Guilty

Andrea couldn't believe how guilty she felt, how unbelievably awful. The feeling of having done something terrible—something unforgivable—was worse than anything she'd ever experienced before. Then again, what she'd done was worse than anything she'd ever done before.

Andrea was 29, and her husband Peter was 31. They'd been married for six years—six years that had been as happy as any time in Andrea's life. Peter was smart, funny, incredibly loving, thoughtful, and her entire family adored him. Her mom kept telling Andrea how lucky she was, and Andrea was inclined to agree.

But that hadn't stopped her from sleeping with another man--taking him upstairs into the marital bed and fucking him for half the night.

She sat at the kitchen table in her bathrobe, holding her coffee cup and gazing out the back window without seeing anything. How could she have done this? Should she tell Peter about it? Was there any chance her marriage could survive her adultery?

To say the least, cheating on Peter had been the last thing on her mind when she headed over to Leo and Diana's party. They lived three houses down the street, and were Peter and Andrea's best friends. Diana loved to entertain—it seemed that she and her husband had Saturday night parties almost once a month. Andrea and Peter were always invited, and on a number of occasions when Peter's business trips kept him away over the weekend Andrea went by herself.

Neither she nor Peter saw anything untoward in this—he trusted her completely, and the party was full of people they'd known since they'd moved to Shaker Heights. Peter felt bad about having to be away so much, and it pleased him that Andrea had a chance to do something fun.

Nothing was special about the most recent party: there was a variety of great finger foods on the buffet, there was lots of beer and wine, there was lively music and dancing, and there was easy, sometimes flirtatious conversation. Nearly everyone at the party had met before, and the atmosphere was relaxed and festive.

But one thing was different: Diana's cousin James was visiting from Los Angeles, and he seemed instantly drawn to Andrea. After Diana introduced them to one another he chatted with her several times, and they danced a few times as well. James was a slim, attractive man of about 35; he had come to Cleveland to meet with a client of his electronics firm, and since he was in town over the weekend Diana naturally invited him to the party.

As the evening wore on and Andrea had a few drinks, she became aware of James's interest in her—and aware that she was enjoying it. Nothing ever went on at Diana's parties beyond some harmless flirting and some sensual slow-dancing with another person's husband, but James twice took the opportunity to dance with Andrea in the darkened living room, holding her close enough that she could feel his erection. She giggled to herself, flattered by his interest.

Tipsy as she was, she even allowed herself the fantasy of sneaking off with him and finding a private bedroom; but it was nothing more than the idle fantasy of a woman away from her husband for the evening.

At about midnight, James thanked Diana and Leo for the party, then found Andrea and drew her aside in the kitchen. "I've got to head back to my hotel. Thanks for the dancing and the conversation—I really enjoyed being with you."

His words were nothing beyond polite, but as he spoke them he looked into Andrea's eyes with a directness and an intensity that made her shiver. He wanted her, and she knew it with as much certainty as if he'd said, "come back to the hotel with me".

Then with a slightly ironic smile, he took her hand and kissed it gently, before heading out the front door. Andrea sagged against the kitchen counter. She was aware how turned-on she was, and felt relieved that James was now safely gone. She had to admit to herself that she was slightly disappointed, too.

At 12:35 Andrea said her goodbyes and strolled back to her house, pleasantly high and thinking about James. He had certainly been an attractive man.

She stopped, dumbfounded, when she found him sitting in a chair on her front porch, apparently waiting for her. Unable to speak at first, she just stared at him blankly.

"Hi," he said pleasantly. "Could I trouble you for a cup of coffee? I'm not sure I should drive back to the hotel just yet. I had several beers tonight."

Alarm bells were ringing inside Andrea's head, but at the same time his request seemed so reasonable. She didn't want him to drive drunk and get into an accident.

"Sure, I...I'd be glad to. Come on in."

Ten minutes later they were sitting companionably at her kitchen table, drinking coffee and continuing the pleasant conversation they'd had at the party. Andrea began to feel she'd misread him; perhaps all he really wanted was some coffee.

But when he got up, put the cups in the sink, and turned to her, she realized she'd been right the first time.

