Too Great A Temptation Ch 03

Howard's story

I slept fitfully that Saturday night, thinking about what I had discovered about Shelley.

One thing that disturbed me profoundly as I read further into her logbooks was the fact that at some points I was becoming sexually aroused at the thought of what she was doing.

In fact, the next night, Sunday, I woke up in the middle of the night with a throbbing hard-on after having a dream about something that I'd read in her logs about something she had done.

And that left me terribly confused. I was still hurt by the fact that she had deceived me for so long, and that she had sought out sex, lots of it, outside the marriage vows.

But I couldn't get out of my mind the fact that I loved this woman, that she had been my partner for 31 years, that she was and always has been the sexiest thing I'd ever seen.

I don't know, maybe I have always had an inferiority complex where Shelley was concerned. All I know is that I've always considered myself lucky to have her, and I was having a hard time dealing with the possibility of losing her.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I didn't necessarily blame the people she was seeing. I mean, let's face it, my wife is a knockout, and I can't see anyone turning down a chance to fuck her.

So how did I feel about Shelley, now that I knew about her secret life?

I put my logical thought processes to it, considering how she had remained loving and affectionate through all of this. She had never denied me when I wanted sex, never let on that I wasn't adequate for her needs, never tried to assault my manhood.

That counted for something. She may have been deceiving me when she traveled, but I didn't think she such a good actress that she could fake the kind of affection she'd continued to show me. Even sleeping, she has always been one to cuddle and bond herself to me.

I believed I needed to take that into consideration when it came time to decide the fate of our marriage.

Then there was the matter of the logs themselves.

Why had she felt compelled to chart her adultery? Did she subconsciously want to get caught? Was it guilt?

It was obvious by the way they were hidden away that she didn't want me to find them, but it was also obvious that she felt a need to write down her exploits, maybe as a way of unburdening herself.

I still wasn't sure about what I was going to do, but I knew one thing for certain. We needed some serious help with communication.

I had never realized that my wife had this sexual beast that was lurking inside of her. Oh, I knew she could get pretty hot-blooded sexually, but I had no concept of what kind of a sexual creature she really was inside, and how it had begun to consume her.

And, for some reason, she never felt like she could tell me that I wasn't giving her what she wanted, what she needed. She had just let me rock along thinking I was doing fine, when obviously I wasn't doing fine at all.

As I said at the start, I'm quiet and fairly mild-mannered, so it's not in my nature to ask what's going on in Shelley's head. And for all of her assertiveness and business acumen, Shelley is pretty guarded about the inner workings of her mind, and she doesn't readily volunteer information, not even to me. If we had any hope of salvaging our marriage, and at that point I wasn't sure if that was possible, that had to change.

And while we were restoring our lines of communication, I realized that we also needed to be more open in sharing our fantasies. It's clear to me that Shelley has some rather lurid fantasies, and it appears that she's been living out as many of them as possible.

She apparently fantasized about sex with a black man, she's developed a taste for anal sex and she has shown a bent toward exhibitionism.

I, too, have some pretty raunchy fantasies, and most of them involve many of the things Shelley has been up to over these past seven years, which was why I found myself aroused at some of the passages I encountered in her logs, in spite of the hurt they caused.

As I made my way through her logs, moving through 1999, 2000, 2001 and beyond, I saw several names appear and disappear, but Louis Bertelli and Darrell Poston remained pretty constant.

There were also few others that began to appear with numbing regularity, and one of them was an Alicia Sanchez, a client of Shelley's in Miami.

It followed the same pattern as the others, meetings and dinner dates, right up to an entry from early 2000 that made my cock stand up and salute, because it described one of my most cherished fantasies...

Shelley's story

I guess it's a fair question to ask why I kept such detailed logs of my trysts with other lovers. Really, though, that's like asking me why I breathe.

Mostly, it was just force of habit. I'm not kidding when I say that I started in my company at the bottom and worked my way up the ladder. My first job there was as a stenographer, and one of the first things I learned was to keep concise, yet detailed notes of everything that went on in my job.

