In my younger days, I had always been frisky. I not only enjoyed the sex, but also the thrill of the chase. I put all that behind me when, at 25, I married. We had our first child a few years later. Motherhood took its toll, however, and I found as I approached 28 years of age that I was turning fewer heads. Not that I am ugly: I'm a natural blond, with long legs on a 5'10" frame. Since I'm still breastfeeding, my breasts are large with milk and have soft protruding nipples. I have worked hard to get my figure back. My butt is really starting to tighten up, and my waist is much slimmer than it was, and I feel great about that.
My husband and I had argued all last spring about when we would have our next child. I wanted to do it before I got too much older. He wanted to wait a few years. Without telling him, I stopped taking my birth control pills. As spring gave way to summer, our arguments grew. When a couple of my old university friends asked me to go out with them, I readily agreed, feeling I needed a break. Years ago, I would have spent hours dressing to kill before going out. My choice in clothes was now more 'practical'. It was hot that night so I wore an old pair of runners, loose track pants and an oversized sweater. Since I was still breastfeeding Jason, my nipples were tender, so I went braless. In the mirror, I saw someone who looked dull, lifeless.
A popular band was playing in the club that night so the place was packed. We had to share our table with a group of young guys. At first they were shy, but eventually they began flirting with us. Being older and married, we were all flattered by the attention and happy to play along. One of my friends, Helen, was soon lost in conversation with a guy called Mike. Sheila, the bold one, had made friends with a fellow called Tony. Halfway through the first set, I noticed his hand had found its way to her knee. I had paired up with a guy named Bob. I discovered that he was majoring in 19th century English literature. Between sets, we talked about life in a more romantic era. It had been a long time since I had spoken of such things, and it felt great to have a handsome young man pay such close attention to an old hag like me.
The tease in me came out to play that night. As we talked I would look deep into his eyes. Then, when I wanted to emphasize a point, I would touch him with my fingertips: sometimes on the hand, sometimes on the arm, and once on the knee. The first time I did this, he jumped as if he'd been electrocuted. I enjoyed watching him react. I had forgotten what it felt like to control a man with a few simple touches. They really are primitive creatures. I suppose I also complained a little about married life and the drudgery of motherhood.
As midnight approach, I realized that my son had been in bed for a long while, and that my husband was probably asleep too. Feeling guilt familiar to most mothers, I told Bob that I had to leave soon. He offered to walk me to my car, some distance away. We walked along a path overlooking the river that runs beside the campus. Scattered clouds hung in the night sky. The moon was full. The air was warm. After the din of the club, the tranquility was overwhelming. Bob asked if I wanted to climb down the bank and walk along the river's edge. I had always enjoyed the wildness of the river's edge more than the manicured path, so I agreed.
As we climbed down the rocky embankment, he took my hand to steady me. Chivalrous, I thought, remembering our earlier conversation. Halfway down, the gravel gave way beneath my feet and I lost my balance. Bob was there to catch me. We began to make our way along the river's edge. The dew glistened in the moonlight. It was beautiful, but it also made the footing treacherous. I slipped again. Bob offered me his hand. This time I kept hold of it hand as we walked along.
It had been years since I had walked hand in hand, alone with a man, in the moonlight. We came to a rock outcropping that overlooked the river, accessible through a narrow path. I had often gone there in years past. Being secluded, it was popular with lovers. Wanting to see if it was still as I remembered it, I led him forward. We emerged into a small clearing.
We stood admiring the view. The river spread out before us, sparkling in the reflected light of the moon, the night air soft and warm. I felt his presence close behind me. "It's beautiful," I said. "As are you," he said. "Right," I said mockingly. I then felt him rest his hand gently on my shoulder. I said nothing. I didn't know what to say. The fingers of his hand then began to trace their way gently down my back. My heart was pounding, my breath shallow. I tried to tell myself that this was all very innocent, but I no longer felt 'lifeless'. Emboldened by my acquiescence, he whispered, "You really are beautiful," to which I replied "I'm also married."
He then turned me toward him. We stood inches apart. I couldn't bring myself to look up at him. "Close your eyes" he whispered. I did as told. I could feel his breath upon me. We stood there for what seemed like an eternity. Deep inside, I knew I wanted him to touch me. Then I felt his hands tilt my head up and begin caressing my face like it was the most beautiful thing in all of God's creation. I felt his lips kiss me tenderly on my forehead, on my cheeks and neck. "We shouldn't be doing this," I whispered, even as I let my face be showered with kisses. "We need to stop" I breathed in his ear ... but my body sent him a very different message as my arms encircled him.
