I love my husband, and he loves me. He knows my needs and how they have to be met.
Chances are I've fucked your husband if you live in my town. I've fucked a lot of husbands. I've fucked brothers and sons and uncles and big men, small men, a lot of men. Mostly I'd really love to fuck one man— my husband—but that can't happen.
He and I have four children; lovely, cute, adorable, pains in the asses, the youngest being four and the oldest eight. Obviously we've fucked before, and often. We've also made love, screwed, and shagged, as the case may be. But now I fuck a lot of husbands.
I am a typical suburban soccer mom. Attractive, thirty something. I go to the gym, I run errands, I drive my children to and from school, dance classes, the library, and of course soccer. My husband and children's loving father joins us where he's able.
At home it's always the same things, especially with four precocious kids:
"Wipe your nose with a tissue, not your sleeve."
"No you may not eat in your bedroom."
"Get your shoes off the sofa."
"Stop hitting your sister."
"Do I look like I'm kidding?"
"No, you may not go ask your dad. I've said no."
"How many times do I have to tell you to put down the seat!"
"Do you need a time out?"
I sound like a broken record, a very frustrated, annoyed, broken record.
My frustration level is rising, I can feel the tension fixing in my shoulders, neck, head. I need release and my husband can tell. He's attuned to my needs. Just as I am to his. After thirteen years together, we should be. No one knows me better.
My husband approaches me cautiously as I put snacks out for the kids. He can always tell when I'm on edge.
"Go honey. Please. You need it," he urges.
I know he's right, even the very idea of it has me flushed. "Are you sure?" I always get his permission, it's always his idea.
"Go, we'll be fine," he insists.
I check once more to make sure the kids are okay before I go change. They're used to me leaving some evenings: PTA, book clubs, the usual. Gone are my comfy yoga pants, sports bra and t-shirt; on are the pushup bra, lacy thong, and button up mini-dress that were laid out on the bed. I have a good figure that I've worked hard to maintain, even after four pregnancies, and now I'm dressed to show it off. Stay-ups, some deep red lip stick and a sexy pair of heels finish off my outfit.
"How do I look?" I spin in front of my husband.
"Tasty," he grins and raises his eyebrows suggestively.
"Good enough to fuck?"
"Always," there's a note of sadness in his voice.
"Thanks, honey. I'll be back soon," I kiss him tenderly, careful not to leave a lipstick mark.
"Take your time, sweetheart," he calls after me, as I leave the house, my kids, and husband in search of relief.
Rolling the mini-van out of the driveway, I take a quick look back at our five bedroom suburban ranch house and sigh at what my life has become. I'm not filled with regrets, I love my family, but we've had our share of trials and right now I need to escape.
There are many good places to pick up a quick fuck—a no strings attached, no holds barred screw—but the best place I've found is the bar at the airport hotels. In and out, the guys don't hang around, either. I've fucked my way through most of the men in town who will turn their heads anyway. The mall has a lot of husbands who would think about it but have poor followthrough, ditto for church and public parks (unless I'm a closeted gay man). A few of my friends' husbands have been obliging, but it isn't my goal to destroy a marriage, just to save mine.
I have a strong libido, I always have. I need cock. I need cum. I need to come, too. I can get by for a little while by fingering myself or using the wide variety of toys I have, but they just can't beat the real thing. A hard, veiny, meaty cock buried balls deep in my wet grasping cunt shooting a salty load inside me. I need to come at least a few times a day and I can't go for more than four or five days without a nice load or two of cum deposited in me.
Today I'm going to the Airport Hilton. I've got a bit of a schedule. There are five airport hotels, three with nice bars and two that are more down on their luck around our busy regional airport. I try to switch it up every few weeks, just to keep it fresh, although I don't discriminate much about who I fuck. I just need their cum.
Parking the mini-van near the back of the lot, I check myself over quickly to make sure I don't have any detritus of my daily life stuck to me. No candy wrappers or spiderman bandaids stuck to the ass of my dress—they spoil the mood. I leave my purse in the car under the seat and just carry a small clutch with my phone, keys, and some cash. I stroll across the lot with a sway in my step, panties damp with anticipation. It's around 5:30, the perfect time to pick up a lonely traveller having a solitary meal and drink in the bar, and early enough that I can be home before our housekeeper leaves for the night.