Until I got my promotion seven years ago, I kept my work logs in spiral notebooks. But one of the congratulatory gifts I got from a co-worker was a hardbound logbook, a datebook that I could order refills of each year as I needed.

So I began to use those, because they were easier and more precisely dated. And I kept them, I think, because something else was at work in my mind, a subconscious sense of guilt.

I've known from the very first that I've deceived Howard grievously. I've said repeatedly that he is a sweet, loving man that I probably don't deserve, and he certainly doesn't deserve to be treated the way I've treated him. I'll live with that shame for the rest of my life, no matter what happens.

Maybe logging my trysts was a subconscious way of purging my guilt, a feeling that if I wrote it down in concise, clinical detail that it could somehow become less real.

So it just never occurred to me to not log everything I did on my business travels, and that included my sexual affairs. I don't know, maybe I considered those affairs part of the job. It certainly didn't hurt to make the clients happy, but that's not why I had these affairs.

Not every client I saw got to fuck me, and some who did only got to do it once. I've never gotten a sense that it affected my relations with the companies I deal with, pro or con.

As far as I know, nothing has ever gotten back to the home office about what I've done with clients in a social setting, and I'm not sure if there would be any reaction if it did.

I said earlier that I tried to be choosy about who I let fuck me, and I wasn't what you would call promiscuous, meaning that I wasn't out picking up strange guys every night that I was out traveling.

But for awhile there, up until about the middle of 2002, I went through several abortive affairs with clients in some of the cities where we do business.

Of course, Louis and Darrell remained pretty constant, usually three or four visits a year, sometimes more, along with a couple of others that I'm going to tell you about. They were the ones that passed muster, the ones that really rang my bell and took me to the peaks of ecstasy.

The others? They fell by the wayside for one reason or another.

There was Bob Keller in Philadelphia, who was real eye candy, but the two times he fucked me it was mechanical and he came way before I was ready. I could get that at home, with love and affection thrown in the bargain.

There was Eric Prydszinski in Pittsburgh, who had a really big fat cock. But, for some reason I can't fathom, he also had an ego bigger than all outdoors. He thought he was the answer to every woman's desire, but he didn't last 10 minutes in my hot box.

There was Sam Bounds in Kansas City, who was actually a really good fuck, and we had three very eventful nights of lust. We probably would have developed a relationship, except that my company and his could never agree on a price, so we went elsewhere, and I lost track of him.

There was Peter Martin in Houston, a big, rangy Texan who really knew how to treat a lady. But after two delightful encounters, he took another job with a company in Dallas, and we lost touch.

There was Al Dismukes in Denver, the less said the better. He was really good-looking and I thought he was sexy, but once he got me in bed, he did nothing for me. Then he got really obnoxious when I subsequently said no to his advances.

There was Kelly Marshall in San Francisco, who was a real sweet, sexy man, but he just didn't have enough cock. I mean, size can be overrated, but I've always been used to men who were a little bigger, and Kelly's 4 inches just didn't measure up.

Let's see. There was Bob in Detroit, Jack in Memphis and Barney in Minneapolis, one-timers who seemed promising, but who couldn't light my fire.

Hell, Jack was so nervous when he finally got me in bed that he couldn't even get it up. I've never seen a man go from cool and confident to completely unraveled in such a short period of time.

Anyway, I mentioned Sam Bounds, and when we couldn't reach an agreement for them to supply us with their particular product, we turned to a competing company in Miami, which is where I first encountered Alicia Sanchez, late in 1999.

I never in a million years thought I'd ever be attracted to another woman, but when I met Alicia, something happened in my groin, and I started getting wet between my legs.

Let me back up for a second. Like most women, I've always had a curiosity about lesbians and what they do, and I had occasionally fantasized about making love with another woman.

But I had never come remotely close to actually doing it, never met another woman who turned my crank to the point where I was determined to get in bed with her and find out what it was all about.

When I met Alicia Sanchez, however, that was the first thing that flashed through my mind.

Jesus God, talk about gorgeous. Alicia is slightly taller than my 5-foot-6, and slender, but certainly not skinny, with a delicious pair of plump tits, capped with dollar-sized areolas and nice, fat nipples.