He then drew my face toward him until our lips met. It was not long before I was gently returning his kisses. His lips parted. I felt his tongue. I responded, and the passion of our kissing grew hot, wet, and intense. I felt like I was back in high school, on one of my first dates. The thrill of romance was back in my life. I felt alive for the first time in years.
I quivered when one of his hands moved to the small of my back and drew my body close to his. Betrayed by emotion, I pressed myself against him and felt his growing hardness. A wife and mother, here I was, locked in a passionate embrace with a stranger. I felt a wicked surge of excitement when his left hand slipped under my T-shirt and begin to caress my bare back. "We should stop," I said, doing nothing to stop him. "Someone might see," I added. I was no longer thinking straight. I could feel my heart racing. I felt like a confused teenager. I should never have let myself get into this situation. I knew that what I was doing was wrong, but when I felt his hand roaming further up my back, I confess I enjoyed it.
Arms still wrapped around his neck, I knew I was silently inviting his exploration. When his fingers found their way to the side of my breast, I registered a weak protest. "My husband, please, I'm married," I said, but still I made no move to stop him. When at last he touched my nipple, I sighed, and I felt myself tingle down below. No man other than my husband had touched me there in years. He played with the tip of my breast, stroking it tenderly, rhythmically. In my mind I knew this was wrong. In my heart I felt only passion.
He began showering me with kisses. I could have drawn away but, like a vixen, I kissed him back. His other hand soon found its way inside my sweater. His fingers floated on my bare belly for a while, making me tingle down below. His fingers then danced their way up to my breasts, where they began pleasuring my nipples in unison with long slow gentle pulls. I loved it, but I was also embarrassed: I was still breastfeeding and could feel the mother's milk beginning to flow. My breasts soon became slippery. The wetter they became, the more he seemed to enjoy squeezing milk out their tips. It was carnal. It was humiliating. It was wildly erotic. I would never have allowed my husband to do such a thing, but with Bob I was without the power to resist.
His right hand then dropped from my breast, drifting down to my hip, coming to rest near the waistband of my track pants. I knew, feared and longed for what was coming next. Sensing no resistance, Bob's fingers made their way under the waistband, coming to rest on my butt, just inside my panties. The tips of his fingers toyed with the crack of my ass. He was just inches from discovering how wet I had become. "Bob," I said, "this has to stop. I'm married. I just can't." My words were said without conviction. I couldn't think straight. My heart was pounding. We were alone in the moonlight. He was not forcing anything upon me. I felt alive. When, the way my life was going, would I ever be in this position again? Perhaps I could let things could go just a little farther.
My cunt was no longer wet: it was liquid, and I was sure he could sense it. "Come closer," he breathed. Like a slut, I pulled myself to him, parting my legs a little, inviting the hand that was on the crack of my ass to move lower. His fingers crept lower and lower, teasing me. "Touch me." I breathed, parting my legs even more. I felt the tips of his fingers linger for a sinful moment on my anus, and then slip past. Two fingers entered me, and with the tip of his index finger, he touched my stiffened clit. "Oh God that feels good" I said. My legs trembled. I parted them even more. "I want you," I breathed. "Are you sure?" he asked, finger just teasing the tip of my clit. "Oh God yes."
Taking that as his cue, he slid my track pants and panties over my hips. They fell to the ground. He quickly removed my sweater and scrambled out of his own clothes too. He then led me over to a nearby bench, sat down on the edge and positioned me so that I straddled him. Looking into my eyes and kissing me in the moonlight, his fingers worked their magic on my clit. Overcome with lust, I reached down to stroke his cock, rubbing its bulbous head against my pussy lips. Then looking into his eyes I said again, "I want you to put it in me." With one thrust of his hips, he slid effortlessly into me. Until this moment, I had never been unfaithful to my husband.
The position we were in was ideal for a slow fuck, but Bob wanted more and so did I ... so after a while he had me stand and bend over at the waist, legs apart, hands holding the bench, breasts hanging down like those of a cow. Bob positioned himself behind me and then, after rubbing the head of his cock on my cunt and my anus, he slid the full length of his shaft deep into me. "Please," I begged him "don't come inside me." He took his time: not always easy for a young man. Sometimes he would tease me by sliding the head of his cock in and out of my cunt, making me squirm in anticipation of a much-wanted thrust. Sometimes he would cup my breasts as they swayed in rhythm to his strokes, pulling gently on my nipples. I liked it best when he would reach under me to stroke my distended clit while thrusting deep inside. This sent a tingling sensation coursing through me, which grew and grew until my body was wracked with a second orgasm. I was so focused on my own animal passions that I didn't realize that Bob had come too, inside me. What had I done? We lay coupled in the moonlight, basking in the afterglow of our passion, his seed on its way to places where it shouldn't have been.