The pickings are slim today, it's a Wednesday, so that makes sense; the best nights are Thursdays or Fridays. It's okay, though, there are four potential men to choose from. Looking them up and down, I choose the one who seems the most likely candidate. He's not too tall, with dark hair, a worn wedding band, and reasonably expensive suit. He has a friendly face and looks kind of bored. I slide into the seat next to him and order a salad and a seltzer.
I pretend to ignore him at first by flipping through messages on my phone, then toss it on the bar next to me, sighing heavily.
"Problems at home?" he inquires with a smile.
"Well, you know, there's only so much time one can spend away on business before there's some sort of issue," I give him a rueful grin.
"Yeah," he nods knowingly. Then offers his hand. "I'm Robert."
"Kate." We shake and I know I've got him.
Thirty minutes into our conversation I stretch and the strained button at the top of my dress 'accidentally' comes undone, revealing a little bit more of my incredibly expensive and very sexy red and black lace bra. I know my full breasts are spilling out over the top, creamy skin showing. Using body language I send more signals that I want him. The seduction is part of my foreplay. Playing with my hair, the licking of my lips, the light touches to his arm when he says something witty. Sometimes I even have to put my hand on their thighs, but not tonight.
"Do you want to get out of here?" he asks, flashing me his room key.
Finally. "That would be great," I give him a coy smile.
He helps me off my stool and we walk hand in hand to the elevator. As soon as the doors slide shut behind us, I am on him. I turn towards him and kiss him. First there's the pressing of lips, then the clashing of tongues. Reaching down I grab his ass and pull him towards my aching pussy. Make no mistake, I am going to get laid, and I have chosen wisely. There's a solid meaty present in his pants.
When the elevator opens on his floor, we grab at each other all the way to his door, where he slides the card through with a practiced hand. Spilling into the room, we continue to grope and caress our way to the bed. One of his strong hands is squeezing my tits and the other has started to inch it's way up under the back of my dress.
"Oh my fuck," he groans when he discovers my stockings are stay ups and his hand has an unimpeded path to my bare ass, just barely clothed in my scant thong. I respond by grinding my still covered pussy against the crotch of his pants.
I bite and lick his ear as I start to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt. "Get naked for me, Robert. I need to see you."
He obliges by pulling his dress shirt over his head revealing a decent chest, hair free, with two pink nipples ripe for the plucking. I lean in and give them a nibble, causing him to groan, while he works on the buttons of my dress until it is wide open.
"I love your fucking stockings," he says as his hands stroke the lacy tops of my stay-ups. "Can they stay on?"
"As long as everything else comes off," I purr as I kiss my way lower, tongue dipping into his navel before reaching his belt. I push him backwards so he is laying on the bed. I shrug off my dress and stand before him in my lingerie and heels. "Do you want me to take off your pants?" I ask, running my finger nail along the bulge fighting for release.
"Fuck, yes," his voice is husky with lust.
My nimble fingers flick open his belt and undo is pants quickly, then slowly I unzip his trousers to reveal the clingy boxer briefs below. I nuzzle his clothed package with my cheek, taking in his musky scent, then slip my hands underneath the waist band, cupping his ass cheeks and sliding down the remainders of his clothes in one smooth motion. I throw his discarded garments aside and feast my eyes on the erect cock before me. He grins and flexes, so that his cock waves at me beckoning me to it.
Kneeling between his legs, I run my hands up his inner thighs to his ass cheeks until they are framing his balls between my thumbs and index fingers. I squeeze just a little at the heavy sack and hope that it is filled with at least one delicious load for me to devour. Licking my lips, I lean down and take each ball in my mouth, his light hairs tickling my nose. I suck on each one gently, then move my lapping tongue slowly up his turgid shaft. His dick is good, not the largest I've seen, but a decent thickness, with a bit of a curve and an uncut head partially protruding from the protective skin. I tease my tongue to the tip and lap at the slit, catching a taste of his excitement, and that's all I need. I suckle at the tip for a second then slowly suck his head into my mouth, my lips sealing tight around him.