"I didn't just come for the coffee," he said seriously. "I couldn't let my evening with you end, Andrea—and I didn't want to do anything indiscreet in front of everyone at the party."

She blushed. "I...you should go, James."

"Yes," he said, moving to her. "I probably should. But I don't want to go—and I don't think you want me to go, either."

James pulled her gently to her feet and took her hand. Before she could react he was dancing with her, moving around the kitchen while humming one of the songs they'd danced to at the party. She wanted to tell him to stop, or just pull away from him; but it felt terrific to be in his arms. She let her eyes close, and kept dancing.

After a few minutes, James stopped, took Andrea's face in his two hands, looked directly into her eyes, and kissed her. She froze, feeling his lips on hers, then pulled away in shock.

They looked at one another, neither one speaking. Then James leaned forward and kissed her again. The second kiss lasted longer, and before it ended Andrea was tightly in his arms, and his tongue was exploring in her mouth. It seemed to happen so fast that she didn't have time to think about what she was doing. All she was aware of was the feeling of his lips, his arms around her, his erection pushing into her belly.

When James broke the kiss it was only to pick her up and seat her on the kitchen counter, whereupon he spread her legs apart and stepped forward between them to kiss her again.

"James, I...we...can't..." He waited, looking at her with desire obvious on her face; but Andrea didn't know how to finish the sentence. Then his lips were on hers again, and she groaned as his tongue returned to her mouth.

James stroked and caressed her as they kissed. His hands gently touched her breasts, first through her blouse and then slipping up underneath her bra to tease her already-hard nipples. It was midsummer, so when his hand touched her knee and slid upwards he had no pantyhose to contend with, just a delicate pair of panties.

He stroked and tickled her pussy through the panties, feeling her wetness, feeling her hips begin to move in response to his caresses. By now Andrea had her arms tightly around James's neck, pulling him closer, and was groaning with pleasure into his mouth. The thought of stopping him seemed to have disappeared from her mind.

In a few minutes more Andrea was soaking wet and breathing heavily. Without a word James pulled her towards him and picked her up under her butt, carrying her towards the stairs with her legs wrapped around his back. He found the master bedroom, gently set her down on the bed, lay down beside her and resumed his caresses.

In retrospect, Andrea thought the next morning, this is when she might have stopped him—SHOULD have stopped him. Her head had cleared slightly as he carried her, and she recalled with shame that she had said to herself, "not in our bedroom". But she had done nothing to stop James, and once his hands renewed their exploration of her body she quit thinking entirely.

James's foreplay was tender and patient. He managed to get Andrea's and his own clothes off without ever stopping his touching and kissing. Once they were both naked he lay pressed against her side, his lips tantalizing her nipples while his fingers foraged inside her, emerging sometimes to transfer the wetness from her pussy to her aching clit. He skillfully brought her closer and closer to orgasm. Andrea could remember her breath coming in moans, her hips rolling as she waited for him to finish her.

When Andrea felt as though she were only seconds from exploding, James slipped on top of her. His hard cock felt like hot steel as he slowly pushed his way inside her. When he was all the way in he pressed his groin against her, rotating his hips slowly to put pressure on her clit, and within seconds Andrea was wailing and pumping at him as her orgasm overwhelmed her.

James stopped, and the couple savored the feeling of one another's bodies in silence. When he felt that Andrea had relaxed from her climax he began to thrust. It was gentle and careful at first, but gradually James's patience left him and his strokes became faster and more powerful.

Andrea had felt totally drained after her first orgasm; yet to her shock after several minutes she could feel another climax approaching. James's regular, unrelenting thrusts took her higher, higher, and finally she screamed as she came again, tightening her fingers frantically against the muscles of his back. A few moments later James shot into her with a roar, pushing desperately over and over as he unloaded his cum.

James rolled off next to Andrea and pulled her close; they lay together in silence as their excitement ebbed. Had she been sober, she would undoubtedly have been overwhelmed by guilt. But at that moment, she just felt drained and satisfied. It hadn't been cosmic sex—it hadn't been the greatest sex of her life, or better than what she had with Peter. But it had been terrific! "I feel fantastic!", she said to herself, and within minutes she was asleep.

