home. "Paul would be back in 15 minutes. He went to pick up Dawn from swim lessons."

Grayson took out his own phone from his pocket. "That means we have 15 minutes."

I rolled my eyes. "That's not what it means."

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving mine. "Then we have to make every second count."

I should've stopped him. I should've been the responsible one, the good wife, the mother who had it all together. But the truth was, I wanted him.

Grayson moved closer to me, his hands brushing against my waist as it trailed down my dress and landed on my pussy. His finger brushed my clit, and I shivered from need.

"I need to set a quick alarm," he said as he placed his phone on the counter, the beeping sounds ingrained into my subconscious.

But then I glanced at the alarm he set, and I knew we didn't have time for second thoughts. This was happening. Right here, right now.

And then, Grayson crashed his lips down on mine, hard.

I let out a startled choking noise that came from the end back of my throat. He kissed almost as well as he fucked, and I loved it. I melted in the kiss and tried to match his vigor.

I pulled at his jacket, but he mumbled against my mouth. "We can't take off our clothes. We only have fifteen minutes before Paul walks through the door."

He was right, and our lips were back on each other, trying to enjoy each second that passed. His cock pressed to me, and I ground my body on how.

With a swift movement, he lifted me onto the kitchen counter. His kiss was desperate and hungry, and I wondered whether he would miss me when he went on tour. My hands dug into his hair as I kissed him back, the thrill of it all--the danger, the rush--overpowering any shred of guilt I'd been holding onto.

He pushed his hand between my legs, his hands feeling the wetness of my pussy through my panties as he pushed it to the side so he could have more access.

I moaned out loud, and he quietened the sound by sticking his tongue into my mouth.

"I'm not even in you, and you're already moaning like a little slut," Grayson said again, releasing yet another moan from me.

He massaged my bare cunt as I cried into his mouth. My eyes rolled back as he kept massaging.

Grayson slipped a finger between the parted lips of my pussy, and with his thumb, he rubbed my clit firmly.

"This feels so wrong, yet so good," I moaned.

"Because I'm the one you're with," Grayson responded as my teeth pressed into my lower lip as he worked me closer to the edge.

He pulled away from me, making me miss his touch almost immediately. He'd snatched my release away, making me groan.

"Do you think it's going to feel good when I lay you on the counter and pound into you?"

"We don't have much time."

But Grayson ignored me and kept speaking. "Well, I think it would. Now, you're going to be a good girl, so let me work you up to it, or am I going to have to take it by force?"

The last part of the sentence got my heart beating in my chest.

"Take it by force?"

"Yes. I'll have to hold you down and pound my hard cock into you."

"Even if I resist."

He smirked. "Especially if you resist."

I swallowed. "You wouldn't."

"I'll be doing you a favor. We both know you don't want Paul's shriveled old dick. If not, you wouldn't be dripping through your panties for me."

Fuck. He was trying to edge me on, and it worked. His hands were back to my parting, and my hips buckled as he moved his way higher and higher.

"Take it then. Force me down and take it. I've been a bad wife anyway, and I deserve what's coming."

I felt the dick print and slid my hand up and down it as he groaned into my ear.

"I'm going to go pretty rough," he warned.

Music to my ears.

"Then be rough."

"Tell me a word, something to say if you want me to stop," he said.

"Grayson, I don't need a safe word," I let out.

He held me by my throat, pressing the balls of his fingertips on the side of my neck as he slid another finger into me.

I felt his fat fingers stretch my pussy.

"Grayson, Oh my God!" I screamed as he pushed in up to his knuckles, the length of his fingers disappearing within me.

My muscles are twitching and tightening around his fingers as I let out moan after moan, filling the kitchen.

Fuck, the bread!

"I think the bread might be--"

My words were cut short as Grayson took me off the counter, turned me around with a hand in my hair, and forced my face against the cold countertop.

I felt the hard granite hit my cheek as I winced in pain and pleasure.

"Fuck!"

The pain washed over the pleasure, and I felt myself come all over his fingers, my legs feeling like jelly underneath me.

I half expected to slide to the floor because there was no way my legs were going to hold me up, but Grayson's tight grip on my waist kept me afloat.

I tried to blink and take note of my surroundings, but it was hard. The orgasm had been so intense that I felt everywhere and everything blurring before my eyes.