Husband's Co-Worer: Contrasts

About affairs - other than being fun, they tend to be messy, may lead to problems, and can really fuck up your life. So, because I hate fucked-up, messy problems, I avoid all extended affairs.

One-night stands, alternatively, are perfect! You rarely have to use your real name, can try on any personality you feel like wearing, and can lovingly ask for a number you'll never call. Combine that with a job that allows for some travel, and you have a wonderful recipe for fun.

So, why did I decide to fool around with my husband's friend and co-worker? The simple answer is that I'm a pushover for well-endowed black men. Shallow, I know, but very true. But if not for my husband's actions, I never would have known this about Carl in the first place. I guess we are equally to blame. [I described my husband's behavior, and my interaction with Carl, in a previous posting ('Making amends').]

Carl knew going in, and I left little doubt, that this would be a single event. So, why am I considering emailing Carl again, just a few hours after I left him? Well, there are a few answers to that question, but one rises to the top of the list. Carl is not 'just a guy'. He is a perfect man: well, perfect for me and my situation. The obvious qualities first - he's clean, fit, good-looking, black, and hung. And not hung a little, but 'knock your socks off, my God this is going to hurt' hung. The other qualities aren't as obvious. He is newly single, anti-relationship, absolutely discreet, and sexually insatiable.

Have I mentioned that he is horny, hot, and huge? So, I am certain you can see my dilemma. One the one hand, I do not want to ruin a very good marriage. (Yes, it is, even if you don't believe it.) And on the other hand, Carl is perfect. And to be honest, it is more than just the other hand. It's both hands, straining to reach all the way around, plus extra room for my fully stretched mouth. What can I do? Simple math gives me the answer; its one hand verses two overflowing hands.

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I sent him a simple email: "Carl, we need to talk."His response: "Not necessary. It's understood - it never happened."My response: "It has to be that way. It never happened. Ever. And I need for it to never happen again, and probably again, and then again. Which I know you can handle, if we agree that it never happened. ;-)"

Carl's very prompt reply: "We'll discuss it tomorrow, 9AM, be here."

9AM on a Sunday? Of course I was going to make it, but it would require an excuse. And I actually had an easy one; one that was sure to work.

"Honey," I called to my still slightly hung-over husband, "we have to talk.""Yea," he retorted from the other room, "I thought so." He continued speaking as he entered the room, "I'm sorry about last night. I never should have bet Carl in the first place, and I definitely shouldn't have wagered a peep show."

"Wow," I thought to my self, "this was going a lot better than I expected."

"Can we please pretend it didn't happen?" he asked.

I offered him kindness. "If you promise it won't happen again, I'll try and pretend it didn't happen."

"Deal." he smiled.

"But, it's still kind of freaking me out, so I think I'm going to church tomorrow to help get my mind around it."

"OK," he winced, "do you want me to come with you?"

"Thanks for the offer, hun, but its probably best that I just spend time by myself."

That evening, after a simple soup and salad dinner, an hour or so of watching DVR-ed shows, my husband made up for his bad behavior. A glorious back rub was followed by gentle kisses, careful caresses, attentive touching, and affectionate lovemaking.

He apologized by attending to my needs, by showing his knowledge of my body, and by giving me pleasure - multiple times. He had put our marital bed back in order, and we slept soundly the entire night through.

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I woke at 7:30 without the alarm and began my day. After a simple breakfast of Greek yogurt, honey, and granola, I took a long, hot shower. After ensuring that my body was clean and absent of any unwanted hair, I used my husband's goatee trimmer to tidy up my pubic area. Gazing at myself in the full-length mirror, I felt that I looked attractive.

I decided to go without panties under my beige high-waist skirt, and wore a lace shelf bra under a grey t-shirt. Because this bra is designed to show off my nipples, I covered myself with a long, black tie-around sweater. I wore my hair down, stepped into my tan 3" sandals, applied 'church appropriate' make-up, and made my way back to the kitchen. I said goodbye to my still sleepy husband, now having his first cup of coffee, collected the car keys, and left the house.

It was only a 7-minute drive to Carl's, and since I left at 8:45, I hoped he would forgive my early arrival. The door opened with my knock, and I entered, closed the door behind me, and gazed at my photonegative. Carl was fresh from a shower, and wore only a white robe. The contrast between his skin and the color of the robe was matched, inversely, by the contrast between my skin and my black sweater. He was beautiful.

I undid the belt of my sweater, let it fall from my shoulders, and let Carl gaze, through my shirt, at my hardening nipples. He stood, stared, but I was the one to surrender the distance. Walking toward him I smiled, and as I closed in, I met his smile with a kiss.

Breaking our embrace Carl said, "this can't be complicated."I agreed, "no complications," and resumed kissing him, and took his heavy penis in my hand.

"No one can know," Carl continued."No one will know," I agreed, as I pulled his hardening penis out from his robe and began to stroke him.

"You can't fall in love with me," he demanded. "No complications," was all I said as I pushed his robe from his shoulders.