She awoke in the middle of the night, still somewhat drunk. She was on her side, and James was behind her, spooning her, his cock once again erect and buried inside her. His hands gently caressed her breasts. It felt good, and she moaned gently to let him know she was awake.

Without a word spoken, James began thrusting into her. This was a slow, dreamy fuck. Andrea wasn't even sure if she was awake the whole time; she didn't climb towards orgasm, but just enjoyed the pleasure he was giving her. She felt him accelerate, felt his breath coming faster against the back of her neck, and felt the spasms in his cock as he came into her again. Then she drifted back to sleep.

When Andrea awoke again it was nearly 10am, and she was alone. She started awake in a panic, instantly remembering the previous night. Oh My God! she thought. What have I done? Where is James? What the hell am I going to do now?

The bed was empty, and James's clothes were gone. She grabbed her robe and raced downstairs, to find a fresh pot of coffee and a brief note.

* * * *

"Andrea: Thank you for a magical night. It was one of the most special, most wonderful things that has ever happened to me. You are so beautiful and sexy, and loving you was like a dream come true.

"I didn't want to embarrass or upset you by being here when you awoke today. I will be back at my hotel (here he left the phone number) until later this afternoon. I would love to see you again, but if you would prefer not I completely understand.

"Of course I will never speak about this to Diana or anyone. But it will always be a perfect memory for me.

"Fondly, James"

* * * *

Andrea sat back in her chair. She realized how relieved she was, and how grateful for James's considerateness and delicacy. She did NOT want to see him again, then or ever! And facing him that morning would have been a torment.

James had been aggressive, but Andrea knew she couldn't blame him for taking advantage of her. She'd been tipsy, yes—but she'd also been very turned-on. There had been several chances for her to stop him, and she hadn't taken them. Thank God, thank God, thank God she was on the pill!

Sitting there in her bathrobe, feeling her tangled hair, aware of the stickiness on her pussy and thighs, Andrea was overcome by a wave of guilt. She loved her husband—in fact, she adored him! How could she have done this to him? And what the hell was she going to do now?

**********************

By the time Peter got home, at about 8pm on Monday, Andrea had turned her guilt into action. She'd showered away every trace of James; she'd changed the sheets and aired out the bedroom; she'd cleaned up the house; she'd left work early on Monday and cooked Peter's favorite chicken dish for their dinner; and she'd pulled the sexiest of her sexy nighties out of the back of her underwear drawer.

She thought that wearing it while she greeted him at the door would be a bit too obvious, and she was terrified that he'd realize she was feeling guilty. Andrea had decided that the only thing she could do was to forget about her night with James, never tell Peter or anyone else about it, and devote herself to making it up to him. Why hurt Peter needlessly? She would be the best, most loving wife in the world, and he'd reap the benefits of her terrible mistake.

So the dinner was on the table with a cover on to keep it hot, and the nightie was hanging in the master bathroom for later, when a weary Peter got out of the cab and trudged towards his front door.

He was greeted by a rapturous hug from Andrea. She kissed him, murmured how much she'd missed him and how glad she was to see him, kissed him again, and drew him into the kitchen. Peter was very tired, but smiled broadly at the sight of the beautiful dinner laid out before him, the wine-glasses, the special napkins.

"All this for just another business trip? Thank you sweetie—I never expected such a lovely welcome."

Andrea blushed a little, but said only, "I...just missed you something extra this time, baby. And I wanted to make sure you know how much I need you."

They enjoyed their meal, with Andrea listening to Peter's stories of his trip, the successes and the frustrations, his hopes for the contacts he made. Usually his trips ended on Fridays; but occasionally, like this time, he'd had to stay over in Denver for an important client meeting on Monday. She made sure he had plenty to eat and plenty of wine; and when they'd finished their dessert she said, "grab that bag and come upstairs with me, honey. I can see you're exhausted."

Peter kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the bed, lying comfortably on his back. Andrea said "I'll be just a minute," and disappeared into the bathroom. He was well on his way towards sleep when she emerged, but his eyes opened wide at the sight of her. The nightie's transparent panels only pretended to hide her nipples, and the bush of her pubic hair was clearly visible through the thin black material.

Peter smiled broadly, and said, "it sure is good to be home!"