She has thick waves of dark, dark hair framing an oval face that has her Cuban heritage written all over it. She has dark, haunting eyes, lush, full lips and a very talented tongue. She's probably around 35 now, meaning she was in her late 20s when we first met.

She's a real go-getter in her company, a rising star, with an aggressive personality to match. I think she took one look at me and sized me up as ripe for the plucking. She fixed me with those blazing brown eyes, and I practically melted right there in her office.

Whereas Sam's bosses were a little bit hard-assed and refused to dicker, Alicia's company and ours found common ground right away. I think Alicia convinced them that we could do business, which we have, quite successfully.

And Alicia convinced me pretty quickly that she could do some business with me. At first, it was just little things – lingering touches, flirtatious banter, smoldering stares. But it quickly escalated into outright flirting.

She wanted me, and she didn't bother to hide it much. The only question was whether I could overcome my heterosexual bent in order to experiment with lesbian sex.

She came out in the open to me about the third or fourth trip I made to Miami, right after the first of the year. We spent the day in discussions with her bosses, then she took me out on the town, and it was a real eye-opener.

To begin with, South Florida is SO different from New York, even though both cities have a strong Latin connection.

But being a suburban girl through and through, I had never really encountered the Puerto Ricans, Cubans, Salvadorans and others who make up the Latin population of the Five Boroughs. So Miami, with its strong Cuban flavor, was a real revelation.

The same was true of my exposure to the gay population. I've encountered gays of both genders in the course of my work, and, of course, New York City is a mecca for gays. I'm pretty open-minded, and I had never had any problem with them, but I had never really delved into their subculture until I met Alicia.

The place we went for dinner was a cozy, very intimate restaurant, and as I looked around, I realized that there were no mixed couples.

There were tables of men with men and women with women, like we were, and many of them were quite obvious about their orientation. I mean there were some men there who were real flamers, and some women there who looked like they could have played football for the Dolphins.

I took it all in with a slightly shocked expression, as Alicia looked over at me, peering over the rim of her drink with a bemused smile.

"Some crowd, huh?" she said. "Are you shocked?"

"Well, I, uh, I mean not really," I answered. "It takes a lot to shock me. Remember, I live in New York."

"You live in Westchester," Alicia corrected me. "Not the same as The Village."

"Yeah, but I've worked in Manhattan for almost 20 years, and I do ride the subway to and from work," I said. "I see a lot of pretty strange stuff. But I guess you're right. It's a pretty good ways from what I'm used to. So, tell me. Are you gay?" I knew the answer to that, but I wanted to hear it from her.

"Yes," she said, simply and softly, and the way she said it sent shivers of lust all up and down my body. Then she continued, in the same seductive tone of voice.

"And I know you're not, but you're curious, aren't you," she said, and I just nodded my head numbly. "When you first walked into my office, you lit a fire in me. You are so sexy, so sensual, so beautiful. I don't guess it will come as any surprise if I tell you that I have a weakness for blondes, especially hot ones like you."

"I-I'm flattered, really," I stammered. I was so aroused at that point, but I wasn't quite ready to shed convention for a romp with another woman, not yet. And I told her so.

Alicia nodded, and then she said something that knocked me out, because it echoed exactly what Louis had told me a little over a year earlier.

"When you're ready, you'll know," Alicia said softly. "And when it happens, it will be like nothing you've ever experienced."

By the time of my next visit, not long before the end of Carnival, I was ready. I had thought of little else, and I was eager to get her company on the dotted line, so I could enjoy the fruits of Alicia's lush body on a regular basis.

We got the contract done, and by now my superiors trusted me enough that they didn't have to look over my shoulder when the deal was signed. All they required was that I fax the legal department a copy of the draft contract for approval.

That was done, I got the contract back with the stamp of approval and we signed the agreement. Afterward, I was on my own with a whole night to celebrate before I had to get back to New York. And it was a Friday night, so work was no hindrance to our plans.

