AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fantasy story contains scenes of marital infidelity and unprotected sex. If you have objections to these topics, please pass on to another story that is more to your liking.
Since returning home from the business meeting Walt was mentally pummeling himself from every direction. He cursed his dumb luck and thanked his lucky stars for having fucked the hot blonde wife of the client he couldn't stand. He hated himself for being unfaithful to his wife, again, and loved her for not figuring it out and leaving him. He continued to wonder if she had only been joking about fucking the car rental guy, or if she really had done it. When he convinced himself she had been teasing, he hated himself more. When he talked himself into believing that she really did it, he became jealous or excited or relieved, or a mix of the three. When he remembered fucking blonde Gloria, or thought back to Vanessa, he would get aroused. When he imagined his wife doing the same thing, well, he still got aroused. Unwanted images would leap into his head at inopportune times; at meetings, during phone calls, during lunch breaks. Rhonda in the throes of passion, or lavishing attention to a man's dick, or getting her pussy fucked hard, cumming, getting filled with cum, every time with a faceless man, not him.
Half of him hated the idea of her cheating on him, the other half was so turned on he would suddenly spring an erection at his desk, or driving home. Several times since returning home, while having hot sex with Rhonda, he would imagine how she would look and react if it were someone else fucking her, or licking her pussy. The images grabbed hold and wouldn't let go, and he would cum too soon, a victim of his wild imagination and lust.
And yet in every other aspect of their lives together things seemed completely normal, the same as ever, except for those moments when she would get that distracted, faraway look, and he would wonder if she was suspecting him cheating, or remembering herself cheating. He wondered if she saw a similar distraction in him, when the memory would suddenly flash in his head while they were talking. Or worse, the desire to do it again. Is that what she thought when she drifted off? About doing it again? Did she fantasize about sucking another dick, feeling it filling her, cumming inside her? He did; he thought about cheating, and he thought about Rhonda cheating, and it bothered and thrilled him. And having done it twice, he knew that if he had another chance, he would do it again, no matter how bad he felt afterwards.
----
Rhonda had resigned herself to her weakness since the night with Jimmy and the Fat Cock. She was weak, and unfaithful, and she hoped that if Walt wasn't already fucking other women, as his text had hinted, that he would start, and tell her about it, just to relieve the tension. She didn't feel the need to do it all the time, didn't walk around constantly wet and throbbing with erect nipples all day – well, she admitted, sometimes she did, but not all the time. She would occasionally think about it, remembering how hot the illicit sex was, how good she felt, how attractive and desired she felt at the hands of her two one-night lovers. She would remember the screaming orgasms, the feel of her pussy, filled with another man's hot cream, her pussy gushing and dripping, and she would practically have mini-orgasms at the recall.
She maintained a normal face, afraid to let on that she was such a wanton slut – and that's what she was, she admonished herself. She didn't know if Walt suspected it was for real. She had teased him that she would do it before the first time, and he took her admission text as more teasing, and taunted her back. Or was it a taunt? Was it a joke? Had he really fucked that young lady in the mini skirt? She couldn't ask, it would open the door to him asking her, and she didn't know if she had the guts to admit it. Lying by omission was one thing, and she had rationalized that. She couldn't just say "no I didn't," to his face.
Every once in a while she noticed him slipping to another place – while watching TV, or chatting over dinner. His eyes would drift and she would be sure he knew, HE KNEW, and then she would think, no, he doesn't, he's thinking about sex with someone else, just like I do. And she had to admit, the image of him, his face clenched in orgasm, his hips thrusting, so masculine, so powerful, the image of his slick shaft slipping inside another woman, or his beautiful, sensitive loving lips licking her pussy – the images taunted her, raunchy, disgusting and sexy as hell! Sometimes when they had sex she would imagine she was that other woman, and sometimes that he was another man, and her orgasm would launch upon her without warming, spurring him to cum too soon as well, and they would lie in each other's arms, spent and breathless. And she would love him, and hate herself, and desire him more, even as she admitted she would do it again. She was weak.
----
It was Friday night, and they were going to a party. Julie, an old friend of Rhonda's, had sent an invite to her tenth anniversary of her divorce. Walt had late appointments that he couldn't get out of at work, and they had agreed that he would meet her there. Rhonda hadn't seen Julie in years, but they'd been good friends. They had worked together at the firm where Rhonda was still working, and despite her being almost ten years younger, they'd got along very well, and stayed in touch even after Julie left for another company. She'd lost touch after Julie's divorce, and was surprised at the invitation.