He sat up and started to unbutton his shirt, but Andrea gently pushed him back down, murmuring, "let me, baby—you just relax."

She made the job of getting Peter's clothes off a sensual pleasure, stroking each part of him as it emerged from his clothes. By the time he was naked Peter had an erection that felt like a steel pipe.

Grinning at him, Andrea began to tease, sliding her breasts over Peter's chest, running her hands around his cock and balls, occasionally slipping up to give him long, sweet kisses, her tongue ravishing his mouth. Then she settled down to a loving blowjob; but it wasn't long before Peter was desperate to come, his hips jerking almost uncontrollably, his breathing heavy.

"Jesus, Andy, let me get inside you!" he croaked.

With a smile she straddled his hips, pulled her nightie up out of the way, and eased herself down on his straining cock. She groaned with pleasure—it had never felt so big and hard before!

Their lovemaking didn't last very long because Peter was so excited, and Andrea didn't have time to come before he exploded into her, but it still left her feeling as happy as she'd ever been. They cuddled together, quietly speaking words of love to one another, and in minutes Peter was fast asleep.

Andrea was relieved and serene—sure of Peter's love for her, sure that she had re-connected with him and shown him how much she loved him, sure that her horrible mistake was firmly in the past.

For the next couple of days Peter continued to find himself treated like a king at home: his favorite dinners, a wife going out of her way to be playful and loving and sexy. Tuesday night in bed was a more energetic repeat of Monday, with a lengthy 69; and on Wednesday they didn't make love but cuddled together, watching an old Humphrey Bogart movie on TV that Andrea knew was one of Peter's favorites. He went off to work each day with a big smile on his face and the feeling of Andrea's sweet kiss on his lips.

************************

It was Thursday at 1:27pm when it all fell apart.

Peter was in a sales meeting that, even by the standards of sales meetings, was boring beyond belief. He'd been going to these for four years and the droning speeches, the exhortations and the warnings from top management never changed. Usually he passed the time by selecting and re-selecting his all-time baseball All-Star team. Yogi Berra or Johnny Bench behind the plate? And how could he omit Joe D in center field—but what then would he do with Willie Mays, move him to left? Because Babe Ruth HAD to be in right field....

Today, though, he was daydreaming about Andrea. Boy, had she been a firecracker this week! Ever since he got home from Denver, she'd been feeding him and loving him and fucking him like a champ! It was almost as if....

Peter cut off his thoughts suddenly, as if too terrified by what the rest of the sentence would bring. But he couldn't stop the words from leaking into his consciousness: "...as if she were feeling guilty about something."

All awareness of the sales meeting now gone, Peter considered what might be making Andrea guilty, and his mind leapt almost instantaneously to the worst mistake of his life: the time two years earlier when he'd been unfaithful to her, on a business trip to Phoenix.

He mentally replayed the terrible guilt and remorse he had felt, and the way he had come home two days later determined to make it up to Andrea. He'd taken her to her favorite restaurant for a surprise dinner, he'd bought a stunning aquamarine bracelet and given it to her the next weekend—pretending he had gotten it on his trip—and in general he'd given her all the devotion, affection and consideration he could manage.

He'd done so much, in fact, that after a week Peter was suddenly terrified that Andrea might suspect something, so he'd toned it down. He left his dirty socks on the floor, and did a couple of other trivial but inconsiderate things, just enough he hoped so that Andrea would feel he was still the same imperfect husband she'd married.

Now, Peter's mind was spinning. If Andrea had done some small thing she felt bad about, like putting a dent in the car or splurging on a dress, she would have confessed by now, especially after the last few days of softening him up. So it had to be something pretty terrible, something she intended never to tell him about...and he could only think of one thing it could be.

Suddenly Peter was aware that the room had fallen silent. He looked up and saw everyone gazing towards him expectantly. Ron from accounting spoke. "I said, do those figures seem about right, Peter?"

Peter's stomach heaved without warning, and he knew he was going to be sick. "I'm sorry," he blurted out, "it must be something I ate for lunch," and without pausing he ran out the door of the conference room and into the men's room. Within seconds the remains of his most recent meal left his stomach as he retched into one of the toilets.