Alicia picked me up in her little sports car and we headed for South Beach. At that particular moment, I was 43 years old, I had lived, worked and helped raise two boys in one of the biggest metropolitan areas in the world, and I thought I had been around.

But nothing had prepared me for the assault on the senses that was Carnival on South Beach. It's not quite the same as in New Orleans or Rio, but it gets pretty wild and crazy.

Thank goodness I know how to drink responsibly, because you need your wits about you in situations like that. Even in the company of someone who knew the area, even while staying relatively sober, it got pretty hairy.

It was just the slightest bit cool that night, so I'd worn a light pullover sweater – no bra, of course – a simple skirt and a pair of flats. Alicia wore a tight pair of leather jeans, boots and a tank top – no bra, of course.

The whole night we stared at each other's bouncing tits, with our nipples showing rock-hard through our tops.

We ended up at a disco – a gay disco, of course – and we danced for several hours. We started out just boogying, but it quickly turned intensely sexual.

We hadn't been there but about an hour when Alicia pulled me close to her. Our bodies were slithering together as she stared into my eyes, then pulled my face to hers and we kissed.

God! As long as I live, I will never forget the feeling of that first kiss with Alicia Sanchez. Her lucious lips caressed my lips and her tongue darted out to meet my tongue in a soul kiss that seemed to go on forever. It was only when we heard the whoops and hollers of those around us that we finally came to. We spent the rest of our time there bumping and grinding, taking turns humping our hot pussies on each other's thighs, pressing our chests together so that our tits melded as one.

I mean you could actually see the dampness on the thighs of her leather jeans from where they had come into contact with my soaking-wet panties.

Finally, as the highlight of the night, we were dancing a particularly energetic number when she looked over at me and sort of mouthed the words over the deafening sound of the music, "do you want to see them?"

I nodded, not quite sure what she meant, so she reached down and pulled her shirt completely off, in one smooth motion. She waved the sweat-soaked shirt over her head as she danced topless, and I'm not sure what got into me, but I reached down and pulled my sweater off in response.

I quickly tied it around my waist, then we closed together and danced topless, our eyes riveted to the other's jiggling tits, while the rest of the dancers on the floor urged us on. Slowly, we embraced, our nipples touched, and it was like an electric shock of lust.

My pussy was absolutely flooded as I pulled her to me and this time I initiated the deep, soul kiss. And when we broke, I looked her in the eyes, then whispered in her ear.

"Take me back to the hotel and love me," I panted. "I want you so bad I can't stand it. If we don't leave now, I'm liable to take you down right here, right now."

And I meant it. Right then, I was as horny as I had been in quite some time. I wanted to feel Alicia's lips on my clit, her tongue in my pussy and her hands on my tits. Badly.

We managed to throw our tops on as we stumbled out of the club. Our arms were wrapped around each other's shoulders as we awaited the valet, then we kissed again.

This being Miami, the valet wasn't the least bit shocked to see two women kissing as he arrived with Alicia's car.

We got in and headed for my hotel. As soon as we were on the expressway, she reached over with her right hand and caressed my thigh. She slid her smooth hand up under my skirt until she reached the junction of my legs.

The heat of my pussy radiated out in waves as she softly touched my soaking-wet panties. She brushed my clit through the flimsy material, and I threw my head back and moaned in mounting ecstasy.

I wanted her to slip her fingers inside and touch me, but she just ran her fingers up and down my crevice through my panties, up to my clit, which she rolled several times in a slow, sensual motion.

"I'm going to make you come in your panties," she whispered, never taking her eyes off the road as she drove at a modest speed.

And she proceeded to do just that. She applied more pressure on my cunt, and the thin, silky material of my panties acted as a magnifier, sending sensual waves through my groin and up to my brain.

I slid lower in the seat, pulled my skirt up to my waist, spread my legs and groped my tits through my sweater as I felt the wet heat build to a crescendo.

Just about the time we arrived at the exit for my hotel, I felt the rush of a hard climax flow through me, and I felt my juices slide out of my pussy to further soak my panties.

Alicia's eyes were blazing as we parked the car, then we embraced hotly, our mouths straining and our tongues working frantically.