With Carl standing naked and beautiful in front of me, I pulled my shirt over my head, and dropped to my knees. This position, on my knees, partially dressed, breasts on display, is a favorite of mine. Although from the outside it may seem to signal submission, Carl's now rock hard penis clearly indicated that I was in control. And I wanted my man to know how good a leader I could be.

While gently stroking him with an overhand grip, pressing the glorious head of his penis above his belly button, I accepted a very heavy, very beautiful testicle into my mouth. I am never sure how much pressure to apply, and since I rarely do this, I ever-so-gently sucked on him. First left, then right, and then back to the left. With each new introduction I felt each testicle elevate, and then drop.

I would have continued, but Carl made his needs very clear. Pulling my hand from his shaft, and his testicle from my mouth, he repositioned and pressed the head of his penis into my mouth. While sucking on the head, I stroked him with both hands. I controlled the movement for precious few seconds. With his hands steadying my head, he began to rock forward and back into my mouth. With his increasingly rapid pace, my hands adding pressure, his head hitting the back of my mouth, and the view in front of him, he did not last long. At the very last moment he pulled from me, and I felt a stream of cum enter my mouth, another hit my chin and neck, and a third land on my breasts.

The next moment surprised me. I looked the part of a cum-soaked slut, and he a dominant master. Sperm was now cooling quickly, and dripping down on to the front of my skirt. We shared this moment not with a stare, or with embarrassment, or even passion. We shared this moment with deep, uncontrolled belly laughter. It was truly a perfect moment, open and free.

He broke the moment, handed me a kitchen towel, and told me to get out of my clothes and get on the bed. I followed his direction exactly, wiped my face and body, left my clothes in the middle of the apartment, and sat on the edge of his bed. Carl then rested on his knees, pushed between my legs, and began to lick me.

Very slowly at first he traced me, then began to probe deeply, before moving higher to suck my clit. Carl was perfect, and all he needed to do was continue and I would have cum for him, but he did so much more. While continuing to lick and suck on my clit, he inserted a single thick finger into me. And then another. With an expert touch, he probed repeatedly and deeply. He drove me crazy when he began twisting his fingers to the side as he entered me.

"I've got to get you ready, babe." He bragged.

"I'm ready now." I begged.

But he wasn't. He was content to continue, to bring me to an almost violent orgasm, before making any additional movements. The additional movement was spectacular. Carl removed his fingers, began stroking me with his thumb, and inserted the head of his penis into me. Rocking back and forth, Carl shared only part of his cock with me, and yet I still came for him.

My eyes pleading with him, he pulled his penis from me, pressed his fingers deep inside, removed them, leaned forward, and ran them across my lips. I could taste how ready I was for him.

"Please baby." Was all I could manage to say.

With that he pushed his head back into me, scaled my body while entering me deeply, and kissed me. Sharing my wetness with our embrace was so sexy I could have fallen in love. With his lower body still not on the bed, he pulled me to him. With my arms around his shoulders, and my legs now clamped around his waist, he moved us to the center of the bed. With my hips in this position I could offer no resistance, and he accepted none. In a powerful, rapid movement, he pushed his cock deeply into me.

With tears of pain and joy in my eyes, and a series of quiet screams matching his depth, Carl fucked me. Hard. And perfectly. As the sound extracted from my throat became background noise, and as each orgasm extended to another, Carl signaled his completion. Not with a series of grunts, or with rapid deep penetration, but rather by pushing me across his bed trying to get deeper into me. No one had ever been deeper, of course, and if I could have done more for him I would have.

When he collapsed, I cuddled and thanked him. I thanked him repeatedly, as a mantra, expressing my understanding of our relationship.

But this was going to be complicated. While Carl professed a desire to keep everything a secret, his body clearly wanted to send me away with a reminder. And not just in my heart, but in the potential of another heart developing within. Although complicated, and highly unlikely given my chemical contraception, this was both very sexy and potentially dangerous.

"Babe, I have to run, I need to get home." I said as I extracted myself from his embrace. He understood, and didn't interfere. I dressed quickly, kissed him on his forehead, and left his apartment. Once in my car I quickly brushed my hair, fixed my make-up, and started the drive home.

I chastened myself for a mistake. Although leaving the house sans panties for a powerful extra-marital fucking is very sexy, not bringing panties for the drive home is stupid. I could feel the dampness of my skirt growing as Carl now seeped out from between my legs.

I giggled to myself as I pulled into the driveway, got out of the car, and pulled my sweater tight to hide my indiscretion. It really was about contrasts, sometimes in color, sometimes with personality traits, but I was drawn to them. The contrast that focused my thoughts now was between Carl's dried remains on the front of my skirt, and his wet remains on the back.

I found my husband at the table when I entered the kitchen.

"Hey hun," I sang, "how is your morning so far?"

"I haven't really been able to do anything." He confessed. "I couldn't stop thinking about you at church."

"Why, what's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing, nothing at all." He answered as he stood to hug me. "Its just that I kept imagining you there, and I have to be honest, but thinking about you on your knees is very distracting!"

We both laughed at this obvious flirt, and with theatrical outrage I slapped him on his shoulder!

"You are SUCH a naughty man!" I giggled as I left the room to change out of my church clothes.