Rhonda left work early to go home and get ready. She stopped at a liquor store to pick up a nice bottle of wine, and when she got home, jumped in the bath. Relaxing, her mind drifted; to Walt, to Walt's dick, to sex with Walt, to getting fucked, to fucking, and then to fucking someone else, sucking his cock, and she startled herself as she leaped out of her daydream. She tried to ignore what her pussy was saying. And she irrationally calculated how much time she would have at the party before Walt arrived. I could do it, she thought. NO, she corrected. I won't. But I could. She shaved her legs and armpits, and began trimming her pubic hair. She'd kept it trimmed after her promise to herself – she hadn't trimmed in days before the night with Jimmy and the Fat Cock, and felt a little embarrassed at having her pussy look bad, like going out without makeup. So she made it a point to keep it looking good, and to wear nicer underwear, and Walt had noticed. He liked the new Vickie's boy shorts and matching bras. And he like the way her pussy looked. And it got him excited. Did he suspect it wasn't just for him?
As she pulled her labia to the side to trim, she impulsively decided she was going to shave it, just for Walt this time. He deserved a treat. She changed the blade, wanting to do a good job, make it nice. She removed all the hair from her lips and around her clit, leaving just a small patch above, and rubbed Vitamin E oil on the smooth skin, to prevent irritation. She felt her finger slip between her lips, found she was wet and ready, and eager. Rinsing off, she reviewed her work. Very sexy, she thought. She'd never really considered her pussy attractive, but this was pretty hot. Walt was going to be so surprised!
She called a cab, and arrived a little after seven, and was delighted to see Julie answer the door. They squealed hello and hugged as though there had been no time or separation since they'd seen each other.
"Rhonda, you look great," Julie blurted. "You haven't aged a day!"
"I was giving you time to catch up," she retorted. "Wow, I like the hair. Brunette huh?"
"Yeah, maintaining the blonde got to be too much. I switched it after I left The Asshole. Look at you! So slim, at your advanced age!"
"Oh, you jealous bitch!" she laughed. "But you're right, I do look good, you are so smart for noticing!"
She did a little spin as though she were modeling. They hugged again, and Julie introduced her to some of her friends. They were mostly women, mid-thirties like Julie, and mostly single, although a few had men with them. As they went around the room Rhonda started to realize that she might be the oldest person at the party, and joked to Julie about being the chaperone.
"Hey, you don't know these girls, they need a chaperone!" Julie laughed. "But Ronnie, these girls have nothing on you. Your husband is still the luckiest man I know." Rhonda blushed, both at the compliment, and at her secret shame. "Where is that gorgeous hunk of Walt anyway?" Julie had always been loose and racy with her language, and it seemed that hadn't changed in the past years.
"He had to work late, he's meeting me here," she told her as the approached the drinks table. "I told him to bring a change of clothes, so he doesn't look like someone's Dad in his suit."
"Is he still as fine as he always was?"
Rhonda's chest swelled with pride. "Actually, he looks even better now," she giggled. "A little distinguished."
"He'd better change then. If he shows up in his suit, looking all handsome, these tramps," she motioned at the room full of people, "will eat him for dinner. You better mark your man when he gets here!" She turned to the bar. "Hey, Brent, this is my good friend Rhonda."
The man mixing a drink turned to them and smiled, and surprisingly, kissed her on the cheek. "I'm Brent. Friend of Julie's."
"I have to go take care of stuff, you two talk; Brent, you get her a drink?" she turned to Rhonda. "And you keep your hands off him, he's mine tonight," she smirked, and Rhonda half pretended to be embarrassed. "I'll catch up to you later," she said, rushing off in an exaggerated flurry.
"She's something, isn't she?" Brent asked. "What would you like?" She asked for just a white wine, and he poured it, talking. "I haven't seen you before. Have you known Julie long?"
Rhonda estimated him to be early thirties. He was tall, maybe taller than Walt, with dark, short hair, and an easy, open manner about him. Slim, fit, well dressed but not dressed up, he wore his clothes well, and was effortlessly likeable. "A long time, actually; we worked together before her divorce. I haven't seen her in ages." She smiled at the thought of her friend. "She hasn't changed, it seems. Still crazy Julie."
"So you're the one," he said knowingly. "You must be. She always talks about you, how much she misses you. She said you were older, and I guess I imagined someone who looked, well, older. It's great to finally meet you."
"We had some times, back in the day," she agreed. She and Julie partied a lot, with Walt and Julie's ex, and sometimes just alone. She and Walt had been very supportive as Julie's marriage had deteriorated. "She said I was old?"
"Old-ER," he corrected, smiling. "But you don't look it."
